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Poor Mr. Potts is the victim of the hour. Though why, because he is enraged with Marcia, Mr. Amherst should expend his vioâ€" lence upon the wretched Plantagenet is a matter for speculation. He leaves no stone unturned to bring down condemnation on the head of this poor youth and destroy his peace of mind; but fortunately Plantagenet has learned the happy knack of “ducking” men- tally and so letting all hostile missiles fly harmless over his rosy head. Allin vain. The little black dog has set- tled down on the old gentleman’s shoulders with a vengeance and a. determination to see it nut with the guests not to be shaken. After dinner Mr. Darley good ~11aturedly suggests a game of bezique with his host, but is snubbed, to the great grief of those assem- bled in the drawing-room. Thereupon Dar- Iey, with an air of relief, takes up a book and retires within himself, leaving Mr. Buscurlet to come once more to the front. “ You have heard, of course, about the Wy- burns ?” he says, addressing Mr. Amherst. “ They are very much out up about that sec- ond boy. He has turned out such a fail- ure ! He missed his examination again last week." “I see no cause for wonder. What dons Wyburn expect? .At sixty-five 1m weds a silly chit of nineteen without an earthly idm in her head, and then dreams at giving :2 ga- nius to the world ! When,” says Mr. Amherst, turning his gaze freely upon the devoted Potts. “men marry late in life they always beget fools.” “That’s me,” says Mr. Potts, addressing Molly in an undertone, utterly unbashed. “ My father married at sixty and my mother at twenty-five. In me you behold the, fatal result.” " b'peumfly blessed,” he repeats. “ I had reason to be proud of them. Each child as he or she married gave me fresh cause for joy. Marcia’s mother was an Italian dancer.” â€"COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. Whether it is because of Marcia’s demeanor towards Mr. Buscarlet or the unusual excel- lence of the weather no one can tell, but to- night Mr. Amherst is in one of his choicest moods. Each of his remarks outdoes the last in brilliancy of conception, Whilst all tend in one direction and show a laudable desire to touch on open wounds. Even the presence of his chosen intimate, the lawyer, who remains to dinner and an uncomfortable evening after- wards, has not power to stop him, though Mr. Buscrtrlet does all in his knowledge to concil- iete him, and fags on wearin through his gossiping conversation with an ardor and such an amount of staying power as raises admiration even in the breast of Marcia. “ My dear Buscarlet, did you ever hear of u dunce whose mother did not go about im- pressing upon people how idle the dear boy was ? Idle ! Poor ! lack of intellect l” “ At all events, the \Vyburns are to be pitied. The eldest son’s marriage with one so much beneath him was also a. and blow.” “ Was it? Others endure like blows and make no complaint. It is quite the common and regular thing for the child you have nur- tured to grow up and embitter your life in every possible way by marrying against your wishes or otherwise bringing down disgrace upon your head. I have been specially blessed in my children and grandchildren." i _“ She was an actress,” Marcia. interposes, calmly, not a. line of displeasure, not the faint- est trace of anger, discernible in her pale face. ” I do not recollect having ever heard she danced." “Probably she suppressed that fact. It hardly adds to one’s respectability. Philip’s father was aspendthrift. His son develops day by day a. very dutiful desire to follow in his footsteps.” Yet it is noticeable that he makes no further attempt to slight the memory of the dead Massereene. “I shan’t be able to stand much more of this," says Mr. Potts, presently, coming be- hind the lounge on which sit Lady Stafford and Molly. “I shall infallibly blow out at that obnoxious old person, or else do some. thing equally reprehensible." “ He is a perfect bear,” says Cecil, angrily. “ He is a. wicked old man,” says Molly, still trembling with indignation. “ Just so. no douBtâ€"no doubt,” says Mr. Buscarlut. nervously. There 15 a meaning sneer about. Hm old man’s lips. “ Peilmps I might do worse,” Shadwell re- plies. with a little aggravating laugh. “ At all events he was beloved.” “ So he wasâ€"while his money lasted Eleanor’s fatherâ€"~â€"” With a sudden, irrepressible start, Molly rises to her feet and, with a. rather white face, turns to her grandfather. “ I will thank you, grandpapa, to my noth- ing against my father,” she says, in tones so low, yet so full of dignity and indignation, thth the old man actually pauses. " High tragedy,” says he. with a sneer. “Why, you are allwrongly assurtm‘z. The actress should have been your mother, Eleanor." “ He ii a. jolly old: snook," says Mr. Potts. But as neither of his listeners know what 110 meags, they’do not respond. “ Well, W011," goes on Mr. Buscm'h‘t. hasti- ly, with a. View of checking the storm. “ I think in this case it was more idleuuss than want. of brain.” “ That is the way with you men ; you don‘t un- derstand usmyou cannot.” “ Let us-do somethinâ€"g,” says Plantagnnet, brislily. “ Bin; what ? Will you sing for us, Molly? Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast.” “ It would take a good deal of music to soothe our beta noir,” says Potts. “ Besides â€"-I confess itâ€"music is not what Artomus Ward would call my forte. I don’t understand it. I am like the man who said. he only know two tunes in the world, one was God save the Queen, and the otherâ€"«wasn’t. No, let us do something activeAâ€"something unusualâ€"some- thing wicked." “ If you can suggest anything likely to anâ€" swer to your description, you will make me your friend for life,” says Cecil, with solem- nity. “ I feel bad.” “ A devil," repeats he, unmoved. ” I don’t mean our own particular old gentleman, who has been behaving so sweetly to-night, but a regular bonalfidc one." '7 Did you ever see a devil ?”asks Mr. Potts in a sepplchral tone. “ A that ?” exclaim Cecil and Molly, in a breath. 1‘ Are you Ia Spiritualist ?” Cecil asks, with awe. “ Nothing half so paltry. There is no J“ caption about my performance. It in sim- plimty itself. There is no rapping. but a great deal of powder. Have you msvm‘ seen one 7" siasm. “ Then you shall.” Much gratified ” It won‘t be much, you know, but it has a pretty effect, and anything will be less deadly than sitting here listening to the honeyed Speeches of our host. I will go and prepare my work, and call you when it i_s read." In twe-nty minutes he returns and beckons them to come ; and, rising, both girls quit the drawing-room. With much glee Mr. Potts conducts them across the hall into the l1brary, where they find all the chairs and the centre-table pushed into a corner, as though to make room for one soup-plate which occupies the middle of the floor. On this plate stands a miniature hill, broad at the base and tupenng at the sumâ€" mit, composed of blended powder and water, “ These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die, like fire and pow- der.” MOLLY BAWN. “ Oh I Molly Bawn, Why leave me pmmg, All lonely waiting here for you.”â€"â€"pld Song A devil? Never." Should you like to ?" Shouldn‘t I ?" says Cecil, with enthu BY THE AUTHOR OF " PHYLLIS CHAPTER XVIII -ROMEO AND J ULIET " It will go off, certainly; but it won’t do any damage," replies their showman, with confidence; “ and really it is very pretty While burning. I used to make ’em by hundreds when I was a. boy, and nothing ever happened except once, when I blew the ear 01f my father’s Coachman.” Striking a match, he applies it to the little black mountain, and in a second it turns into a burning one. The sparks fly rapidly up- wards. It seems to be pouring its fire in little liquid streams all down its sides. Cecil and Molly are in ruptures. “ It is Vesuvius,” says the former. “ It is Mount Etna,” says the latter, “ ex- cept much better, because they don’t seem to have any volcanoes nowadays. Mr. Potts, you deserve a prize medal for giving us such a treat.” ‘ Presmltly, hovllever. théy slightly alter their Hentiments. Every school-boy knows 110W overpowerinng the smell offlbumt powder. which Mr. Potts has been carefully heating in an oven during his absence until accordâ€" ing to his hghts it has reached a proper dry- ness. This is not reassuring. Molly gets a little closer to Cecil, and Cecil gets alittle nearer to Molly. They both sensibly increase the dis- tance between them and the devil. “ Now I am going to put out the lamp,” says Plantagenet. suiting the action to the Word and suddenly placing them in darkness “ It don’t look anything if there is light to overpower its own brilliancy.” “ Plantagenet, my dear, I didn’t believe it was in you.” says Cecil. “ Permit me tocom- plimeut you 011 your unprecedented success.” ” What an intolerable smell l” says Molly, when the little mound is half burned down, putting her dainty handkerchief up to her nose. “ Oh ! What is it? Gunpowder? Brim- stone ‘3 Sulphur?” “ Ami extremely appropriate. too, dour." guys lil (Ail. who has also got her nose buried in her eambrie; “ entirely carries out the chameter of the entertainment. You surely didn’t expect to be rogaled with incense or attar of roses? By the bye, Plantagenet, is there going to be much more of it-â€"â€"the smell, I mean 2’" " Not much,” replies be. “And, after all, what is it? If you went out shooting every day you wouldn‘t think nothing of it. For my part I almost like the smell. It is wholesome, and -â€"+r~â€" Oh, by Jove l” ’1‘};er is a loud reportâ€"a crashâ€"two terri- liml Screamsâ€"and then utter darkness. The haw, of the hill, being too dry, has treacherâ€" uusly gone oil without warning; hence the ex- plosion. Mr. Potts, finding himself in the middle, bozins to wish he had been born without arms, as he now knows not how to dispose of them. He stirs the right one, and Cecil in- stnntly declares in an agonized whisper that she is falling off the pedestal. He moves the left. and Molly murmurs frantically in another instant she will be through the cur- tains at her side. Driven to distraction, poor Potts. with many apologies, solves the diifi~ culty by placing an arm round each complain- ant, and so supports them on their treacher- ous footing. “ Good gracious I what is it ?“ asks Molly. “ Powder 1" says Potts. “ I hope it won’t go off and blow us all to bits," says Cecil, anxiously. “ You aren’t hurt. are you ?” asks Mr. Potts, a minute later, in a terrified whisper, being unable to see Whether his companions are dead or alive. “ I am quite safe,” says Molly, “ but hor- ribly frightened. Mr. Potts are you all right ‘2” “ 1 am.” He is ignorant of the fact that one of his cheeks is as black as any nigger's, and that both his hands resemble it. “ I really thought it was all up when I heard your scream. It was that wretched powder that got too dry at the end. However,it doesn’t matter.” “ Have you both your ears. Molly ‘3" asks Cecil, with a laugh ; but a sudden commotion in the hall outside, and the rapid advance of footsteps in their direction, check her merri- ment, “ 1 hem‘ Mr. Amherst’s voice, says Mr. Putts, tragically.. “ If he finds us here we are ruined.” “ Let us get behind the curtains at the other end of the room,” Whispers Cecil, hur- riedly; “ they may not find us thereâ€"andâ€" throw the plate out of the window.” No sooner said than done; Plantagenet with a quick movement precipitates the soup- plateâ€"01- rather what remains of itâ€"~into the court-yard beneath, where it falls with a. 1101'â€" rible clatter, and hastily follows his two com. panions into their uncurtain hiding-place. It stands in a mmote corner, rather hidden by a bookcase, and consists of a broad wooden pedestal, hung round with curtains, that once supported a choice statue. The statue having been promoted sometime si11ce,tlle three con- spirators now take its place, and find them- selves completely concealed by its falling drap- urmu. The recess, having been originally intended for one, can with difiiculty conceal two, so I leave it to your imagination to consider how badly three fare for room inside it. “ Not much,” replies Cecil, in a trembling tone, “ but, oh ! what has happened? Molly, speak.” They have scarcely brought themselves into a retainable position, when the door opens and Mr. Amherst enters the room, followed by Sir Pouthony Stnflord and Luttrell. With one-candlestick only are they armed, which Sir Penthony holds, having naturally expected tQ fihd the library lighted. I‘ What is the meaning bf this smell ?” ex- claims Mr. Amherst, in an awful voice, that makes our three friends shiver in their shoes. “ Has any (me been trying to blow up the house ‘! I insist on learning the meaning of this disgraceful affair." “ There doesn't seem to be anything,” says Tedcastle, “ except gunpowder. or rather the unpleasant remains of it. The burglar has evidently flown.” “If y-ou intend turning the matter into a joke,” retorts Mr. Amherst, " you had better leave the room.” “ Nothing shall induce me to quit the post of danger," replies Luttrell, unruffled. Meantime, Sir I’onthony, who is of a. more suspicious nature, is making a more elaborate search. Slowly, methodically lie commences a tour round the room, until presently he Homes to a standâ€"still before the curtains that conceal the trembling trio. Mr. Amherst, in the middle of the floor, is busily engaged examining the chips of china that remain after theirflascowaud that ought to tell the tale of a soup-plate. ',i‘v.duastle comes to Sir Penthony’s side. Tum ther they withdraw the curtains ; to- gt’tiu'l' they View what rests behind them. Grand tableau ! Mr. Potts, with half his face blackened be- yond recognition. glares out at them with the courage of despair. On one side of him is Lady Stafford, on the other Miss Massereene ; from behind each of their waists protrudes a. huge and sooty hand. That hand belongs to Potts. Three pairs of eyes gleam at the discover- ers, silently, entreetingly, yet with what difâ€" ferent expressions ! Molly is frightened, but evidently braced for action; Mr. Potts is defi- ant; Lady Stafford is absolutely convulsed with laughter. Already filled with a keen sense of the comicality of the situation, it only wanted her husband’s face' of indignant surprise to utterly unsettle her. Therefore it is that the one embarrassment she suffers from is a diifieulty in refraining from an outâ€" burst of merriment. There is a dead silence. Only the grating of Mr. Amherst’s bits of china. mars the still- ness. Plantagenet, staring at his judges, defies them, without a. word. to betray their retreat. The judges~although angry~stare VOL XXII. back at him, and acknowledge their inability to play the sneak. Sir Penthony drops the curtain «and the candle. Instantly darkness covers them. Luttrell scrapes a heavy chair along the waxed borders of the floor ; there is some faint confusion, a rustle of petticoats, a few more footsteps than ought to be in the room, an uncivil remark from old Amherst about some people’s fingers being all thumbs, and then once more silence. Now that they are well out of the library, though still in the gloomy little ante-room that leads to it. Molly and Cecil pause to reâ€" cover breath. For a few moments they keep an unbroken quiet. Lady Stafford is the first to speakâ€"41.5 might be expectrd. “ Tedcastle and Sir Penthony, indeed, look much more like the real culprits, being justly annoyed, and consequently rather cloudy about the brows. Yet, with a sense of digni- fied pride, the two gentlemen abstain from giving voice to their disapprobation, and make no comment on the event of the even- mg. Mr. Potts is serenity itself, and is appar- ently ignorant of having given offence to any one. His face has regained its pristine fair- ness, and is scrupulously clean ; so is his conscience. He looks incapable of harm. Bed-hour arrives, and Tedcastle retires to his pipe without betraying his inmost feel- ings. Sir Penthony is determined to follow his lead ; Cecil is equally determined he shall not. To have it out with him without further loss of time is her fixed intention, and with that design she says, a. little impeâ€" riously : “ Sir Penthony, get me my candle." She has lingered, before saying this, until almost all the others have disappeared. The last of the men is vanishing round the cor- ner that leads to the smoking-room; the last “ Bfit ybu have not laughed at allâ€"all this evening, at least"â€"â€"â€"with a smileâ€"“ not. since you discovered us in durance vile.” VVllen. after a pause, Sir Penthony relights his candle, the search is at an end. He grins, however, in sympathy, Whilst waiting impatiently an explanation. His utter ignorance of the real reason only enhances the absurdity of his appearance and prolongs the delight of his companions. of the women has gone beyénd sight of the staircase in search of her bedroom fire. Cecil and her husband stand alone in the vast hall. ” I fear you are annoyed about something,” she says, in a maddening tone of commisera- tion, regarding him keenly, while he gravely lights her candle. “Why should you suppose so ?" “Because of your gravity and unusual siâ€" lence.” “ I was never a great talker, and I do not‘ think I am in the habit of laughing more than other people.” “ Did you find the situation so unpleasant? I fancied it rather amused youâ€"so much so that you even appeared to forget the dignity that, as a. married woman, ought to belong to you.” “At {all events you are my Wife”â€"rather angrily; “ I must beg you to remember that. And for the future I shall ask you to refrain from such amusements as call for conceal- ment and necessitate the support of a, young man‘s arm.” “ I really do not see by what right you in- terfere with either me or my amusements,” says Cecil, hotly, after a decided pause. Never has he addressed her with so much sternnese. She raises her eyes to his and colors richly all through her creamy skin. “ Recollect our bargain.” “VI do. I recollect also that you have my name.” “ And you have my money. That makes us quits.” “ I do not see how you intend carrying out that argument. The money was quite as much mine as yours." and one. “ Who is prying after you ?” “ You are." “ What do you mean‘ Cecil ‘1” Haughtily. “ Just what I say. And, as I never so far forget myself as to call you by your Christian name without its prefix, I think you might have the courtesy to address me asLady Staf- ford.” “ I am bitterly disappointed,” she says, in a tone of intense disgust. “ It is a down- right swindle. In spite of a belief that has lasted for years, that nose of his is a. failure. I think nothing of it. With all its length and all its sharpness, it never found us out 1" By this time they have reached the outer hall, Where the lamps are shining vigorously. They now shine down with unkind brilliancy on Mr. Potts's disfigured countenance. A heavy veil of black spreads from his nose to his left ear, rather spoiling the effect of his unique ugliness. It is impossible to resist ; Lady Stafiord in- stantly breaks down, and gives way to the laughter that has been Oppressing her for the last half-hour. Molly chimes in, and together they laugh with such hearty delight that Mr. Potts burns to know the cause of their mirth, that he may join in. When two minutes have elapsed, and still neither of them offers any information, he grows grave, and whispers, rather to himself than them the one word, ” Hysterics l” “ You are right,” cries Cecil; “ I was never nearer hysterles in my life. Oh, Plantagenet! your face is as black asâ€"asâ€"â€"” Seeing them. half an hour later, seated 1n all quietude and sobriety, discussing the war and the last new marvel in bonnets, who would have supposed them guilty of their im- promptu game of hide and seek ‘2 ” Nor you without me." “ \Vhich is to be regretted. At least I should have had a clem~1mlf,which I haven’t; so you have the best. of it. Andâ€"I will not be followed about, and pried after, ” Let ué be thankful for that same," re turns Molly, devoutly. “ Your hut !” supplies Molly, as well as she can speak. “ And your handyâ€"you 1001; de- moniacal. Do run away and: wash yourself andâ€"â€" I hear somebody coming.” \Vhereupon Potts scaxfipers upstairs, while the ether two gain the drawing-room just as DH. Amherst appears i117 the hall. “ Well, but”â€"â€"provokinglyâ€"“ you forget how very little married I am.” “ Certainly, if you wish it.” “ I do. Have you anything more to say ?” “ Yes, more thanâ€"m" “ Then pray defer it until to-morrow, as”â€" With a barefaced attempt at a yawnâ€"â€"“ I real- ly cannot sit up any longer. Good-night, Sir Penthouy.” Sir Pénthony puts the end of his long moustache into his mouthâ€"a sure Sign of ir- ritationâ€"and declines to answer. " Goodâ€"night,” repeats her ladyship, bland- ly, going up the staircase, with a suspicion of a smile at the corners of her lips, and feeling no surprise. that her polite little adieu receives no reply. When she has reached the centre of the broad staircase she pauses, and, leaning her white arms upon the banisters, looks down upon her husband, standing irresolute and angry in the hall beneath. “ Sir Penthony,” murmurs she ; “ Sirâ€"â€"â€"” Here she hesitates for so long a time that when at last the Penthony does come it sounds more familiar and almost unconnected with thQ preceding word. Stafiord turns, and glances quickly up at her. She is dressed in some soft-flowing gown of black, caught here and there with heavy bows and bands of creamâ€"color, that contrast admirably with her fair, soft skin, her laughing eyes, and her panting. rosy lips. In her hair which she wears low on her neck But “you could not have had it Without made generally uncomeI'thble by any RICHMOND HILL, THURSDAY, JULY 24, 1879. “ No doubt. A short time since you sail the same thing. Were I to stay now you might, perhaps, finish that scolding ; instinct told me it was hanging over me ; andâ€"I hate being taken to the task." “ No, I do not want her flower,” he says. with a slight frown} pushing it away from him disdainfully. ” It was a mere chance my getting it. Any other fellow in my place at the moment would have been quite as fa.- vored;nay, beyond doubt more so. I will not stoop for it.” “ No, thank you.” With a little mouc. “ Curiosity is not a. besetting sin, although I could not resist seeing how you would treat my parting gift a moment ago. All l”â€"~with a, little suppressed laugh of the very fullest enjoymentâ€"“ you cannot think what an in- teresting picture you madeâ€"almost tragic. First you stalked away from my unofiending rose with all the dignity of a thousand Span- iards ; and then, when you had gone sufficient- ly far to make your return efl'ective, you re- lented, and, seizing upon the flower as though it wereâ€"let us say,' for convenience sakeâ€" myself, devoured it with kisses. I assure you it was better than a play. Well"â€"witli a sigh â€"“ I won’t detain you any longer. I’m 013? to my slumbers.” 7‘ Don’t you go yet. Cecil. Wait one mo- ment: lâ€"lxave something to say to you.” N “ I will not. 1 swear I will never again at- tempt to scold you about anything, experience having taught me the futility of such a course. Cecil, stay.” “ I'Jady Staffordâ€"then, anything. if you will onlywstay.’r’ “ I can’t stay, then. Where should I be without my beauty sleep? Thebare idea fills me with horror. Why, I should lose my em- pire. Sweet as parting is, I protest I. for one would not lengthen it until to-morrow. Till thenâ€"farewell. Andâ€"Sir Penthonyâ€"be sure you dream of me. I like being dreamed of by my____H “ By whom ‘2" “ My slaves,” returns this coquette of all coquettes, with a last lingering glance and smile. After which she finally disappears. “There is no use disguising the. fact any longerâ€"I have lost my heart,” groans Sir Penthony, in despair. and sti'aightway carries off both himself and his cherished flowers to the shelter of his own room. “ Good-night,” she says, for the third time, nodding at him in a slow, sweet fashion that has some grace or 0 ‘arm about it all its own, and makes her at the instant ten times love- lier than she was before. For a full minute they thus hesitate, look- ing into each ot‘ier’s eyes ; then the anger fades from Stafford’s face, and he whlspers, eagerly, tenderly: “ Good-night, myâ€"â€" ” “ Friend,” murmurs back her ladysllip, de- cisively, leaning yet a little farther over the hamsters. Then she kisses her hand to him and drops at his feet the rose that has lain on her bosom all the evening, and, with a, last backward glance and smile, flits away from him up the darkened staircase and‘vanishes. " I shall positively lose my heart to her if I don’t take care,” thinks the young man, ruefully, and very foolishly, considering how long ago it is since that misfortune has be- falien him. But we are ever slow to acknow- ledge our own defeats. His eyes are fixed upon the flower at his feet. With his dignity thus forced to the front, he walks the entire length of the hall, his arms folded determinedly behind him, until he reaches a door at the upper end. ‘1 It was yours,” stummers Sir Penthouy, utterly taken aback. r “ Very probably. Yet you should pity me, too, in that I have fallen so low as to have nothing better given me to kiSS. I wast- ing my sweetness onâ€"â€"” “ Is it sweetness ‘2” asks she, wickedly. At this they both 1augh~a 10W, soft laugh, born of the hour and. a fear of interruption, and perhaps a dread of belng SO discovered that adds a certain zest to their meeting. Then he says, still laughing, in answer to her words, “ Try.” “ Lady- Stafford. if you please, Slr Pen- thony.” “Tit?! aAtorlglentiug smile. N is a black comb studded with pearls; there are a few pearls round her neck, a few more in her small ears; she wears no bracelets, only two narrow bands of black velvet caught with pearls, that make her arms seem even rounder and whiter than they are. Stafford, coming forward until he stands right under her, gazes up at her entranced like some modern Romeo. Indeed, there is something almost theatrical about them as they linger, each waiting for the other to speakâ€"he fond and impassioned, yet half angry too, she calm and smiling, yet muti- nous. Here he pauses and gldnces back almost guiltily. Yes, it is still there, the poor, pretty yellow blossom that has been so close to her, now sending forth its neglected perfume to an ungrateful world. 7 V W ’ r It is cruel to leave it there alone all night, to be trodden on, perhaps, in the morning by an unappreciative John or Thomas, or, worse still, to be worn by an appreciative J ames. Desecratiou ! ‘ “ ‘Who hesitates is lost,’ ” quotes Stafford. aloud, with an angry laugh at his own folly, and, walking deliberately back again, picks up the flower and presses it to his lips. “ I thought that little speech applied only to us poor women,” says a soft voice above him, as, to his everlasting chagrin, lecil’s mischievous, lovable face peers down at him from the gallery overhead. “ Have another flower, Sir Penthony? You seem fond of them.” She throws a twin blossom to the one he holds on to his shoulder as she speaks with very accurate aim. “So it; was”â€"with an accent of affected surpriseâ€"“ which makes your behavior all the more astonishing. Well, do not stand there kissing it all night, 01' you Will catch cold, and thenâ€"what should I do ?" “ What ‘3” “ Die of grief, most probably.” With a little mocking laugh. The next day is Sunday, and a very muggy, disagreeable one it proves. There is an in- decision about it truly irritating. A few drops of rain here and there,a threatening of storm, but nothing positive. Finally, at eleven o’clock, just as they have given up all hope of seeing any improvement, it clears up in a, de- greeâ€"against its willâ€"and allews two or three depressed and. tearful sunbeams to straggle forth, rather with a View to dishearten the world than to brighten it. Sunday at Hersh is much the same as any other day. There are no rules, 110 restric- tions. In the library may be found volumes of sermons waiting for those who may Wish for them. The covers of those sermons are as clean and fresh today as when they were placed on their shelves, now many years ago, showing how amiany they have Waited. You may play billiards if you like ; you need not go to church if you don’t like. Yet somehow when at Herst people always do goâ€"perhaps because they needn’t or perhaps because there is such a dearth of amusements. Laying her prayer-books fipon a tnble,while with one hand she gathers up the tail of her Molly, who as yet has escaped all explana- tion with Tedcastle, coming down-stairs, dressed for church, and looking unusually lovely, finds almost all the others assembled before her in the hall. rqady to start. I'll tell thee a. Dart 0f the thoughts that start To being when thou art nigh." â€"SHELLT<ZY. CHAPTER XIX. “ You are getting out of your depthâ€"~I canâ€" not follow you,” says Molly, coldly. “Why should you and I discuss such a subject as lovers ? What have we in common with them? And it is a pity, Philip, you should allow your anger to get so much the better of you. When you look savage, as you do now a you remiudme of no one so much as grandpapa . And do recollect what an odious old man he makes." “ There are otherâ€"perhaps mistakesnly termedâ€"superior animals on whom even you can inflict torture,” he says, withasneer. “All your tenderness must be reserved for the lower creation. You talk of brutality; what is there in all the earth so cruel as a woman ? A lover’s pain is her joy.” “ No matter whose dog it is; don’t do it again. I detest seeing a poor brute hurt, and for no cause, but merely as a means to try and rid yourself of sc me of your ill-temper.” “Nothing; annoys me so much as wanton cruelty to dumb animals.” 7 This finishes the conversation. He vouchâ€" safes her no reply. To be considered like Mr. Amherst, no matter in how farâ€"off a degree, is a bitter insult. In silence they continue their walk, in silence reach the church and enter it. It is a gloomy, antiquated building, primi~ tive in size, and form, and service. The recâ€" tor is weleeaning, but decidedly low. The curate is unmeaniug, mid abominany slow. The clerk does a great part of the duty. ‘7 Don’t dâ€"o that again," she says, with eyes that flash it little through their forbidden tears. “Why?” Surprised in his turn at her vehemeuce. “ It isn’t your dog; it’s Lut- trell’s.” “ There is more ill-temper going than mine. I beg your pardon, however. I had no idea. you were a member of the Humane Socloty. You should study the bearing-rein question, and vivisoction, andâ€"that.” \Vith a sullen laugh. He is an old man, and regarded rather in the light of an institution in this part of the county. Being stone deaf, he puts in the re- sponses anyhow, always in the wrong place, and never finds out his mistake until he sees the clergyman’s lips set firm, and on his face a. look of patient expectation, when he coughs apologetically and says them all over again. “ I won’t contradict you,” says Molly, calm- ly; "it would be rude, and conmdering how near we are to church, unchrisnian.” ” A pity you cannbt recollect your Chris- tianity 011 other occasions,” says he, sneer ingly: “You speak with feeling. How have I failegi towards yogriu a. chyistifm charity?” 7 r “ Is it charitable, is it kind, to scorn a felâ€" low-creature as you do, only because he loves you ‘2” Philip says, in a low tone. Miss Massereene is first honestly surprised, then angry. That Philip has made love to her now and again when opportunity oc- curred, is a fact she does not seek to deny; but it has been hitherto in the careless, half- earnest manner young men of the present day affect when in the society of a pretty woman, and has caused her no annoyance. To a, man of his jealous, passionate nature to love is a. calamity. No return, how perfect, can quite compensate him for all the pains and fears his passion must afford. Already Philip’s torture has begun, already the pang of unrequited love have seized upon him. “ I wish you would not speak to me likeâ€"- asâ€"in such a tone,” Molly says, pettishly and uneasily. “ Latterly I hate going anywhere else with you, you are so illâ€"tempered ~, and now to-dayâ€"â€" Why cannot you be pleasant and friendly, as you used to be when first I came to Herst ?” " Ay, Why indeed ?" returns he, bitterly. At this inauspicious moment a small rough terrier of Luttrell’s rushes across their path almost under their feet, bent on some mad chase after a mocking squirrel; and Philip, maddened just then by doubts and the cold- ness of her he loves, with the stick he carries strikes him a quick and sudden blow ; not heavy, perhaps, but so unexpected as to draw from the pretty brute a sharp cry of palm. Hearing :1 sound of distress from his favorâ€" ite, Luttrell turns, and, seeing him shrinking away from Molly’s side, casts upon her a glance full of the liveliest reproach, that re- duces her very nearly to the verge of tears. To be so misunderstood, and all through this tiresome Philip, it is too bad ! As, under the circumstances, she cannot well indulge her grief, she does the next best thing, and gives way to temper. AB this' moment both Lizttrell and Shad- well move towards the books. Shadwell, reachng them firsttlays hishand upon £19m. “ You will carry them for me ‘2” says Molly, with a. bright smile to him ; and Luttrell, with a slight contractinn of the brow, falls back again, and takes his place beside Lady Stafiord. “ It is cold, is i; not .7” Molly says to Mrs. Darley once, when they come to an open part of the wood, where they can travel in a body. “ Wonderfully so for September." “ Is it? I never mind the cold, orâ€"or any- thing,” rejoins Mrs. Dal-10y, afiectedly, talk. ing for the benefit of the devoted Mottie, who walks beside her laden with golden grain in the shape of prayer-books and hymnals of all sorts and sizes, “if I have one with me that suits me; that is, & sympathetic person." “ A lover, you mean ‘2” asks uncompromis- ing Molly. “ Well, I don’t, know; I think that is about the time, of all others, when Ishould object to feeling cold. One’s nose has such an unpleasant habit of getting beyond one’s con- trol in the way of redness; and to feel that one’s cheeks are pinched and one’s lips blue is maddening. At such times I like my own society best.” “ And at other times, too," says Philip, disagreeably ; “ this morning, for instance.” He and Molly have buen having a passage of arms, and he has come off second best. That he should now, without a word of warning (beyond the slight sparringâ€"match during their walk, and which is one of a se- ries), break forth with so much vehemence and apparent sense of injury, not only alarms but displeases her ; whilst some faint idea of treachery on her own part towards her be- trothed in listening to such words fills her w1th distress. There is a depth, an earnestness about Philip not to be mistaken. His sombre face has paled, his eyes do not meet hers, his thin nostrils are dilated, as though breathing were a. matter of difficulty ; all prove him genuinely disturbed. There is an “ Amen” in the middle of every prayer, and then one at the end. This gives him double trouble, and makes him drew his salary with a clear conscience. It also creates a lively time for the school-children, who once at least on every Sunday give way to a loud burst of merriment, and are only restored to a sense of duty by a severe blow administered by the sandy-haired teacher. long gown, she turns to say a. word 01' two to Lady Brady Stafford._ AB the church lies at the end of a pleasant pathway through the woods, they elect to walk it, and so in twos and threes they make their way under the still beautiful trees. It is a. good old-fashioned church, too, where the sides of the pews are so high that one can with difficulty look over them, and where the affluent man can have a real fire-place all to himself, with a real poker and tongs and shovel to incite it to a blaze every now and again. Here, too, without rebuke the neighbors can seize the opportunity of conversing with each other across the pews, by standing on tiptoe, when occasion offers during the service, as, for instance, when the poox‘box is going round. It is an attentive congregationâ€"dangerous- ly so, for what man but blunders in his ser- mon now and then? And who likes being twitted on weekdays for opinions expressed on Sundays, more especially if he has not al- together acted up to them ? It is a suspicious congregation too (though perhaps not singu- larly so, for I have perceived others do the same), because whenever their priest names a chapter and verse for any text he may choose to insert in his discourse, instantly and with avidity each and all turn over the leaves of their Bibles, to see if it be really in the identical spot mentioned, or whether their pastor has been lying. This action may not be altogether suspicion ; it may be also thought of as a safety-valve for the ennui, the rector never letting them oif until they have had sixty good minutes of his valuable doctrine. All the Herst party conduct themselves with due discretion save Mr. Potts, who, be‘ ing overcome by the net elty of the situation and the length of the sermon, falls fast asleep. and presently, at some denunciatory passage, pronounced in a rather distinct tone by the rector, rousing himself with a precipitate jerk, sends all the fire-irons with a fine clatter to the ground. he having been most unhappin placed nearest the grate. “ The ruling passion strong in death,” says Luttrell, with a despairing glance at the cul- prit; whereupon Molly nearly laughs outâ€" right, while the schoolmhildren do so quite. Beyond this small contra-temps, however, nothing of note occurs ; and. service being over, they all file decorously out of the church into the plcturesque porch outside, Where they stand for a few minutes interchanging greet- ings with such of the county families as come Within their knowledge. Mr. Amherst, who never by any chance darkens the door of a church, receives them in the drawing-room on their return. He is in an amiable mood and pleased to be gra- cious. Seizing upon Mr. Buscarlet, he car- ries him off with him to his private den, so that for the time being there is an end of them. ‘~ For all small memies,” begins Mr. Potts, solemnly, when the door has closed on them; but he is interrupted by Lady Stafford. - “ Small, indeed,” grumbles she. “ \Vhat do you mean? I shan’t be able to eat my lunch if that odious little man remains, with his, ‘Yes, Lady Stafford ;’ ‘No, Lady Stafford ;’ ‘I quite agree with your ladyship;‘ and so on. Oh that I could drop my title l”â€"â€"â€"this with a glance at Sir Pcnthonyâ€"“ at all events while he is present.” This with another and more gracious glance at Stafford. “ Positively I feel my appetite is going already, and that is pity, as it was an uncommonly good. one.” “ Cheer up, dear,” says Molly ; “ and re- member there will be dinner later on. Poor Mr. Buscarlet ! There must be something wrong with me, because I cannot bring my- self to think so disparagineg of him as you alldo.” When the clergyman goes into the pulpit every one instantly blows his or her nose and coughs his or her loudest before the text is given out, under a. mistaken impression that they can get it all over at once, and not have to do it at intervals farther on. This is a compliment to the clergyman, expressing their intention of hearng him undisturbed to the end, and, I suppose, is received as such. With a few others, too, who scarcely come Within that aristocratic pale, notably Mrs. Buscarlet. She is a tremendously stout, dis- tressineg healthy women, quite capable of putting her husband in a corner of her cape- oieus pocket, which, by the bye, she insists on wearing outside her gown, in a fashion be- loved of our great-grandmothers, and which, in a modified form, last year was much af- fected by our own generation. This alarming personage greets Murcia. with the utmost bonhommic. being apparently blind to the coldness of her reception. She greets Lady Stafi'ord also, who is likewise at freezing-point, and then gets introduced to Molly. Mrs. Darley. who even to the unini- tiated Mrs. Busem-let appears a. person un- worthy of notice, she lets go free, for which favor Mrs. Darley is devoutly grateful. Little Buscarlet himself. who has a weak- ness for birth, in that he lacks it, comes mm- bling up to- them at this juncture, and tells them, with many a smirk. he hopes to have the pleasure of lunching with them at Herst, Mr. Amherst having sent him a special invi- tation, as he has something particular to say to him ; whereupon Molly, who is nearest to him, laughs, and tells him she had no idea such luck was in store for her. “ You are the greatest hypocrite I ever met in my life," Sir Penthony says in her ear, when Buscurlot, smiling, bowing, radiant, has moved on. ’ “ Alas that I cannot contradict you 1" says Cecil, with a woeful (sigh, who is standing near them. “ And then there is Mrs. Buscarlet; I never saw any one like Mrs. Buscarlet," Maud Dar- Iey says, plaintively; “ did you? There is so much of her. and it is all so nasty. And, oh ! her voice ! it is like wind whistling through a key-hole.” “ My dear fellow, I thought the contrast be- tween it and her cheeks the most perfect thing I ever saw. It is evident you have not got the eye of an artist,” Sir Penthony says, rather unfeeliugly. And it is 2. poor-box, and 110 mistakeâ€"flat, broad, and undeniable pewter, at which the dainty bags of a city chapel would have blushed with shame. “ 1 am not, indeed; you altogether mistake me,” Molly answers. “ If you only knew how his anxiety to please, and Marcia’s de- termination not to be pleased, amuse me, you would understqu how thoroughly I enjoy his visits.” “ I ask your pardon. I had no idea we had a student of human nature among us. Don’t study me, Miss Massex'eene, or it Will unfit you for further exertions ; I am a living mass of arrors.” " Yes, its aocuiracy is its fault; I almost thoughfi the mgn ways i_n- thgroomz” 7‘ Poor woman,” says Luttrell, regretfully, “I think I could have forgiven her, had she not worn that Very vgrglallt gown.” “ I never saw any one so distressineg healthy,” says Maud, still plaintively. “ Fat people are my aversion. I don’t mind a com- fortuble-looking body, but she is much too stout.” “ I am sorry for you. Not to know Mr. Buscarlet’s little peculiarities of behavior argues yourself unknown,” Marcia says, with a good deal of intention. “ And I presume they cannot have struck you, or you would scarcely be so tolemnt.” “ He certainly sneezes very incessantly and very objectionably,” Molly says, thoughtfully. “ I hate a man who sneezes publicly. And his sneeze is so unpleasantâ€"so exactly like that of a cat. A little \vriggle of the entire body, and then a little softâ€"splash !” “My dear Molly !" expostufates Lady Staf- ford. “ But is it not?” protests she. “ Is 1t not an accurate description?”r “ Let us alter that last remark and say she has had too much stout, and perhaps we shall define her,” remarks Tedcastle. “ I hate a woman who shows her food.” “ The way she traduced those Sedleys rather amused me," Molly says, laughing. “ I cer- tainly thought her opinion of her neighbors very pronounced.” “ She shouldn’t have any opinion,” says Lady Stafford, with decision. “ You, my dear Molly, takehn entirely wrong View of it. Such people as the Buaoarlets, sprung from nobody knows where 01' cares to know, should be kept in their proper place, and be set upon the very instant they develop a desire to pro- gress.” WHOLE N0.1,097â€"â€"â€"NO, 7. M Teefy “ Oh, what a. malicious remark !” says Mol- lyLlnucl; disgusted. “Yes, wasn’t it '1’” a'gre‘es Plantagenet, eagerly. “The longest I 'ever heard, ‘That man deserves to be supgressed or excommu- nicated ; and the parishioners ought to- send him a round robin to that effect. Odd, too, how much at sea. one’feels with 'a strange prayerâ€"book. One looks for one’s prayer at the top of the page, where it always used to be in one’s own particular edition, and, lo ! one finds it at the bottom. Whatever you may do for the future, Lady Stafford, don’t lend me your prayer-book. But for the inâ€" cessant trouble it caused me, between losing my place and finding it again, I don’t beâ€" lieve I should have dropped into that gentle doze." . “ Thanks awfully. I shall value it for the giver‘s sake. And I promise you that when next we meetâ€"such care shall it receiveâ€" even you will be unable to discover a scratch on it.” v “ Plantagenet, you are a. bad boy," says Cecil. “ How hard it is to keep one's attention fixed,” Molly says, meditatively, “ and to pre- serve a. properly dismal expression of counte- nance ! To look solemn always means to look severe, as far as I can judge. And did you ever notice when a rather lively and secular set of bars occurs in the voluntary, how people cheer up and rouse themselves, and give way to a little sigh or two ‘2 I hope it isn’t a Sigh of relief. We feel it’s Wicked, but we always do it." Here the scene is further enlivened by the reappearance of Mr. Amherst and the law- yer, which effectually ends the conversation, and turns their thoughts towards the dining- room. An Englishman has invented a. mariner’s compass which enables the captain or officer in charge to hear, by the ringing of a bell, when the vessel is out of the ordered course. The apparatus is easily carried about, and is intended to be placed in the captain’s cabin. Over the card are two index hands, which can be adjusted to any angle, allowing of greater or less deviation in steering to either the port or starboard side. The captain, on quitting the deck, sets the index hands to a certain angle, allowing the steersman a given latitude for deviation either to port or star- board of that course. Instead of having to be, constantly watching the compass, as at present, to see that the orders are carried out, the capiain leaves the‘instrument to tell him by its silence if they are, and by its sounds if they are not obeyed. Should the ship be steered out of her course beyond the limit als lowed on either side an electric alarm~bell rings instantaneously, and, moreover,continuea ringing until the right course is resumed. The index bands can be raised away from the card, when the bell becomes disconnected, and the eompasss can be used like an ordi- nary one. “ Let us forget the little lawyer and talk of something we all enjoyâ€"today’s sermon, for instance. You admired it, Potts, didn’t you ? I never saw any one so attentivq in my life,” says Sir Penthony. Totts tries to 160k as if he had never suc- cumbed during service to Nature’s sweet re- storer ; and Molly sayst apolggetically: “ Had you ever a prayer-book of your own ‘2” asks Cecil, unkiudly. “Because if so it is a pity you don’t air-it now and again. I have known you a. great many, yearsâ€"more than I care to countâ€"and never, never have seen you with the vestige of one. I shall send you a pocket edition as a Christmas-box." “ I thought the choir rather good/K Molly is saying; “but; why must a man read the service in a. long; 'leW, tearful tone ? Surely, there is no good-to be gained by it ; and to find oneself at ‘Amen’ when he is only in the middle ’of the prayer has something intolera- hly irritating about it. I could have shaken that curate.” “ Why didn’t you?” says Sir Penthony. “ I would have backed you up with the great- est pleasure. The person Iliked best was the lint-white loCks Who said ‘Yamen' so persist- ently in the wrong place all through ; 1 grew quite interested at last. and knew the exact spot where it was likely to come in. I must say I admire consistency.” n “Still studying poor human nature, ex- claims Sir Penthony. “ Miss Massereeue, I begin to think you a. terrible person, and. to tremble when 1 meet your gaze.” “ Well, at all events no one can accuse them of being High Church,” says Mrs. Dar- ley, alluding to her pastors anamasters for the time being. "‘ The service was wretchedly conducted ; hardly any music, and not a flower to speak of.” “ That’s why he isn’t High Church,” says Potts of the curate, speaking with a rather sweeping air of criticism. H “ He ain't musi- cal ; he can’t intone. Take my word for it, half the clergy are Anglicans merely because they think they have voices, and feel What a. loss the world will sustain if it don’t hear them.” llYlPUIl'l‘AN'l‘ IVIARINE INVENTION â€"Life among the Fall River mill operatives is pictured by the Boston Herald as a round of drudgery. They live in crowded and often cheerless tenements, although the common laws of health are not generally disregarded, and some of the homes are beautified with pictures, carpets and flowers. Men, women and children work together in the mills. and the home is little more than a lodging in most cases. The wives and mothers are bound to a perpetual slavery. They work as hard as anybody in the mill, and, when the mill day is over, their duties become terribly onerous. Upon reaching home supper is to be swallowed, and then, While the rest of the family find rest or recreation, all there is of housekeeping is performed by the Wife, occa- sionally assisted by her children, if they are old enough. There will be no time the next morning for cooking breakfast, and it must be looked out for over night. Dinner is to be taken to the mill, and its substantial material must be cooked during the evening. While the kettle is bubbling, or the fryingpan sizz- ling, or the oven baking, or all together are sending out their heats, the Washing of the bed and personal clothing forlthe household may be performed, the old man’s trousers mended, or the children’s clothes made or re- paired. If one of the breed is sick it may also receive attention at the same time. The Wife and mother toils thus for her family, living a life the like of which no Southern slave ever dreamed about. Intemperance too commonly adds its sorrows to the rest. “J “. Hdw could hé heip'it i The sermon was so 19mg." f‘My dem- ! High Church ! How could you expect it? Only fancy that curate intoning !” says Cecil, yvibh a laugh. 1‘ I couidn’t,” declgres Sir Penthony ; much exertion would kill me.” “Then they sliould‘be'l‘ocked up dumg the intermediate stage,” saysteeil, with an un- compromising nod of lief bldnde head. ” I call them insulferable; and if Mr. Buscarlet. when he comes in again, makes .himself agreeable to meâ€"me !â€"I shall insult himâ€" that’s all I No use arguing with me, Mollyâ€"- I shall indeed.” She softens this awfu threat by a merry, sweet-tempered little laugh. “Lady Staffol‘d has never forgiven Mrs. Busearlet because once, at a; ball herd, she told her she was looking very dis‘ta‘ng'y. Is that not true?” I Cecil laughs. V 5“'Wh;v"shoi11a not eVery on‘e‘hnve 8.11:5;opin- i051?” Mollypersists. .“I agrééllvuli 9H9 01d song that ‘Britons never shall be slaves ;’ therefore why should they not assert themâ€" selves ? _In 1a llundredyears henee they W111 hava all the manners and airs of us others.” “ How can you be so illiberal ?" exclaims Molly, aghast at so much misplaced vehe- mence. “ Why should they not rise with the rest of the; world)? ~l I V ,1 a A _ 5 , “ Eleanor has quiié apenchant'fbr the Bus- carlets," says Marcia, with a sneerlk“ she has quite adopted them, and ‘eith'e'r‘iwill not, or perhaps does noi, see their euomitieeL” A NoBody cares Ito notice this imperfinence, and MIE-‘PONMS gayg), gravely 2. V [T0 BF. CONTINUED ,1