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é. generalBan‘I-{ing business trans- acted. Drafts issued and coiiections made 12-1; -.1':! points. Deposits 19- ceived ruu‘. in°erest allowed at. --ur- Z'e {It ra {.05. posit.“ .- aster; : iv custome interew allowed on Savm Agencies in all principal points in On 1 taz-ic, Quebec. Manitoba, United States and England. DEERING Binders. flowers. Rukoh: and Twinvs. Wilkinson's Flows. Land Rollers and Diamond Smooth ing Narrows. McGill Turnip Sou-cars. Dowseil‘s Chums. \Vaeizers and \Vringcrs, U. S. Cream Sen-.z-atm's, Cameron 623 Dunn Hay Forks. Snowball and Chatham Wagons: Palmerston Buggies and Demo-mats Also Grier BuggiesLondon. a ham} fir... mhhu new Also a Number of Horses for Sale S. P. 8.4 UNDERS DO YOU WANT ? For Capital Authorized . . £2,000,000 Paid Up ............. 1,000,000 Reserve Fund ........ 850.000 Wagons, Buggies, Etc. JOHN CLARK PLO\\' POINTS and a full line of general repairs con- stantly kept on hand here. Macl'aine 0i], Harness Uil. Axle Grease and H00: Ointment, go to hati 111mg: \IM Blankets. Flannels, Yarns, Tweeds. Ready-made Clothing, Prints, Cottons, Flannelettes. Men’s Hats. Caps, Boys’ Hats, Caps, Underwear, Fresh Gro- ceries of all kinds. etc. LVW. 512mg: m» \‘S I! RHAM AGENCY . h :1. t an. .â€"â€"Goods delivered twice a. day to all parts of the Town. Cal! and examine the goods and find out prices red on Savings Bani; dc- an~i upwarm. Prumpt «very facility afioz'ded in: H'. H. distance. . SCOTT’S. 'r‘i 1's : Ufiass The Harnessmuker. ATâ€" SDCCIRJ} DUKE-E ONTARIO V were :u'S“ The" eye he has for immaculate linen and faultless collars. How it amazes his mother and sisters to learn that there isn’t a shirt in the house fit for a pig to wear, and that he wouldn’t wear the ~ best collar in his room to be hanged 1n. And the boots he crowds his feet into! A Sunday school room the Sunday be- fore the picnic or the Christmas tree, with its sudden influx of new scholars, with irreproachable morals and ambitious appetites, doesn’t compare with the over crowded condition of those boots. Too tight in the instep; too narrow at the toes; too short at both ends; the only thing about these boots that don’t hurt him, that don’t fill his very soul with agony are the straps. When Tom is pull- ing them on, he feels that if somebody would kindly run over him three or four times, with a freight train, the sensa- tion would be pleasant and reassuring and tranquilizing. The air turns black before his Starling eyes, there is a roar- ing like the rush of many waters in his ears, he tugs at the straps that one cut- ting his fingers in two and pulling his arms out by the roots, and just before his bloodshot eyes shoot clear out of his head, the boot comes onâ€"or the strap pulls off. Then when he stands up, the earth rocks beneath his feet, and he thinks he can faintly hear the angels sailing his home. When he walks across the floor the first time his standing in the church and Christian community is ruined forever. Or would be if any one could hear what he says. He never, never, never gets to be so old that he cannot remember those boots, and if it is seventy years afterwards his feet curl up in agony at the recollection. The first time. he wears them he is vaguely aware as he leaves his room that there is a kind of “fixy” look about him, and his sister’s tittering is not needed to confirm this impression He has a cer- tain half-defined impression that every- thing in has on is a size trco small for an; other man of his size. That his Pro-its are a trifle snug, like a house with {:51}? rooms for a family of thirty-seven. : 21:.1 the hamvhich sets so lightly on the vruwn of his head. is jaunty but, limited, iii-2+» :: junior cicrk’s salary; that his glows are a neat fit, and can not; be but- Linmi with a stump nmchine. Tom one foot by setting: it. up on the heel. Ami she sees him sneak it back under his chair and tilt in up on the toe for a. change. She sees him ease the other foot :1 little by tugging: the heel 0f the boob at the leg: of the chair. A lmzurdoua reck- less. presumptunus experiment. Tom tries it so far one night. and slides his heel so far up the leg of his boot, that his foot actually feels comfortable. and. he thinks the angels must: be rubbing it. He wal"s out of the parlor sideways th'lt night, tryinzr to hide the cause of the sudden elongation of one leg, and he hobbies all the Wu} home in the same disjointed condition. But Laura. sees that too. She sees all the little knobs and lumps on his foot, and sees him fidget on his foot, and sees him fidget and fuss, she sees the look of anguish flitting across his face under the heart- less. deceitful. veneering of smiles. and she makes the mental remark that muster Tom would feel much happier and much more comfortable, and me e like staying longer, if ll? haul "w ll his futile’r S bouts. But on his Wu. 1 the }1¢:u=s.(iespite th.O distimmion of his (flying feet. how many pleaâ€"«mt. 17.31;; immtifu} romantic things 'i'o111 thinks ':;1 my: recolizwtts and compiles zu1d-er11113:'1.-'1:»: to .‘uy h") 1.: zura, to i211press her who his o.ri;:i :1lity,:1nd wisdom. and genius, and bright exuber- ant fancy and gf-nerul supexiwity 11v: 11 the rest of '1 (1111’s kind. iteul earnest things. you know. no hoilow, conven- tional compliments. or nonsense, but such thin": Tom hitters himself, as; none. of the other fellows can or Will- 4115‘. He has them 1.11 in beautiful order when he gets :1: t.» foot of the hill. The remark about the weather, to begin with; not the stereotyped old phrase, but a quaint, droii, humorous conceit that no one in the world but Tom could think of. Then, aft-'1' the opening over- ture about the weather, something about music and Beethoven’s sonata in B flat and Hayden’s symphonies, and of course something about Beethoven’s grand old Fifth symphoay, somebody’s else mass, in heaven knows how many flats; and then something about art and a profound thought or two on science and philosophy, and so on to poetry and from poetry to “business.” But alas, when Tom reaches the gate all these well ordered ideas display evi- dent symptoms of breaking up; as he crosses the yard he is dismayed to know that they are in the convulsions of a panic, and when he touches the bell knob, every, each. all and several of the ideas, original and compiled, that he has had on any subject during the past ten years, forsake him and return no more that evening. When Laura opened the door he had intended to say something real splendid about the imprisoned sun- light of something, beaming out a wel- come upon the what you may call it of the night or something. Instead of which he says, or rather gasps: “Oh, yes, to be sure; to be sure; ho!” And then, con- scious that he has not said anything particularly brilliant or original, or that most any of the other fellows could not say with a little practice, he makes one more eflort to redeem himself before he steps into the hall, and adds, “Oh, good morning, good morning.” Feeling that even this is only a partial success, he collects his scattered faculties for one united effort and inquires: “How is your mother?” And then it strikes him that mother?” And then it strikes him that he has about exhausted the subject, and he goes into the parlor, and sits down, and just as soon as he has placed his :e- proachful feet in the least agonizing position, he proceeds to wholly, com- pletely and supcgssfully forget everythinz [communal no over 1-7.- 1. “.13 fix: :19. returns to consciousness to fine himself, to hi< .mn amazement and equally to L.m.r;.’.~; m- wilderment, wnducdng s. con-.'o.-r.::;ti.m about the crops. uni at new met-nod of funding the national debt, subjecrs upon which he is about as well informed as the town clock. Be r.dlie~:, and makes a successful effort I) turn :11 '2 mavenâ€"~71.- tion into literary chxnnels bf: asking her if she has read any of Comm Dayle’s stories. And in a burst of cml inc-.3 in; asspres her that he would not be s: :- prised if it should min before morning. (And he hopes it will, and that in may be a flood, and the: he may get caught- in it, without an ml; nearer than (June Horn). And so, at lwt, the first. evening pa=ses away, and 310?? mature oelibern- tion and many unmet-9.95311 efforts he rises to go. But- he does not go. He wants to; but he doesn’t know how. He says, good eveningv. Then he repeats it in a marginal reference. 'l‘hen he nuts it in a foot note. Then he adds the remark in an appendix. and shakes hands. By this time he gets as far as the parlor door, and catches hold of the knob and holds on to it as tightly as though some one on the other side were trying to pull it through the door and run away with it. And he stands there a fldgetty statue of the door holder. He mentions, for not more than the twentieth time that even- ing that he is passionately fond of music but he can’t sing. Which isa lie; he can. Did she go to the World’s Fair? “No.” “Such a pity”â€"-he begins but stops in terror, lest she may consider his condol- ence a reflection upon her financial standing. Did he go? Oh, yes, yes; he says, abscntly, he went. Or, that is to say, no, not exactly. He did not exactly go to the Fair; he staid at hom .. In fact, he had not been out of town this summer. Then he looks at the tender little face; he'looks at the brown eyes, sparkling with suppressed merriment; he looks at the white hands, dimpled and soft, twin daughters of the snow; and the fairy picture grows more lovely as he looks at it, until his heart outruns his fears; he must speak, he must say something, impressive and ripe with meaning: for how can he go away with this suspense in his breast? Ills heart trembles as does his hand; his quivering! lips part, andâ€"Laura deftly hides a ya;.rrcm yawn behind her fan. Good night. and Tom is gone. There is a dejected droop to the mus- tache that. night. when in the solitude of his own room Tom releases his hands from the despotic gloves, anfl tenderly snot-he; two of the ruldest. pull-Sear. fez-p that; ever crept out ni‘ hmflta hm. i-ull‘ their uwn size, and sworn in mute. ms uln- qmmt anatomical prul‘anity an the wlmh: race of bnotmzzkcrs. His hear: is nearly as full of sorrow and l.)ix'1m'nn.~'s as his. boots. It; 3123mm: to him Lhm: ha shnwcd off to the “must: pussialu ;.(’1\':un=u;te; "nu is dimly conscious than in: acted very like a donkey. and 11:: has the not. :.:~n:'i:';iiy unnatural impression that she will nwnr want to see him again. So he 1.13%11():<¢)phi- cally and mszully makes up his mind never, never. never. to think of 1:12: again. Then he immediately proceeds, in the nmnlivst and most; natural way in the world, to think of nothing and no-‘. body else under the sun for the next ten hours. How the tender little face does haunt him. He pitches himself into bed with an aimless recklessness that tun:- bles pillows, bolster. and sheets into one shapeless, wild chaotic mass, and he goes through the motions of going to sleep, like a man who would go to sleep by steam. He stands his pillow up on end, and pounds it into a wad, and he props his head upon it as though it were the guillotine block. He lays it down and smooths it out level, and pats all the wrinkles out of it, and there is more sleeplessness in it to the square inch than there is in the hungriest mosquito that ever sampled :2. martyr’s blood. He gets up and smokes like a patent stove. although not three hours ago he told Laura that he oe-tes-ted tobacco. This is the only time Tom will ever go through this, in exactly this way. It is the one rare golden experience. the one bright, rosy dream of his life. He. may live to he as old as an army overcoat, and he. may marry as many wives as Brigham Young. singly, or in a cluster, but this will come to him but once. Let him enjoy all the delighted misery, all the ecstatic wretchezlness. all the hea- venly Iorlornness of it as best he can. And he. takes good. solid edifying misery out of it How he. does torture himself and hate Smith, the empty-headed donkey. who can talk faster than Tom 0: I: think. and whose mustaehe is black as Tom’s boots, and so long that he can pull one end of it with both hands. How he does detest that idiot Brown, who plays and sings and goes up there every time Tom does, and claws over a few old forgotten five-finger exercises and calls it music; who comes up there,some night when Tom thinks he has the evening and Laura all to himself, and brings up an old, tuncless, voiceless, cracked guitar, and goes crawling around in the wet grass under the windows and‘ makes night perectly hideous with what he calls a serenade. He speaks French, too, the beaSt. Poor Tom; when Brown’s lingual accomplishments in the language of Charlemagne are confined to â€"-“aw- aw-er ahâ€"vooly voo?” and on state occa- sions to the additional grandeur of “avy voo mong shapo?” But poor Tom who once covered himself with confusion by telling Laura that his favorite air in "Robert 1e Diable” was the beautiful aria “Rebert toy que jam,” considers Brown a very prodigal in linguistic attainments; another Cardinal Mezzo- tanti; and hates him for it accordingly. He hates Daubs, the artist, too, who was up there one evening and made an ofl- hand crayon sketch of her in an album. The picture looked more like Daubs’ mother, and Tom knew it. but Laura said it was oh just delightfully, perfectly splendid, and Tom has hated Daubs most cordially ever since. In fact, Tom hates every man who has the temerity ’° to speak to her, or who she may treat with lady-like courtesy. Until there comes one night when the boots of the inquisition pattern sit more lightly on their sufl'er- ing victims, when Providence has been on Tom’s side and has kept Smith and Brown and Daubs away, and has fright- ened Toni nearly to death by showing him no one in the little parlor with its old-fashioned furniture but himself and Laura and the furniture. When, almost without knowing how or why, they talk about life and its realities'instead .of the last concert or the next lecture; when they talk of their plans, and their day dreams and aspirations, and their ideals of real men and women; when they talk about the heroes and heroines of days long gone by, gray and dim in the ages that are ever made young and new by the lives of noble men and noble women who lived, and did, and never died in those grand old days, but lived and live 'on, as imperishable and fadeless in their glory as the glittering stars that sang at creation’q dawn _,When the room seems when the flush of earnestness upon her 1 face gives it a tinge. of sadness'that 3 makes it more beautiful than ever: when the dream and picture of a home Eden, ‘ and home life, and home love, grows every moment more lovely, more entranc- ing to him until at last poor blundering, stupid Tom, speaks without knowing what he is going to my, speaks without preparation or rehearsal, speaks and his honest, natu manly heart touches his faltering lips‘ ith eloquence and tender- ness and earnestness that all the rhetoric in the world never did and never will inspire, andâ€". That is all We know about it. Nobody knows what is said or how it is done. Nobody. Only the silent stars or the whispering leaves, or the cat. or maybe Laura’s younger brother, or the hired girl, who generally bulges in just as Tom reaches the climax. All the reSt of us know about it is, that Tom doesn’t come away so early that night, and that when he reaches the door he holds a pair of dimpled hands instead of the insensate door knob. He never clings to the door knob again; never. Unless ma, dear ma, has been so kind as to bring in her sewing and spend the even- ing with them. Tom doesn’t hate any- body, nor want to kill anybody in the wide, wide world, and he feels just as good as though he had just come out of a six months’ revival; and is happy enough to borrow money of his worst enemy. But there is no rose without a thorn. A'though, I suppose, on an inside com- putation,there is, in this weary old world as much as, say a peck, or a peck and a half possibly, of thorns without their attendant roses. Just the raw, bare thorns. 1n the highest heaven of his new found bliss, Tom is suddenly recalled to earth and its miseries by a question from Laura which falls like a plummet into the unrippled sea of the young man’s happiness, and fathoms its depths in the shallowest place. “Has her own 'l‘om”â€"as distinguished from countless other Toms. nobody’s Toms, unclaimed l l i l l l ! Toms, to all intents, and purposes swamp lands on the public matrimonial domain -â€"“Has her own Tom said anything to pa?" “Oh, yes! pa;” Tom says, “To be sure; yes.” Grim, heavy brewed, austere pa. The living embodiment of business. Wary, shrewd, the life and mainSpring of the house of Tare and Trot. “M. Well. N’no.” Tom had not exactly, as you might say, poured out his heart to pa. Somehow or other he had a rose-colored idea. that the thin .: Was going to ,1: right along: in this, way forever. 'l‘on‘. had an idea that th ' programme was :1}. arranged, printed :mrl distributed, rose- colored, gilt-edged, and perfumed. He was groin: to sit. and hold Laura’s hands. pa was to stay CURE“: at the oflime, and ma was to maize. i: . .Irs to the. parlor as much like amt»: ‘. for their rarity and hz'evity, a: possible. lint lie Sees, now that the matter hzzs been referred to, that i. is a grim assessii'j'. Laura doesn’t like to see such a spasm of terror pass over 'J'om’s face; and her coral lips quiver a little as sac hides her flushed lace out of sight on ’l'om's shoulder, and tells ' him how kind and tender pa has always i been with her, unti‘: ’l‘om feels positively 3 jl'alour: of pa. She tells him he must not dm-‘ad going to see him, for ,a will be oh 3 8., glad to know how happy, happy he I Can make his little girl. And as she talks to hin , the hard working, old-fashioned, tender-hearted old man, who Im'es his ye-es.” says Mr. Tret, in the wildest be- wilderment, but in no very encouraging 1 tones, thinking the young man probably 3 wants to borrow money; “Ye-es; I see you’ve come. Well; that’s all right; glad 3 to see you. Yes, you’ve come?” Tom’s Q hat is now making about nine hundred i and eighty revolutions per minute, and apparently not running: up to half its j full capacity. “Sir; Mr. 'i'ret,” he re- ? sumes, “I have come, sir; Mr. Tretâ€"I é am here toâ€"to sueâ€"to sue, Mr. Tretâ€"I "am here to sueâ€"" “Sue, eh?” the old ‘man echoes sharply, with a belligerent ? rustle of the newspaper; “Sue Tare ‘ Trot, eh? Well; that’s right, young man; : that’s right. Sue, and get damages. ‘ We’ll give you all the law you want.” I Tom’s head is so hot and his heart is so . cold, that he thinks they must be about i a thousand miles apart. “Sir,” he ex- iplains, “that isn’t. it. It isn’t that. I f only want to askâ€"I have long knownâ€" sir,” he adds, as the Opening lines of his speech comes to him like a message from: ; heaven, “Sir, you have a flower, a tender ; lovely blossom; chaste. as the snow th i crowns the. mountain’s brow; “fresh“: " i the breath of Amorn' : loveflier than.‘ girl as though she were yet. on) ' a biz; my her heart; grow: tenderer, and she Spuzks so earnestly 1nd 910quently that, 'lnm, at; first mmgwly jealous of him, is inn-mauled to fall in love with the old. gem! ~1mmâ€"hu culls him “Pa.” too, now -â€"himsolf. But by the following afternoon this {tn-Bins: is very faint. When he enters the cmmtiim-room of Tare 'l'ret and stands before pa, oh, land of loxe, how cmild Lou's lever Nil: so about such a. 1mm. 'tuhhy little pa; with a fringe of the most obstinate and wiry gray hair standing all around his bald head; the wiricst. grizzliest mustache bristling under his nose; a. tuft of tangled beard under the sharp chin, and a raspy under- growth of a Week’s run on the thin jaws; lmsiness, business, business, in every line of the hard, seamed face, and profit and loss, barter and trade, dicker and bar- gain. in every movement of the nervous hands. Pu: old business. He puts down the newsnsper a little «my, and looks awe? the. top of it as Tom announces himself, glancing at the young mam with 2: pair of blue eyes that: peer through old- fasnionod immbowexl spectacles. than look as though they had known these eyes .1.an dono business with them ever since they wept over their A.B.C.’s or peeped into the tall stone jar Sunday afternoon I!) look for the doughnuts Tom, who had felt all along there could be no inspiration on his part in this scene, has come prepared. At least he had his last true statement at his rrmgue’s end when he entered the count- ing-room. But now, it seems to him that if he had been brought up in a circus, and cradled inside of a sawdust ring, and all his life trained to twirl his bet, he couldn’t do it better. nor faster, nor be more utterly incapable of doing any- thing else. At last he swallows a. lump in his throat as big as a ballot box, and faintly gasps, “(flood morning.” Mr. 'l‘ret hastens to recognize him. ~“Eh? oh yes; yes. I see: young Bostwick, from. Dope 8: Middlerihs. Oh. yes. Wellâ€"2’” “I love come. sir,” gasps Tom, think- ing: all around the world from Cook’s explorations to “Captain Riley’s Narra- tive,” for the first line of that speech that Tare 8.: Tret have just scared out of him so completely that he doesn’t believe he ever knew a word of it. “I have come-” and he thinks if his lips didn’t get so dry and hot, they make his teeth ache, that he could get along with it: “I have, sirâ€"come, Mr. Tret; Mr. Trot, sirâ€"I have comeâ€"I am comeâ€"" “Yes, 3957‘” "”3813 melt- Yong-:5 o---_- nub“, sorta: ma wuao‘ ‘ ny' ' colon: nu- W rora’s car; pure as the lily kissed by dew. This precious blossom, watched by your paternal eyes, the object of your tender care and solicitude, 1 ask of you. I would wear it in my heart, and guard and cherish itâ€"and in theâ€"” “Oh, yes‘, yes, yes," the old man says soothingly, beginning to see that Tom is only drunk, “Oh, yes, yes, I don’t know much about them myself; my wife and the girls mm mamas-to ny- 'uowm generally keep half the windows in the house littered up with them, winter and summer. every window so full of house plants the sun can’t shine in. Come up to the house, they’ll give you all you cankcarry away, give you a hat full of ’em.” “No, no, no; you don’t under- stand,” says poor Tom, and old Mr. Tret now observe: that Tom is very drunk indeed. “1: isn’t that, sir. Sir, that isn’t it. Iâ€"Iâ€"I want to marry your daughter.” There it is at lasn, as bluntly as though Tom hm: wadd ed in into a gun and shot it at the old man. Mr. 'lret does not say anything for twenty seconds. Tom tens Lanra :h w evening that it was two hours and a half before. her father opened his Evad. Then he says, “Oh, yes, yes. yes; to he sare; toâ€"beâ€" “Oh, yes, yes. yes; no he sure; noâ€"beâ€" sure.” And then the long pauge is dreadful. “Yes, yes. Well, I don’t know. I don’t know about: than, young man. Said anything to Jennie abnut is?” “It isn’t Jennie,” Tom gasps, seeing a. new Rubicon to cross; “it’sâ€"" “Uh, Julie? Well, I don’tâ€"” “2:0,sir,” inserjccts the despairing Tom, “in isn’t; Julia, it’sâ€"” “Sophie, eh? Oh, well Sophie...” “Sir,” says Tom, “if you please, sir, it: isn’t Sophie, in’sâ€"” “Not: Minnie. surely? Why, Minnie is hardlyâ€"Well. I don’t know. Young folks get along faster thanâ€"" “Dear Mr. Trot,” breaks in the distracted lover. “it’s Laura.” As they sit and stand there. looking at each other, the dingy 01d counting-room with the heavy shadows lurking in every corner, with its time-worn, heavy brown furnishings, with the scanty dash of sunlight breaking in through the dusty window, looks like an old Rubens ? painting; the beginning and the Iinish- . ing of a race; the chi man. nearly ready to lay his armor ofi‘, glad to be near- ly and so safely through with the race and the light that Tom, in all his inex- perience and with all the rash enthusi- asm and conceit of a young man, is just getting readyr to run and fight, or fight and run. you never can tell which until he is through with it. And the old man. looking at Tom, an‘. through him, azm past him, feels his old heart throb Zil- lithi‘» as quickly as does that Of t'.'.‘ young man before him. For lookin .1 down a long vista or happy. eventfui years. bordered wir': t'nseate hopes and bright dreams and sun imitations. he sees .0. tender f.:ce, 1:11il' “at with smiles and kindled with Musics; he ":rls a soft hand drop into his own with its timid pressure; he sees 1h" vision Opt‘ll. under the glittering summer stars. down mossy hillsides. where the :ustlz-iss. breezes. Sigh- iug through the rustling-.1 leaves. whisper~ ed their tender svcrrts to the noisy Katydids; strolling along the winding: paths, deep in the innding wild grass. down in the star-lit aisles of the. dim old woods; loitering where the nic:_uio‘.v brook sparkles over the white pebbles or murmurs around the great flat stepping- stones; lingering on the rustic foot- bridge, while he gazes into eyes eloquent and tender in their silent love-light; up through the long pathway of years, flecked and checkered with sunshine and cloud, with storm and calm. through years of struggle, trial, sorrow, disap- pointment, out at last into the grand, glorious, crowning beauty and benison of hard-won and well-deserved success, until he sees now this second Laura, re-imaging her mother as she was in the dear old days. And he rouses from his dream with a start, and he tells Tom he’ll “Talk it over with Mrs. Tret, and see him again in the morning.” So they are duly and formally en- gaged; and the very first thing they do, they make the very sensible. though very uncommon, resolution to so conduct themselves that no one will ever suspect it. And they succeed admirably. No one ever does suspect it. They come into church in time to hear the benediction-â€" every time they come together. They shun all other people when church is dis- missed. and are seen to go home the longest way. At picnics they are missed not more than fifiy times a day, and are discovered sitting under a tree, hold- ing each other’s hands. gazing into each other’s eyes and sayingâ€"nothing. When he throws her shawl over her shoulders, he never looks at what he is doing, but looks straight into her starry eyes, throws the shawl right over her natural curls. and drags tileln out by the hair pins. If, at sociable or festival, they are left alone in a dressing room a second 'and a half. Laura emerges with her ruffle standing around like a railroad accident; and Tom has enough complex- ion on his shoulder to go arounda young ladies’ seminary. When they drive out, they sit in a buggy with a seat eighteen inches Wide, and there is two feet of un- occupied room at either end of it. Long years afterwards, when they drive, a street car isn’t: too wide for them; and when they walk, you could drive four loads of hay between them. And yet, as carefully as they guard their precious little secret, and ‘ as cau- tions and circumspect as they are in their walk and behavior, it gets talked around that they are engaged. People are so prying and suspicious. And so the months of their engage- ment run on; never before, or since, time flies so swiftly. Unless, it may be, some time when Tom has an acceptance in bank to meet in two days, that he can’t lift one end ofâ€"and the wedding day dawns, fades, and the wedding is over. Over, with its little circle of de- lighted friends, with its ripples of plea- sure and excitement, with its touches of home life, that leave their iasting im- press upon Laura’s heart, although Tom, with man-like blindness, never sees one of them. Over, with ma, with the thou- sand and one anxieties attendant on the grand event in her daughter’s life, hid- den away under her dear old smiling face, down, away down, under the tender glistening eyes, deep in the loving heart; ma, hurrying here and fluttering there, in the intense excitement of something strangely made up of happiness and grief, of apprehension and hope; ms. with her sudden disappearances and flushed reanpearances, indicating strug- gles and triumphs in the turbulent world down stairs: ma, with the new-tangled belt, with the dinner-plate buckles, fastp ened on wrong side foremost, and the flowers dangling down the wrong side of her head, to Sophie’s intense horror and pantomimic telegraphy; ma, flying here and there, seeing that every thing is'go- ing right, from kitchen to dressing-rooms; looking after everything and everybody, with her hands and heart just as full as theyswill hold, and more voices calling ‘_ ” from every room in the house, "‘ 7 ”v.4: this: one hundred mas all, andshe eeesatter everything, and just in the nick of time prevents Mr. 'h-et from going downstairs and attend- ing the ceremony in a loud- dras- ing-gown and green slippers, 1 ma, who, with quivering lip and glistening eyes, has to be cheerful, and lively, and smil- ing; because it, as she thinks of the dearest and best of her flock going away from her told, to give her life and her happiness into another’s keeping, 5119 gives away for one moment, a dozen re- proaohful voices cry out, “Oh-h, ma 1" How it all comes back to Laura, like the tender shadows of a dream, long years after the dear, dear face, furrowed with marks of patient suffering and loving care, rests under the snow and the daisies; when the mother love that glis- tened in the tender eyes has closed in darkness on the dear old home; and the nerveless hands, crossed in dreamless sleep upon the pulseless breast, can never again touch the children’s heads with caressing gestures; how the sweet vision comes to Laura as it shone on her wed- ding morn, rising in tenderer beauty through the blinding tears her own ex- cess of happiness calls up, as the rain- bow spans the cloud only through the migling of the golden sunshine and the falling rain. And pa, dear old shabbby pa, whose clothes will not fit him as they fit other men; who always dresses just a year and a half behind the style; pa, wandering up and down through the house, as though he were lost in his own home, pacing through the hall like a sentinel, blundering aimlessly and listlessly into rooms where he has no business, and being repelled therefrom by a chorus of piercing shrieks and hysterical giggling; pa, getting ofl his well worn jokes with an assumption of merriment that seems positively real; pa, who creeps away by himself once in a while and leans his face against the window, and sighs, in direct violation of all strict household regulations, right against the glass, as he thinks of the little girl going away to-day from the home whose love and tenderness and patience she knows so well. Only yesterday, it seems to him, the little baby girl, bringing the first music of baby prattle into his home, then a little girl in short dresses, with school- girl troubles and school-girl pleasures; then an older girl, out of school and into society, but a little girl to pa still. And. thenâ€". But- somehow,this isas farus pa can get, for he sees. in the iligrht of this, the first, the following flight of the otlwr fledglings; and he thinks how silent and desolate the old nest will be when They have all mated and flown away '11 thinks. when their flight sh 111 l me made other homes Might and ( 311 mu 1.11:1 sparkling, with music and {um} and laughter, how it 11.1211 h-ayu the uh! home hushed and quiet and still. l-Zinw 311 the long, lonesome aftt1rnm'111;.~'.z11h :1 will sit by the empty or :1dletz1: 1t 1111 lu' 1 the n all, murmuriug 1711.11 sum. .. ulz‘. (1. 1.111111 songs that brood-.1". over :11] :1 Mr sham. until the rising. 1' 1.111224 ( h11 1: th 1. sw;-.1.';11:z cradle and choki- tlw sourâ€":11}! Us“): over river and mountain 1.:111prair.1 111: roll and stretch am: cise in :\\11111 11.1» mil home and the new ones, C(lllnff. hm 1c the prattle of her little. ones, the rippling music of their laughter. the tender (1a.- dences of their songs. until the hushed old home is haunted by memories of its childrenâ€"gray and old they may 00. with other ehilz‘ 11. n clustering about their knees, but to the dear old home they are “the children” still. And dream- ing thus, when pa for a moment finds his little girl aloneâ€"his little girl who is going away out of the home whose love she knows,into ahome whose tender- ness and patience are all untriedâ€"he holds her in his arms and whispers the most fervent blessing that ever throbbed rom a father’s heart; and Laura’s wed- ding day would be incomplete and un- feellng without her tears. So is the pat- tern of our life made up of smiles and tears, shadows and sunshine. Tom sees none of the background pictures of the wedding day. He sees none of its real, heartfelt earnestness. He sees only the bright, sunny tints and happy figures that the tearful. shaded background throws out in golden relief; but never stops to think that, without the sha- dows. the clouds, and the somber tints of the background the picture would be flat, pale and lusterless. And then the presents. The assort- ment of brackets, serviceable, ornamental andâ€"cheap. The Ranch clock, that never went, that does not go, that never will go. The nine potato mashers. The eight mustard spoons. The three cigar stands. Eleven match safes; assorted patterns. A dozen tidies, charity fair style, blue dog on a yellow background. barking at a green bay climbing a red fence after seal brown apples. The two churns, old pattern, straight handle and dasher, and they have as much thought of keeping a cow as they have. of keeping a section of artillery. Five things they didn’t know, the names of. and never could find any body who could tell what they were for. A nickle-plated cork- screw, that Tom, in a fine burst of in- dignation throws out of the window, which Laura says is just like her own impulsive Tom. Not long after her own impulsive Tom catches his death of cold and ruins the knees of his best trousers crawling around in the wet grass hunt- ing for that same corkscrew. Which is also just like her own impulsive Tom. Then the young people go to work and buy e-v-e-r-y thing they need, the day they go to housekeeping. Everything. Just as well, Tom says, to get every thing at once and have it delivered right up to the house as to spend five or six or ten or twenty years in stocking up a house, as his father did. Laura thinks so too, and she wonders that Tom should know so much more than his father. This worries 'l'om himself, when he thinks of it, and he never rightly under- stands how it is. until he is forty-five or fifty years old and has a T01!) of his own to direct and advise him. So they make out a list, and revise it, and rewrite it. until they have everything down, com- plete, and it isn’t until supper is ready the first day that they discover there isn’t a knife, a fork, or a plate or a spoon in the new house. The first day the washerwoman comes, and the water is hot, and the clothes are all ready, it is discovered that there isn’t a washtuh nearer than the grocery. Further along in the day the discovery is made that while Tom has bought a clothes line that will reach to the north pole and back, and then has to be coiled up a mile or two in the back yard, there isn’t in clothes pin in the settlement. In course of a week or two Tom slow awakens to the realization of the . " that he has only begun to get. It , ' should live two thousand years, w», he rarely does, and possibly may would think, just fibefore he something they wanted , ~. for five centuries, and had 0 , " too poor to get, or Tom had