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1 Mad by the uhu of home ' With 3 domino bout to-doy : For the subarea fan of thin mwy n our Roped for And toi ed to: nnd bold I0 on In Iwept in s moment “my. And the hope- tbnt were ifih on this rosy morn Are buried in dust w-nis ; ,. 'l'bexo'l u dull, dead pgin in my throbbing brain ' cry for patie'noo. but oil in "in, And wonder can thin be right. Aug the {eiicsyp (pogo: than ever beiore , -M-_. .._u_I.I There was}; crease: of hair from the brown of the 9 . Those "mum I oennot replace, 80 worthless women. to me so door. And the picture, watered with many a ten, 0! my mother'- dear old (me. gnu-u uuv Ovluvâ€" c..- â€"-__ -_ __ 01 the blends I shall never behold, I think of them o'er till my heart is sore, Oh the mac boots that m baby wore, dun I tell you their war in gold ? Btupefied amazement. wretchedness, des- air, took each the other's place on upertls features as the girl went on; when she had finished. he lay with his white face blank, as though life and assion had lelt it together. Seriously armed, Mildred seized his cold hand, strove to warm it in herpalms, the charm of her touch still worked; the life blood which had ebbed from his very lips, flowed slowly back, and in the rsyless eyes a fierce and lurid light began to kindle. Twice his ched tongue assayed to utter something, ut she could not catch its meaning; the third time he spoke plain. " Send 'me the traitress hither. Let her take your lace. and lean above me with her lying smi e. I want to whisper something in her ear. Send me that _wom_a_n hither.” _ “.4, . A Story at Love and Daring. By the Author of “What He Cost Ber," “ Gwendoline'o Hmest." and other DOpular novels. "V..- -â€".. -â€"â€"- . -_v,, “Hush, hush! I hear her coming, Rue; be calm.” “ Calm! with those words of doom still ringing in my ears? Calmâ€"ay; as the tropic sea is calm. beneath whose wavelees face the shark awaits the swimmer. Give he; your chair, Mildredâ€"you who love me “v- -v w“- -- __ "Dear Ru part, for my sake, do her no harm, " pleaded Mildred' m an agony of tar- ror. " When I said I loved you not, I meant, not yet _!” ISAIA L-) L-IJ not.” -w '- “You would not tell her, Rupert; that would be base indeed." “ Tell herâ€"3y; just one whisper in her ear. Then, afterwards you may tell her what you like. I have got some news for her to take to Pluto.” guy-cur, .‘vv Revenge and cunning, which had held divided away in the sick man’s face, here abdicated together; hope for one moment set there like a. sun, and then was euc- ceeded by eu_ep_i_oion. ‘lf‘,_-1 1" _:_L n vuuu w v... ---V_. ““1 do riot believe you, Mildred Leigh," answered he fiercely; “ nor will I unless you swear it I” “ Swear it?" echoed Mrs. Clyfl'srd, enter- ing the room. " Heyday, but I must look to this! My Mildred put upon her oath! When I was young, it was the man who swore, whereby. if troth was broken, he was rjured, but the lady was held blameless. here is no such courtesy in these days. “It is not I who is to blame," said Rape rt hoarsély. “Fair mbther, will you not sit?” wuu JV” â€"â€"__v w “ So, so.” said the Lady of Clyfle with a silver laugh; " this is pushing us from our stools indeedl You tell me frankly what I am to expect, when Clyffe shall change its mistress. It was not troth that you were plighting then? The question is ‘ How can ‘2" Am I not right. dear Rupert?” “ Ah, I askal her that.” " And what was the reply ?" quoth Mrs. Clyfl'ard, pressing her hand with meaning against Mildred’s shuddering flesh. “ A month ? I guessed it was a month. Come ; since my modest Mildred will not answer you, I will answer for her. In a month, she shall be yours.}%upert.” , “ Nay," returned Mildred hastily; “ you have not taken your broth yet. Let me tend you a little longer; Mrs. Clyfi'ard has been_your nurge all day." 1' , j_. -l tilâ€"1!- _:LL .. There ie no such cofirteey in these days. Shame upbn you. Rue !" She stood beside the two, with one small hand on either’e shoulder. “ I must bear it from her own lips, good mother; you prophesy too smoothly." Mrs. Clyfi‘ard’e fair face darkened; met- tere were not, then. as they had seemed. Mildred had refused him, or procrastinated at least. The young girl’s face was buried in her hands. but not to hide its blushes; it you as gale 3e marple. . A IAA_S-~AS, 2L -- G130: (fG-tifid'eieoft voice hardened; it was music still, but. clear. incisive, as the clash o; oymjmls. _“ I do not pretend to be Â¥___.A M-_ LIA-__ _ TEE CLOUD IN THE HUNEHINE. Two care have peeeed since the event records in the last ohe ter. Our scene is no longer laid at Oly e Hell. but far ewe in the south country ; while the dwe ling which is occupied by our dramatic pcrsonw is very unpretending. A little low- rooied cottage. set in a. garden glowing with spring flowers. euch esonly flourish so early in s genisl climate. The two French win- dows open onetiny lawn. smooth es s boy‘s cheek. end in the centre rieee a tell clump of Pampas green, watered by s shapely v.-â€"._ '_ vi H, a pro hes, Rupert; you wrong me there; but w at I premiseâ€"that will come to pass. My niece shall be your wife; and as for her samples about time, that is u maiden's way; â€"Vâ€"rv-â€" WV" “ Swear titan: niece Mildredâ€"I pray vou find your voiceâ€"to wed the Clyflard within thjgty days." .9 cu ,,,__~-‘-A‘n_.‘_- l_:__ U BIS. J'Fear for Raymond’s safety, threatened, unit seemed to her, in every tone of her aunt's voice; fear on her own account, which always overwhelmed her when brought face totaoe with Mrs. Clyffard; {)ity for Rupert, and terror as to what vio- ence he might commit upon the instant, it she should answer "No"â€"!or she had read murder in_hie eyegew-hile egg-‘over- -vâ€"u- â€"-..-â€"-_ -â€" oame the reeolhiion' which haduhitherto supported Mildred. Keeping her has still covered. end lnugmuring a "god_!orgi_ve "72'me her own lips, I say." repeated Burpgrt hoqfsely. .7 .A ‘llIJ_-J ‘I’ _ ........ vâ€"n. wJ ‘â€" Never {vie-3 d'eadly menace clothed no (air ; never did spoken words convey more cruel meaning than was shot from those azure " I swear." “ Swear what ‘2" asked Mrs. Clyffard piti- lonely. “I swear to marry your stop-son within thirty days." AVENGBD AT LAST. H 't; fiéEelf, aha an‘éwored solemlily, CHAPTER XVII. nym h of marble from a marble pitcher; the awn is girt by a broad purple belt of fuchsia, beyond which lies t 0 garden, not for show alone, but rich in v stables and savory herbs; while around [this fairy demesne there runs a waving wall of odorous tamarisk. A waving wall, I say, for though the cottage is nestled in the hol- low of a chalk-hill, and the boisterous winds (rem north and east, which roar and revel on the downs above, can never reach it, it lies open to the south and west winds, whose soothing song scarce ceases the summer through. With them the swallow comes to nestle neath the eaves.‘ with them the bee (whom on the tiny heights their violence will not permit to ply his thievish trade to rob the flowers; but on a ledge 01 chal ,full in the noonday sun, stand three stout hives, for which the rent is paid in glitterin comb, so that the win ed this! is rifle in his turnâ€"a few trai trees, warped by their windy years to grow aslant, keep off the westering sun; but all the south is open. To those who sit within the cottage, the sloping garden and the sloping down beyond. are seen, and then the sea; but to one who from the window withdraws a pace or two, or lies upon his bed tip-stairs, the eyes looks straight down on the boundless blue of ‘ocean. Ah, precious boomin sickness. to iwatoh the shifting shadows of the clouds, , the swirling eddies, the daily battles of the wind and tide; to mark the sea-gulls wheel or blown about by the fierce gusts; to see the glorious company of white-robed ships, which this or that fairy wind has just set free, pass by upon their distant errands, or to gaze upon the more homely toil which, in the little bay, the fishermen are plying; to contemplate the great waters, and those who make their business thereon. Then at night, how the sharp pain is dulled by the sea’s monotonous undertone. that lullaby of everlasting rest, or overwhelmed agiod deladened by the majestic music of the s rm But there is no sickness in this cottage now; the tall man sitting in the little balcony above the door-way, whose uncovo ered head almost touches the green roofing, is not bowed by it; nor is the graceful form of his young wife, although a year ago or so she blessed the sea, what time, after her blissful trouble, she lay awake long nights with her sweet babe beside her, sleepless. but in rest unspeakable. The baby girl, too. clinging to her mother’s skirt, is well and blooming. , And yet there isa shadow upon the young wife's brow. which even the sunshine of that tiny pre- sence cannot erase, nor the blithe and the ringing tones of her husband’s voice. “What. my pretty one!" quoth he, “a cloud upon thy brow upon our marriage morning. For shame! Come let me kiss it away, love. Not a word of quarrel have we had yet, though we be such old married folks; but I shall quarrel, and spoil our claim to the Dunmow flitch, if you do not smile today. No, not an April gleam like that, which leaves your heaven the darker, butaJuly brightness, that must last all day. Come, smile like my own Mildred.” “ My dear, dear husband," answered Mil- dred, tenderly, “ I know I am very foolish, very wrong. There cannot be, of course-â€" there cannot be any real danger to us.’H She stooped down to her child, and drew her to her bosom, and held "her there, and kissed and rocked her to and fro. "It is so long ago, and she has never tracked us yet; and we have taken no one into our confidence, so that neither by design nor carelessness can we ever be betrayed; and living here so far away from her, and under another name, we cannot but be safeâ€"I have said to myself a thousand, times; and yet, and yetâ€"â€"” i " Yet what, Mildred ‘2" “ Well, nothing; you would only laugh at me. But to-day, of all the days in the yearâ€"the da whenI would wish to feel no touch of g comâ€"a somethingâ€"some pre- sentiment of evil seems to cast its threat- ening shadow upon my soul. She will never cease to seek us out. Raymond, while life is in her; of that I am right sure. A wolf or a blood-hound could not be more stanch, more persistent for ill. When I think of her, I always think of that fell creature, tardy but sure as fate, which pursues the he pless hare whole days and ngghts, and at the lastâ€"no matter when t at isâ€"” " My dear wife.” interrupted Raymond, impatiently, “you are not com limentary to your Aunt Grace at all! '1‘ e animal you describe is a. creature of evil odor gelled _a. stout; moreover, you do_nos__take a. high view of my own courage and ability to defend you and little Milly, in calling me a helpless here. If I be so, and this vermin comes within kicking distance, I know this, she will find me uncommonly strong in the hind _legs.:’ “ Nay, dearest, while you are with us, I rarely have any fear ; but when you leave the cottage even for an hour. and now you are going away to-morrow for two whole nightetâ€"ahtme. that will be terrible I" " Why. what 9. coward has my Mildred become. ywho used to be so _bm_vey " “ That was when I had only myself to take care of, but this little one. Raymondâ€" what would my aunt not give to get her into her power ? The babe-heiress of Clyffel I would that we were what we seem to be here. and she but Milly Hep- burn, with nothing to inherit, save this little house and ground. We have been happier here than ever we were elsewhere." "That is very true, love; and I for my sart should be well content to pass all my ays here. But if poor Rupert diesâ€"orâ€" or worse, I will not sit down and let that woman unsurp my rights, far less my child's. No. that I will not. I know, love. why you shudder. You deem that she would poison me and mine. rather than give up an inch of land. or yield one golden pieoe. But this goisoning is not so easy as one made of in t e story-books: . At Clyfl'e. our child or me. 1‘ tell you we are safe. ildred ; and it there is a fear on either side, it should be upon Grace Clyfisrd's. Is she to storm and rave forever. and we to listen shudderinf. because we too have ehosen to marry ?â€" love I no cause to curse her in my turn; an alien from my homo. and forced to keep in hiding like one escaped from prison? I think Ism doingill in this,wifo. If there were no cowsrds, be sure there would be no t rents in the world. The sum my poor atho’r gave me indeed. 3110 might have worked her wicked will without much hindrance. or perhaps even subsequent peril; but not so here. Moreover. she is not above the law. Her unscru uloua fingers cannot clutch what that his: her to deljver up, Anny more thgu they can reach us here Cd har'm yourself, ygyg oh_ild 01: gm: 1' ‘tellyou wept-e safe. is nigh spent : I need the gold he told me with hie own lipe was lelt to main his will. Why should I not claim my own ‘2" “ Raymond. Raymond." cried the cung wite paeeionately. “ For Heaven's ea c. be patient. Let us not bring the thunderbolt upon ourselves. even if we are fated not to escape it. Gold is indeed precious In Grace Clyflard'a greedy eyes. and power, and the pride of station ; hut revenge is dearer to her than all. Be eure that on that day when we fled from Clyfle together. upon his very marriage morn, ehe regis- tered a vow_to pay us both.” I, 3,, ._‘_u|, “ I should have thought my lsdy would have had enough of vows," returned Rey- mond grimly. “ when you kept that oath she so wickedly extorted, to the letterâ€" married her step-eon within thirty days! Sweet perjurer! I can forgive poor Rupert’s w_re.th at having missed his prize L- _.__ L.-L LA- laud .Iurvovw .--â€"-_ ._- ._,, so narrow yâ€"sinee he was but her tool, and never knew how cruelly she urged youâ€" but as for herâ€" Well. et her grind her dainty teeth. To think that after two long years of absence, the memory of this kite should still flutter my dove, though folded in my very arms I Your cheek is chilly, Mildred ; are you oo_ld 2" 1 ml. . w'I-IDBIO'I “ "l‘is like enough ; and if bad weather sets in after this long calm. it will last, I fear. Come. let us have a. walk together, while walk we may. Upon one's wedding day, a. ramble arm-in-srm. Derby and Joquike, is onl fitting. Let us pay a visit to the good lieutenant and his wife.” " Aye, and take the deer child with us to see her god-parents,” exclaimed Mildred, joyfully.” . ‘ “Youâ€"deceitfulâ€"wiekedâ€"gypsy." re- turned her husband, shaking his finger in reprovsl; “ to see her god-parents. indeed! You want to have her with usâ€"that is all. I do believe you never feel your little tree. sure safe unless beneath your eyes. How- ever, just as you like, love; tell J sue, then. to put her bonnet on." itlli_ _.__-Il DA-- ' "Yes. a. little cold. dear husband. The wind is rising in the west, as though for tempest. We shall have rough weather toonight.___ - 91 L- 1 _-_LL-_ 'v r_- -.v. ~-__-- _._. “ I had rather carry Milly myself, Rayâ€" Jane is rather busyâ€"and it's such a. very little way to thepoast-guafdfita‘tion." n-Uvnv n v- ‘â€"v -_"_s ., n, “ Another white one I It is three miles if it is a yard. But then the walk is upon the cliff-top, is it not? a. very dangerous pathway in a. wind; end June is such a giddy girl, and can never be brought to understand that she carries so much more than her life’s worth in her arms, when she has that [gecious qhil‘d.” 1- |“, __ __-._ 1-..- “ Nay, Raymond. dear, I know you love it just as much as I do. How thankful you seemed to be when you were told your child was â€" " “Ay, true,” iuterruptedRaymond. hasti- ly; “but that was very foolish of me. If he had chanced to be a. boy. what then? He would have had a. very different bring- mg up from that. which has ruined so many a Clyfiard. He would have been spared the cursewhioh has fallen upon the eldest born of us tor eo many generations." " And yet how glad you were that it. was a girl, Raymond." "Was 1? Well, perhaps Iwas; at all events I love our Milly. Come, button- mouth, give papa a kiss; then get you gone. you and your mother too, and wrap yourselves up warm, lest the rain should catch us before we can_ get horne againz” - With smiles and kisses he dismissed them both; then left alone in the veranda. he leant upon the wooden rail that faced the lawn. and drew a letter from his pocket; the address ran thus: Mr. J. Human. Pampas Cottage, by “’estporâ€" town. It was written in acramped and vulgar hand, and in one corner was scrawled "Immedia'e." underlined three times. “How fortunate it was,” solilc- quized Raymond, “that I chanced to meet the postman in my walk this morning. Otherwise. this letter would hgye driven UDUULWIDU. Uulu avvw. nu..-â€" ._â€".- ..__.-,_ my wife wild with terror. She would neither have eaten nor slept till she had compelled me to flee once more from the wrath of this she.devil to some obscure hiding place, just as we have ot reconciled toour little cottage here, an have begun to feel it 'home.’ I will burrow no more, but fight it out above ground. The threatened peril is mysterious enough, but the warning puzzles me even more. What a hand my anonymous friend writes’ all leaning the wrong way like those blown backward saplings yonder. It may be dis. guised. of course. but at the best I should say it was no gentleman’s hand. I am not much of a critic, but the spelling. too, let alone the composition. appears rather faulty. -_ . nu..m__1 mt- -..a'- ICIUIUJI “‘ Bclrair, 'Raymond Clgfl‘ard. The cat‘s eyes have found you out at last; find another boat for a little,- and at once. There in do". ger .lurkiug at your very doomâ€"A Tnun WELL-wxsuan V'vu uvvu vuvuu bvvâ€" I'"K" , of deception, to exist humbly. furtivelyl What a fool was I to pass my word to Mildred that it should alwa she so until Rupertâ€"â€"" He thrust the otter into his bosom, as his young wife rejoined him, equipped for walking. and with the child in her arms. "Well. you have been quick." said he. "What. Milly want a toss before she starts? Give her to me then, mamma. Nay. now I've got her I shall oarry her myself; all strategies are fair in love, as in war. she is my lawful prize." It was a fair pictureâ€"that stalwart father with the wee bairn cradled in one sheltering arm. and the other thrown around his wife protectingly; and yet there was something in his eyes besides their love: the fire that glows within the eagle's orbs what time she sees the fowler inch by inch descending from the orag upon her eyrie, axe in hand. to bear away TEE PREVENTIVE STATION. The path which led away {tom Pampas Cottage to the coastguard station lay west. ward along the shore. and for a little distance alter busing by the fishing hamlet. as Raymond had said. close to the cliff top. but soon descended, not to the beach, but through an intermediate belt of It is certaily very strange. and atrau er that It comes when my poor wife has t is nameless dread upon her. It can be no hoax. for nobody save tnose we haye most uvwn‘ A uvuvu u“. ' -_v~ , cause to fear could have supplied the materials for it. The postmark is West- portown only; therefore the writer cannot be very far oil. But except the simple folks whom we are about to visit. what wellwisher have I about here. or indeed any- where, alas? We are com lied to impose eyen upon these good poop e: to lead a life “A LI_. n..-..’....lu I bar young. CHAPTER XVIII. u..w.ww; rock and underwood between the cliff and the sea. Here. sheltered (tom the risin wind. and amid a verdant wilderness o thorn and hazel. it was easy to have imagined it was midsummer. The jack- daws slid in circles from the lid; the wood-lark hanging in the sh tered air poured forth his love; the linnet whistled to his mate from the warm bush; and flitting trom shrub to shurb. the tiny wren twitted his mite of thanks to God's own ear. At times. too. from a broad bank of brier. that. like a lrieze. stood out from the white olifl. a hawk would shoot forth. noiseless and switt as light. and poise above the peaceful scene. like Satan watching our blameless Parents in their sleep: then shooting up above the down. would glide and poise ain. despite the wind, and yet ‘sgain wonl rise for broader view. to fall â€"â€"a malignant starâ€"and strike his innocent prey in some seeming sheltered homestead. _.:..:LI_ 5.. ‘ No homestead is. however, visible to human eyeâ€"no sign of the presence of man. The broken rocks, indeed, resemble otten human architectureâ€"here a fluted shaft. and there a column with its capital aoanthus wreathedâ€"but some grand throe of Nature has so strewed them there, who in her pangs can fashion things more beautiful than Art can mold in years of patient toil. The sea is sailless, save for one speck of white. which, like a pure soul passing to eternity, goes suddenly out on the horizon’s verge. ~ ' “ Is not this a very paradise, my Mildred? " exclaimed Raymond enthusias; tically: . . c c “ ‘r '1 ,,A4_I_ “ I; is indeed, dear Buy. My fleaven’s angels guard us while we tarry 1n 11;." u Amnn H anon-mun! anmnnfl anumlv- “Amen,” answered Reymond gravely. “ Not, however," added he, more cheerfully, “that I am aware of our needing any special gym-digs, ot‘her than _whnt all mor- tale need against their spiritual foe. As for mortal enemies, never. surely, was a. little house so girt about with defenders as is ours. The smugglers in the Village would fight for you as resolutely as ever they fought for an snker of rum; While the good lieutenant and his twenty men here would draw their cutlasses in your defence as gallantly as though you were the Inland Revenue herself. What a. snug home they have yonder! Of all the com- fortable-looking, ship-shape. spick-and-spau residences that men can dwell in, I do think a. preventive station is the most enviable.” The path had gradually risen until it brought them in eight of the tenement in question, a long low line of building, with a veranda in front of it, and a large garden, which extended to the sandy shore. They stood now at the look-out station, marked by a mast for signal-flags. and sheltered by a turf-bank from the Wind, with the grass worn almost bare upon it in places where the man on duty was wont to lay his§teles- capeâ€"altogether a snug vantage-ground enough, and of course commanding a great expanse of view. The picturesque broken ground over which the three had come, upon one side ; and on the other. a white curved bay, with the coast-guard boat high on the shining sand, and ready to be launched at a minute’s notice; while in front the sea could be swept for scores of miles. But by far the most noticeable feature of “ the Lookâ€"out ” was certain carved wooden images stuck up on end. which gave to it the appearance of a spot dedicated to heathen rites. These idols, though representing the softer sex as often as the masculine, were by no means re- markable for personal beauty. Not one had been permitted to retain its entire complement of limbs, and if a lady had man; aged to preserve the aquilinity of her nose she might consider herself a fortunate excep- tion. These were figure-heads of vessels which the cruel waves had mutilated. when they cast the ships to which they belonged upon that long low reef to westward stretching far out to sea. Already, will! the growmg wind. the waters churned and foamed there in white malice ; but in that comparative calm it was impossible to picture what wild work they made there during a storm. What hours of human agony had been witnessed by those pitiless clifl's, when. seudding before the gale, the helpless ships came on to their doom among the hissing breakers! What vain resolutions of repentance had they beheld in the white scared faces of whom Death was beckoningâ€"what dumb resolve to meet the worst like men ! From Deadman's Reef no living man or woman ever yet came to land; nay. the bodies of the drowned which strewed the coast for days after a wreck could scarcely be called human, so bruised and mangled were they by the sharp and jagged rocks; but at a very low tide the rest was not without its attractions. Gold had been found there, and was found there still in old world or alien coins, guineas, moidores, dollars and doubloons; while it was even said that on a time when a ship from the Indies was there wrecked, the silver sand of Lucky Bay (so called in consequence) had been mingled mth sparkling gold-dust, and that the ivory teeth of elephants glistened u on the bare brown beach. The little churc -yard some four miles away, was three parts occupied with the bones thus cast on shore; most of then: unknown, and buried in one mighty grave with a common headstone, Sacred to the Memory of the Crew of this or that vessel, whopcriahed in a storm 01)“ Dead-man’s Reef, and then the date. Nay, sometimes the very ship was nameless; her home-port and her destination alike unknown; and the part of the world she came from only guessed by her scattered and ownerless cargo. And yet, those who perished in her had relatives, and friends, and lovers, like the rest of us, and for long years were watched for, doubtless, and heaven impor- tuned for themâ€"not altogether, let us hope, in vain. But it is an ill wind that blows no one any good, and the coast pepulation there- abouts were by no means averse to a south- west ale. and what it brought them. “Best is king. and viral wrecks," was their motto; and many a cottage in the neighborhood of Lucky Bay was indebted for its most ambitious piece of furniture to the fury of the winds and waves. Such waits were reckoned as gifts of Providence. and accepted by the simple folk with genuine thankfulness. much as a cod her- vest mightbe acknowledged by t e pious elsewhere. In old times there had been ugly stories afloat of shi s having been lured to their destruction y false lights. professing to be safety-beacons ; but whether true or fa se. such matters belonged to the East only. Above the clifis which looked own on the reef,there was now a little light- fi‘k house. whloh shot e fiery warning {er out to see ; end this wee served by a couple of men, who resided by turns with the coast» guard. there being only room for one ledger in this hot Pheros. Thus. Lucky Bay was de looted. as it were. to the protection of life as well as property. and seemed. at least to one of the three persons who were now looking down upon it. as the most desirable of human homes. “Howl wish that we lived here. dear Raymond. with those good kind Careys. watched night and day by trusty guardians. instead of in our lonely cottage. where. whenever you are absent. I feel so forlorn and unprotected. See. there is the lieu- tenant himself. and With a stranger too, as it seememt least I never saw him about the station before. " . " Perhaps he is some official visitor, or superintendent ; Carey told me the other day that he was expecting some person of that kind. Look how he is pointing out to him the vegetable lions; I t ink I can hear him telling about those potatoes having been dibbled in by old Jacob, the lantern-keeper with his wooden leg; that’s one of the old gentleman’s stock stories. Ah. now he sees us. Look how he interrupts his talk, and breaks away from his visitor at once to come and bid_ yon welcome; _we may be sure therefore, that he is not the inspecfor.” Certainl , it such he was, Lieutenant Carey pai less res 0!; than is usual in such cases to any 0 oial superior, striding away from him with rapid steps to meet the new-comers. and pouring forth, in a rich and powerful voice, a. rain of welcome as he came. - “ This is charming of you, Mrs. Hep- burn; this is very friendly to walk so far to our poor home; and to bring your trea- sure with you tooâ€"my little godchild. Marion, Marion 1" (here he raised his voice as though contending with some fancied strife of the elements) “come out. wife; here are the Hepburns." Then, as he and his visitors approached one another, he went on in what he honestly considered to be confidential tones. but which could be heard in a favorable wind about half a mile. “ I am so delighted to see you, Hepburn; always delighted, of course, but particularly so to-day. Here’s a strange lubber come to stay with me from the Crown. of West- port-town, recommended by the landlordâ€" a man whom one respects and to whom I am under obligations, butâ€"just as though I kept a. tavern like himself. ‘ My friend, Mr. Stevens,’ writes he, ' is exceedingly anxious to see the coast near Lucky Bay, and especially the Mermaid Cavern, during these spring tides ; and there being no accommodation for himself nearer than this, and much more for his man (who remains here), I have ventured to ask you to give him a shake-down for a night or two.’ That's just what the fellow writes, and here is this Mr. Stevensâ€"a lubber, air, a lubberâ€"upon my hands. I have not an hour's time to spare, in expectation of this inspection. You must show him the Mer- maid Cavern, Hepburn; you must show him the coast." A stout, florid and, notwithstanding his present trouble, a very cheerfuLlooking man, was Lieutenant Carey. though he had been pitted by the smaleox in a manner which, he was wont himself to say, was no mere seeming. Though it was his way to beeloquent upon whatever annoyed him, he was by no means of a repining charac- ter, otherwise finding himself a lieutenant still, after about forty years of sea servrce, he might perhaps have considered his own case a hard one. and Lucky Bay rather a misnomer as his place of residence. But, on the contrary, not only did he make the very best‘of his position, but entertained the visionary idea that it would be improved some day; that to have a post in the coast-guard was not another name for being put on the shelf; and that a day would come when he would snifi the incense of oflicial favor, and be rear- admiral of half the colors of the rainbow before he died. It was a happy faith. and must have been shared in those evil days of favoritism by many another gallant sea- man, or surely the Lords of Admiralty would have all met their doom at the hands of naval Bellingbams ; grey-headed mates must have hanged themselves_ from the yard-arm, and shipless commanders taken to fresh water in despair from the top of Waterloo bridge. It was Lieutenant Carey‘s belief, in spite of some adverse evidence, that the Admiralty kept a favor able eye upon him. It was true, indeed, that there had been no indecent haste in promoting their protege, but what they had said to themselves was this : “ What- ever happens, we have John Carey in reserve ; we know where to find himâ€"we know where to lay our hands upon him ; and by ” (here the swore a little, as it wasthe fashionto o in those days, par- ticularly when under the influence of friendly emotions)â€"“ and by the Lord Harry,but some day we'll do it.” That day was still indefinite. and being so. why, it might be any day. Therefore, Lieuten- ant Carey held himself constantly in readiness for promotion, kept his preven- tive station in an absolute flawless state of discipline and perfection; and could have exchanged it for the stern cabin of any vessel suitable for a young commander of four-and-fifty, at a moment's notice and with a good conscience. In the meantime, he indulged his imagination by putting such superior ships in commission that were likely to fall to his share at first, and in reading his own appointment thereto upon the quarter-deck to a crew that had flocked in hundreds to serve under his respected name. He had even concocted a little speech, very short and very pithy, to deliver under those precise circumstances ; and pending their occurrence. had repeated it to Marion, his wife, about one hundred and forty times: . _ _ us a .I ,~A|,L_-_L " Don't you think it will be the right sort of thing to say. Marion ?" he would inquire; and alter ever re tition Mrs. Carey would gravely rep y. " t couldn’t be better. John.” She took an immense interest in the alterations which he had determined to make in the cabin arrange- ments. which was the less to be wondered at since they had nothing but her own convenience and comfort in view; for in those days a sea captain in His Majesty’s service was permitted to have his wife on board with him; and had it not been so, good John Carey‘s dream would have been robbed of half its pleasure. Marion had been the only daughter of his Lriend and _AIA-I!- A qu vnv val-J .â€" co-religionisbâ€"forn(3arey min a. Catholic. a circumstance which perhaps did not benefit his professional prospects in those daysâ€"- (Continued on seventh page.