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./ in... ‘zre n25" 1:: «. n' ' «ms-aw W...“ . «AIoMDLMa-any. IHE DEAN AND CHAPTER XXIII. “'e stayed some few weeks longer in the little principality ostensibly ruled by the Prince of Monaco and, as its American visitors say, "linseed" or “run” by those philanthropists, Monsieur Blanc‘s successors. which is perhaps the best time of the year for Monte Carlo but I felt the migratory instinct on me again, and determined to leave. There are, after all, only two modes of ife. One is that of the barn-door fowl; the other that of the albatross. One is that of the individual who never seems to trouble himself further about the world beyond the limits of his parish. The other is that of Ulysses, who found ii. impossible to rest from travel. mined to leave the Riviera. for anywhere, subject to the fixed date of my return to my little Ithaca of Salcbester. We first ran to Venice, of which I could say a good deal were I writing aguide-book or a sentimental journey, and not the story of my life, put in the most plain and un- varnished manner. Then from Venice we went to Geneva which they tell me is very much like tize English Lakes, only more so, the Swiss hotel-keepers, who boast themselves the de- scendants of \Villiam Tell, being extortion- ate, most insolent, and more aggressive than even their Welsh brothers in business. There are two infallible recipes for the destruction of two very special illusions. If you believe in \Villiam Tell and the brave Swiss, try Geneva. If, as I once heard George Sabine say, you believe too much in the .happy creed of your childhood, try Palestine. There are a few English people in Swit- zerland, at Berne, and Zurich. and other such places. They live there because it is cheap, and their children become polyglot. For the rest. Switzerland is one of the world’s greatest shouts. We were told that we had come at the wrong time. This is what you always are told. “ It never was such fine weather as it had been for the last three weeks. The rain has only just set in. It is so singular hat the fish should be off their feed. Only biting magnificently, and gentlemen, who really know nothing of fishing, wore pulling them out as fast as they could put in their up to the day before yesterday they were l invited his English acquaintance down to his country chateau for (e sport I‘ ‘If, ’ said be, ‘you see an old hare with but half of his left ear. fire not at him, man, brawl, he is the pore tlefamille ; and should you see an old hare who limps badly, fire not upon her it is Madame, his wife. But if you see another hare, young, and {/amin, fire at him with all your will; it is the little Alphonse, who has mocked me all these months.’ \l'hercver you may go, you never get the game that you are promised. “I remember dipping into a book once, called ‘Ti'y Lapland.‘ They did try Lap- land, and according to their own admission they would have been extremely jolly, had it not been that prices for the most ordinary potliouse accommodations were about four times those of Mcurice’s, and that mosqui- toes and 0 her nameless insects all but nib. bled away their toes and fingers. No, my dear. Merchants have given up the idea of the North-\Vest Passage. They stick to the old routes of commerceâ€"the Suez Canal alone excepted; and we do not owe the Suez Canal to nature. Let us stick, for ourselves, to the good old places. Nolo episcopari in partibus, which is,being inter- preted, let us get back as soon as ever we can to a Christian land.” Ethel, found myself once again on route for Salchester,witii the roses firmly established in my cheeks. I think at Salchestcr they were glad to see me back. I can quite understand that, nsomo uncertainly defined way, I was a change for them. Anyhow, I was most cordially welcomed. l re-eugagcd my little maid, laid in a fresh stock of wine, and started once more the washing basket and the brokemkneed pony. Curiosity had_ccased about me. I was a fait accompli, and :ery much by way of fossilizing down into such an institution, that were the actually authentic details of my life to have been published in a broad sheet, they would have ioniid no credence in the sacred limits of the Close. The life was very dull, of course; but what would you have? It was now about the time of the spring equinox, and we were all looking forward to May. when an eventocuurred which very much altered the whole course of my life so far as it had been hitherto arranged. There was a certain Minor Canon, the Reverend Mr. Sebastian Meadowsweet, who, one morning after infinite blushes and with cousulernble gaspin and choking as of a newly-landed fish, di me the honor to liy himself morally and physically at my feet, and to beg that I would bind him to my chariot wheels forever. I had a great mind to humor him Let we give the points in his favor. He had been at Winchester and at Balliol ; He was tall, extremely good-looking, and not with- out cisims to be considered an athlete ; he had an exquisite tenor voice, and he was as lo 'al and as simple as Sir Galahad himself; d to this that he was perhaps a few monthsâ€"say a couple of yearsâ€"older than myself. So for, than, he was certainly eligible, if It was now the early part of January,! HIS DAUGHTER. For my own part I felt the spirit of Ulysses strong in me, and to the obvious annoyance of Ethel, although she took the thing good-naturedly, I deter- lines.” Ethel only laughed. “Do you not know the story, Miriam, of the Frenchman who We accordingly returned to Paris, where ought t0 t8" y0_u. and Which in 1‘30”. I I loitered a few days to purchase necklaces; "1085 t?“ you before we are married.” and then, after an affectionate farewell to “‘VnM IS 10 ‘3” he asked in a tone of man, and I felt that With my money and my help generally, he would soon be some- thing more than a Minor Canon. His defects were not positive ; they were only due to youth and inexperience. His merits were very sterling, and far out« weighed them. Could any woman act otherwise than I did under all the circum- stances? I resolved to accept him : and I did, stipulating only that the marriage should be deferred for a few months, and that for some time our intention should be kept a secret from Salchester society. For a week or two we were very discreet. I went up to London, saw Mr. George “'ylie, and laid the case before him, sug- gesting that it might be worth while to consult some eminent barrister. He laughed outright, and told me it was a matter of A. B. C. Whether I was married by banns or by license, my exact position as a divorced woman must bemade known. Concealment of it would vitiate either license or banns and make the marri- age void, as would also marriage in an assumed name, whether it was surname or only Christian. Lastly he added, that any clergyman could refuse to marry me, and that clergy- men had more than once declined to perform the marriage service on the ground that the lady had been divorced, and that they would consequently be giving the sanction of the Church to an act of adultery. He suggested that we should be married in London, when I could qualify myself by a previous residence at a hotel sufficient to give me a parochial locus standi. But that I could be married under any other name than that of Miriam Craven was absolutely out of the question. His own advice, he added, would be that I should, Without the least reserve or hesi- tation, tell my intended husband the truth. The truth must, sooner or latter, most cer- tainly come out, and it would be just as well to have it out at the beginning and to have done with it. He was extremely sorry that he had no device of his own to suggest, and for his own part be considered the existing state of the law very infamous; but we must take til there was simply 'no more whatever to be said about it. For himself he was only confirmed in the belief he had always entertained, that the lofty are far more tolerant and Christian than the clergy, who, when they once take to law, seem to be seized with all the spirit of Torquemada in its very worst form. Now it is all very well to talk pleasantly about Torquemada: but the terrible ques- fiion stared me in the faceâ€"what was I to 0? Most assuredly I could not commit per- jury, or what was next door to it. It was equally clear that without a gross decep- tion I could not get married. The only thing to do was to take Sebastian into my confidence and tell him everything. The idea terrified me, but the thing had to be done. I went back to Salchester and for some weeks lived a life of intolerable torture. I could not bring myself to tell Mr. Meadow- sweet all at once. On the other hand I knew what would be said by everybody of my delay ; for during my absence, our engagement had got wind, and I was con- gratulated by everybody, from the Bishop and his wife down to my landlady. My position became at last perfectly in- tolerable, especially as Sebastian began to urge me to allow him to have the banns published in the Cathedral. It was idle delaying or hoping that any- thing would occur to alter the situation, so one day I screwed up my courage resolutely. I was expecting .\lr. Meadowsweet to call and take me out for a walk. Some few minutes before he was due I made myself look my best, fortified myself with aliheral dose of Eau de Cologne and water, and then when he arrived, pleaded a. bad headache which was, in fact, the truth, and assured him that I felt unequal to leaving the house, which was also strictly true. For I really do not believe that I had at that moment the strength in me to cross the Cathedral "iose. He was Very pleasant and sympathetic. Tea was produced, and at last I found my- self taking the fatal plunge. “ There is something," I said, “ which I curiosity, but without the least trace of uneasiness. ' “ If we are to be married," I said, “ you must, I fear, give up your Minor Canonry here, and we must live abroad for a while at any rate. I have considerable influence, and ifyou want parish work, or clerical work of any kind, I believe I could secure an English living at some watering-place, or, better still in the heart of the country. (in that point I can satisfy you; but we mustnot be married here, and we must not live here after our marriage. “ I confess I do not understand you," he said with a marked trace of irritation in his tone. “ You are the last woman in the world whom I should have accused of whims : and yet this seems to me very like one, and I must say a very unreasonable whim into the bargain.” “It is no whim at all,” I answered. “ It is the most sober, matter-of-fact common- sense. lcnnnot marry you here, because my real name is not Allen. I have been hiding here in honest search of peace and quiet under a name that is not my own." “ That is unpleasant.“ he said, “ and certainly strange. It will require explana- tion. but I do not see anything impossible in it." “ You will see soon," I answered, “ I changed my name for the very best of reasons. Icould not have lived here with- out doing so. I have here, in this portfolio, all the reports of my own Case. the Case in which I was concerned, and ofwhich I have no doubt you read at the time. It is not so many months ago, and it was very fully reported.” And I ofiered him a little locked iiieinorandum-book with the reports of the trial, and with the comments of the Press upon my conduct, all most carefully “laid in,” as book collectors say, which means neatly cut out, and artistically the law, like all other human institutions, as we find it, and as to its state on this particular point that so concerned myself there could be unfortunately no posmble manner of doubt. The thing had been dis- cussed and argued over and over again, un- I nor, indeed, entirely desirable. Besides, v ‘ pasted down as ifthey were choice etchings. “ You had better look at it,”I continued, “at once.” He took the hateful volume, and opened it. hesitatingly. His eye caught the title of the Case in a moment, and I saw his face flush and then turn very pale. “ But what has this to do with you 2 ” he asked, evidently still hoping against hope. Simply this I answered that I am the Miriam Craven there spoken of, and that my father and Sir Henry Craven are still alive. Mr.Sahine would have married me if he had lived, and every word he swore to is en- tirely true. I was as innocent as a child ; but I could not fight the evidence against me. A good deal of it was true but did not- come to much ; part of it was perjured, but of that it is now idle to talk. I was an innocent woman ; before God I swear it.” He rose to his feet and laid down the horrible volume on the table as if the very touch of it polluted him. Then,in a choked voice he began to speak. “I shall hold your confidence absolutely sacred," he said, “and shall not hesitate to tell everybody, if you will permit me to do so, that you have released me from my engagement. They may say what they like of me, it matters nothing. It is for you, and for you alone,that I am concerned. ‘thoso marrieth her that is divorced com- mitteth adultery.’ Believing that as fully and as firmly as I believe in your own innocence, it makes it imposs~ ible forine to keep tomv engagement. Icaunot and will not break what I believe to be in very truth, the Divine law. But I cannot keep myself from saying that I feel as if you were my own sister, and that you will find a brother in me whenever you need one. Even if you do not believe me now, you will, I think, come to believe me as the years pass by.” I had risen to my feet and I held out my hand to him. He took it, bent over it,and kissed it. "Good-bye," he said. “Good-bye,” I answered, and the door closed behind him. I heard him descend the stairs, and I could see from the window that instead of turning towards the Cathedral, he strode away in the direction of the main road lead~ ing into the open country, and that be avoided the footpath. I loved the man for the first time ; but I think my time for tears had passed. I made my way to my bed-room, threw my- self down on my bed, and buried my head in the pillows. CHAPTER XXIV. Mr. Meadowsweet kept his word faith- fully : and I need not say that I for my part kept silence as to what had taken place be- tween us, and met all attempts to draw me out on the subject with what, for those who had sufficient intelligence, was a. strong iiint that my own matters were my own business and not theirs. Evidently there couldjhave been no serious quarrel ; for Mr. Meadowsweet and I re- mained on friendly although not intimate terms, never passing each other in the street without exchanging a shorter or longer greeting, and sometimes even joining company. Thus, then. there could have been no violent rupture. We must have decided either to postpone the marriage in definitely or else forsome unknown reason to abandon all idea of it. Certainly every probability pointed to the latter hypothe- sis. Could my health be the cause? Nobody who knew anything of my habits of life could for a moment suppose as much. The idea was ridiculous. I was as robust for in sex as Mr. Meadowsweet himself. Could my private income be dependent on some condition, prohibiting a second marriage? That too, did not seem likely. If so, there need have been no secret about the matter. Besides, Mr. Meadowaweet’s own income would have been almost sufficient for us, although, no doubt, we could have manag- ed more comfortably with a little more. Ultimately the matter dropped, and I gathered from my little maid, who was told it by her mother, who was told it by her husband the verger, that Mrs. Dean had said emphatically that she did not like peo- ple who were mysterious, and that Mr. Dean had expressed more or less concur- rence in the sentiment as being a sound one. One day, however, when I had thought that the matter was over. I received a. let- ter through my solicitors, which I felt cer- tain at the time meant trouble, although I did not guess then in what shape and man- ner the trouble would come. My father had written to me under cover to Messrs. \Vylie a \\ ylie, who had very wisely refused to give him my address. It was the old story of course. He very much wished to see me,and he badly wanted a little money. could I notlisten to his troubles? Then came a long string of excuses, false on the face of them, for his impecunious condition. His expensas were enormous, MWWTW sent the letter to London by the guard of. the train with instructions to post it there, registering it, and bring me back the re- ceipt. “I am very much surprised." I wrote, “that you should come to me for money, although not at all surprised and quite ready to believe that you are in what you consider a necessity sufficient to justify the application." “I have a small income, out of which, as a manor-olden, I am able to save, and do what I can in the way of charity. Yours does not seem to me to he a case that at all calls for charity and, personally, I consider that you have not the slightest claim upon me.” “If you wish to save yourself vexation 'ou had better take this as my final decision. and if you want money you must set to work and borrow it as other men do, and on the best terms you can. “ You might find your past experiences at Ossulston useful. and perhaps Mr. Thack- er, now that you are transferred to a wider field of usefulness, might be disposed to meet any little request on your part in a correspondingly wide spirit. You have certainly quite as much claim upon him as upon mysslf, and I know no reason why, with a little diplomacy, you could not got him to see how moderate your request really is.” I sealed the letter boldly with a Craven signet-riug, which I had happened to have among my effects, and,as subsequent events will sufficiently show, it reached its desti- nation, and also produced exactly its in- tended effect. For my own part I dismissed the matter from my mind. “ I was now, to use a homely phrase that exactly expresses my meaning, getting on famously in Salchester society. The women were still my friends, and the men my de- voted servants. It was agreed universally that I was a nice, quiet amiable body, entirely devoid of malice or mischief, and whatever my past troubles might have been, it would be unkind, and, in fact indelioate to inquire into them. They were, so every- body concurred, entirely my own affair, and I bore my cross with a meekness and resignation that was highly creditable to me. As to Mr. Meadowsweet, opinion was divided. Some people were only too ready to denounce him as a fortune-hunter, who, having been disappointed in his ideas as to my position, had not scrupied to jilt me very shabbily. One old lady, indeed. had it from her brother, who was a lawyer in London, and had got hisinformation in the strictest confidence from a clerk in the office of the solicitors of the late Mr. Allen. that, according to Mr. Allen’s will, all my money if I married again was to go away from me at once to his own relations, who in consequence watched me as closely as a. conciave of cats watching a mouse-hole. This was an admirable explanation. It suited all the facts. It had an element of romance in it, and it was discreditable to cor Mr. Meadowsweet. This latter fact, when I came to consider it, annoyed me so thoroughly that I had half a iniud to take the old Dean himself into my confidence. He was prejudiced, no doubt. He might even tell me that he could no longer receive me at the Deanery, and suggest the advisability, entirely on my own behalf and for my own good, of my changing my quarters. This would be unpleasant ; but it was a risk I was quite prepared to take for Mr. Meadowsweet’s sake. His behavior had been that of a gallant gentlemen, and it was my evident duty to see that he did not suffer. I had all but decided on taking this step and I had, in fact, convinced myself that common justice demanded I should do so, when acircumstance occurred which saved me the trouble. (TO BE CONTINUED.) SCARCITY OF FARM LABORERS. A Chance for [lie Unemployed In the Clues and Towns. A a time when people's minds are occupi- ed with public questions matters regarded us of minor importance are allowed to drop out of sight although they may have no in- considerable bearing on our social or nation- al condition. One of these is the general complaint of the scarcity of farm laborers in the interior counticsof the courtry, and is worthy of thoughtful attention at this time, when cities and towns are greatly distressed by the number of the unemployed. There is no doubt a large proportion of these could Could we not meet again, and i find employment on farms if they were so disposed. Certainly the prevailing wages is low when compared with the regular wages of artisans and skilled laborers,bcing ~\‘\\\.\\-\ N \ \-\ ‘. \ “~\~\~ M TOM'S IDEA. â€"â€" “I plowed up the Pike Mealow this E morning, and I want you to pick out the stones this afternoon, Tom,"said Mr. Green ‘ to his son at the dinner table one day. Tom said nothing, but looked his dismay, and forgot to eat thc piece of turnip which 1 he had held balanced on the end of his j three~tined fork. l “Throw them over on the west side of the lot, then they will be olit of the way," continued his father, as he put on his hat to go back to his work. “Yes, sir," said Tom. The door shut, and Tom groaued. “I was going over to Sam‘s to malts that boat this afternoon," he explained to his sym- pathetic mother. “I thought that meadow wasn't going to be plowed till next week." “If you go right about it, perhaps you can get throu h in time to o C ' " advised his mgther. g to \m“ s. “It will take the whole afternoon to do it all alone. and I shan’t get through bifo:o dark,”said Tom, dismally. Mrs. Green said nothing more, and began to wash the dishes. Torn wandered out into the hen yard with his hands in his pockets. He stood watch- ing an old biddy call her chicks about her, when suddenlya bright idea struck him. “I’ve got it he cried,giving such a warwhoop that the lien and her chickens scattered in eleven directions. He turned on his heel and rushed into the house very differently from the way he had gone outafewmiuutos before. “I’m going over to Sam’s," he said; to his mother. . Shelooked at him and saw a roguish twinkle in his brown eyes. “ll ell," she said, “only, Tom, don’t fail to have your work done bv night.” “No ma’am,” trying to. look sober though he smiled in spite of himself. Ad hour later he came into the dining.room where she was sewing, and tilted himself on herrocker while he coaxed : "Say, mother, can’t I have a few of the fellows to supper, and won’t you make some hot biscuits ? Father’s gone to the village, and won’t get borne till seven o’clock, so he won’t care.” “I guess so,” she answered. “I was going to make biscuits anywa , and I can make a few extra just as well.’ ' She did not ask him why he wanted the boys to supper, but she knew he was work- ing out some bright idea of his own and motherlike, was ready to help‘ while slid watched him‘ curiously. Soon after she heard him sawing in the wood-shed, then he came in weak for some red paint. The boys came at four o’clock according to Tom’s invitation. There were four of them besides Tom. Mrs. Green looked out of the kitchen window, and saw Tom taking them to- wards Pike Meadow. Over on the west side of the meadow she could see some bright object standing on the stone wall but she could not tell what it was. Thed she saw the boysstoop and fill their pos< kets with stones. Then they formed in a line, and. took turns at throwing the stones at the object on the other side. They kept their shot flying, little by little moving nearer their target. Meanwhile she baked heir; delicious biscuits, and laughed to her- se . At six o'clock the five young slingers came trooping in to supper, hot and bun- gry. “That was a fine target, Tom,” said one of the boys. “ Where did you get it ‘2" “Made it,” said Tom promptly. “'Had some paint left over from the boat, you know.” \Vhile they were eatin Mr. Green came home unexpectedly. 0 spoke kindly to them all, then turning to Tom, he said, “Did you pick the stones out of the inegdolw this pfternoon, as I told you, an t irow t rem on the . ' Thomas?" we“ aldo. “ Yes, sir, we did,” said Tom. demurely. while the other boys, seeing through the joke for the first time, fairly shouted. â€"â€"-â€"â€"-â€".â€"-â€"_â€" KILLED THE PREACHER. A Quesllon of "cruelty Bchveel lllm um! :i Layman makes Trouble. A Little Rock, Ark, despatcli says :â€" In the neighborhood of Ivory’s Ferry, near the Arkansas Louisiana line, someone start~ ed a report that Rev. Platt, the leading divine of the neighborhood, had made some his account was overdrawn, and would not on many farms from fifty to seventy-five I, "mean" remark" about “young lady of his be set right until the next Michaelmas Cathedral audit, if even then. All he want- ed was a little money, not to pay into his bankers, but to lock up in his bureau, and l 11858- cents a day ; but that is not so bad in the country as it sounds in the town, and is certainly much better than dependent idle- to carry on the war with. A couple of in defense of the idle tradesmen that a very hundred pounds would be more than enough ; large proportion of the men would be of no i and ate. pinch he could make it hundred and i use on a farm even if they went there, and fifty do. In any. event be trusted than 1 i could not earn even the prescribed half-I would let. him half fifty, as it was utterly (lollut‘ if they tried. Tile boys from the impossible for a man in his position to go farms, or a majority of them, at least, have; - about without half-a-crown in his pocket, ‘gone to the towns or to the factories and l t or not to have a sovereign ready if it were wanted for any small purpose. He would write me any promise or undertaking to pay that my lawyers might suggest, and they might then act upon it, if they thought fit, should the utterimpossihle contigency of his ' ployment to an iron worker. for example, side not making punctual payment occur. This, he added, he meant in earnest, but could hardly help regarding it as a joke, seeing that his word had always been as good as his bond. (This last remark was unconsciously true.) Sir Henry, be con- tinued, had, to his great surprise, most positively declined to assist him further. l work-shops,and if they have learned a trade it is generally one that unlits them for bucolic employment. Farmers, who 'are a shrewd class of men and reason on the closest margin, Will seldom give em- tor the simple reason that lie is about as useless in the hay-field as the farmer him- * self would be at the fuiuice and as much in everybody’s way. The factory hands could no more weild a scythe than they could an old time.battle axe. In other words we haves surplus of people trying to make a living by various forms of nianao Finally. he begged an immediate ariswer, lecturing and trading and not as many as assuring me that time was of Vital impor- “8 needed in productive agriculture. . Lance. I could hardly help laughing as I read 1 time, take advantage of the situation to: between the lines of this pitiful beggingitheir own and general profit. letter from a man who, to put the matter i been leaving the country for the town E from ten cents to coal Farmers themselves might at the present Men have most plainly, ought to have saved money , because they could earn more there. The and to besaving it, instead of to be thus l farmers want them back again and they? ‘bjecuy a,“ at cum," and down gt. heel. want an inducement to turn the other way. i ThenI became indignant when I recol- In farming as in all other cmployments it 9' looted what my relations with my father-1h I. recognized condition that the hestl : had always been, and what part he had - wages secure the best men and the farmer i played in the history of my unhappylife. Who condutlel to pay I could scarcely at first trust myself to write to him, but I did so at last after a lapse of a few days. I put no addrees and liberal wages to first-class hands will be the most likely to get them, and is the one whose harvesting Will be a suzcess in every respect. It must not,however, be overlooked, ! {congregatiom I’lntt denied this and said !that Dan l’erzlue was the author of the . scandalous report. To settle the question : of veracity, .‘\_lr. l’erduc and the Rev, 5 Matt, With their friends, met about a mile ,helow the ferry, all armed to the - 2 for. I’latt. his father-in-law, Mr. g and M r. Goulct, were on one side, and Dan ! Perdue, his friend, Bill 'I'isilule, fill} 'I'isdale 1n, and two men by the name of Defoe or; I he other. After a little while it became g apparent that matters could not be settle! E peaceably, both principals charging each other thh originating the slander. Win- ; cheaters, shotguns and pistols were brought, linio requisition, and used freely on eaoh Matt was killed in his tracks. Stuart 3 Was shot down and heat over the head with ,a revolver, leaving five gushes and is now gin acritical condition. (ioulct had three 2 fingers shot off. After killing I’latt. Pen!“ 3 and his friends fired shot aftershot into th: } minister‘s dead body. Only one of tin; ‘ l’crdue crowd was wounded. Bill 'I'isdale D sr., was shot through both hips, and will 5 ll:er die. .- Attractlve Advertilslng. Customerâ€"“ I see you l-(IVZGI'USO bicycles full“, if dollars. ” l Dealerâ€"“ Yes, sir.’ “ What kind of bicycles llo ten cents I” you so“ for “ Candy ones.” i - ' I ? ndcr the 1’0")” “PM of drainage . some5 0003cres of 11nd in R lei h to ‘ 3 Kent county. II 00° time ‘30!"de tax): ‘3 valueleu by renal! "f the inundation which ; yearly m-erwok It. lllve btien reclaimed 1 l l l vouhEEB :