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(Written by Mr. J. B. Plumb. M. P., and read at the York Pioneets’ Picnic by Rev. Mr. Givins.) Respectfully presented to the Government, and especially to the Hon. Mackenzie Bowen, Minister of Customs, who was Acting Minister of Militia. on the 30th April. 1879. An old man lives in Niagara. town, who was chris- tened Bin-net Ullmen. ’l‘ho’ a. lad when he fou ht the United States, he then did the work 0 a. full men; And so long as Canada. breeds such boys, we may laugh at the Fenian raider, For they count as men, and will rank as men, should an enemy invade her. At Benver Dome and Lundy’s Lane. at Stoney Creek without funk, he Drove up the cart with the cartridges, and took )nrt as a powder monkey, As all of fight as the bravest there, who followed or held command in’t, And he did as dangerous duty, too, as any who there took hand. in’t, Where bullets; Were flying as thick as hail, and , W, Lu Ln» LLMJJ “an; n...“ . he knew if they hit him they’d twist him ; They were never respecters of persons, he knew, and ’twas only sheer luck if they miss’d him. There many fine fellows were wounded and ' killed, for King and for Canada fightinfi, And only a tottering handful survive at t a date of the present Writing ; For ‘tis sixty-four years since open war ’twixt British and Yankees ended, And many an ugly subsequent breach has some- how or other got mended- Hence all who fought in't are full four score, and the Psalmist wail to borrow, “ Though some he so strong that they reach that goal, their strength becomes labor and sorrow, So soon It pesseth away," and thus our veterans‘ list dinnnishes, - Audit will scarcely be another decade are it ut- terly'fails and finishes. “l‘is a pittance at best, and in that behalf we mnst'nt be too close-flsted Towards any claimants who fought our fight, no matter how they enlisted ; Fm‘tllie Dominion, [venture to say. has taken thaduty u on her 01' counting t em all in the highest roster of loyal service and honur. A dole of twenty dollars a year for brave old Barney not much is, A compensation for hurts in the field, and for hobbling acripple on crutches, With paralyzed side and trembling head| whence the thin white hairs are falling. I think his case should plead itself, and shonld’nt need my recalling ; , So shell out his money, back pay and all, and do not be tardy about it, Or the time-worn veteran will surely be called to the last review without it. “ Faithfully.” “ It is notI perhaps, quite so simple a. re- quest. as it appeals. I want you, in fact, toâ€" write me~a check I” Sir Penthony laughs. and covers the white and heavily-jeweled little hand that glitters before him on the table once more with his own. “ For how much ‘2” he asks. “ Not muchâ€"only fifty pounds. I want to buy something particular for this bull ; and” ~glanciug at himâ€"“ being a. lone woman, without a protector, I dread going too heavily into debt." " Good child,” says Sir Penthony. “ You shall have your check." Drawing the book towards him as it lies before him on the duv- enport, he fills up a check and hands it to 7‘7“ Now, what will you give me for it Y" asks he, holding the edge near him as her fingers close uponA the o_ther gndi her. “ Wl‘mt have I to give ? Have I not just ac- lumwledggvd myself insolvent ? I am as poor as H. uhm'ch mouse.” “ You disparage yourself. I think you as rich as Umesus. Will you give me a kiss ?” whispers her hqsbgpdj softly. There is a decided pause. Dropping the check and coloring deeply. Cecil moves back a step or two. She betrays a little indignation in her glanceâ€"a very little, but quite percep- tible. Stufiord sees it. “ I beg your pardon," he says, hastily, an expression of mingled pain and shame cross- ing his I'm-,9. " I was wrong. of course. I will not buy ynnr kisses. Here,;tpke this bit of paper, mnl “forgive me.” ‘* ‘ He closes her somewhat reluctant fingers over the check. She is still blushing, and has her'eyea fixed on the ground, but her faint anger has disappeared. Then some thought ~evidently a merry oneâ€"occurs to her; the corners of her mouth widen, and finally she breaks into a musical laugh. _ “Thank youâ€"very much,” she says. “ You are very good. It is sumething to have a husband. after all. Andâ€"if you would really care for it~Iâ€"don't mmd letting yomhave oneâ€" Oh lhere is somebody com- mg." “ There always is somebody coming when least wante< ,” exclaims Sir Penthony, wrath- fully, pushing back his chair with much sup- pressed ire, as the door opens to admit Mr. Potts. “ I hope I don’t intrude.” says Potts, putâ€" ting his comfortable face and rosy head round the door; “ but I’ve got an idea. and I must divulge it 01' burst. You wouldn't like me to burst, would you? ’ This to Lady Stafford, pathetically. “ For fear you might, I hall take my de- parture,” says Sir Penthony. who has not yet quite recovered either his disappointment or his temper, Walking through the conservatory into the grounds beyond. ” 1 woulzi notâ€"here,” replies she, with de- cision. “ I really wish, Plantagenet," says Lady Stafford, turning upon the bewildered Potts with most unaccountable severity, “ you could manage to employ your time in some useful way. The dreadful manner in which you spend your days, wandering round the house without aim or reason, causes me absolute re- gret. D0 give yourself the habit of reading orâ€"or doing something to improve your mind, whenever you have a spare moment.” So saying, she sweeps past him out of the room, without even making an inquiry about that priceless idea, leaving poor Potts rooted to the ground, striving wildly, but vainly to convict himself of some uupatdonable of- fence. ” You can have; your music and the supper from London, if you wish it,” he says to Mar- cia, one day, when he has inveighed against the whole proceeding in language that bor- ders on the abusive ; “ but if you think I am going to have an army of decorators down here, turning the house into a. fancy bazaar, and making one feel a. stranger in one’s own rooms, you are very much mistaken." Mr. Amherst. having in a weak moment given his consent to the ball, repays himself by being as unamiable afterwards as he can well manage. n " I think you are right, dear, Marcia an- swers, with her customary meelmess ; “ peo- ple of that kind are always more trouble than anything else. And no doubt we shall be able to do all that is necessary quite as well ourselves." “As to that you can, of course, please yourself. Though why you cannot dance without. filling the rooms with earwigs and dying flowers I can't conceive.” Mr. Amherst‘s word being like the law of the Medes and Persians. that altereth not, no one disputes it. They couple a. few opprobri- ous epithets with his name just at first, but finallytputting on an air of resolution. declare themselves determined and ready to outdo any decorators in the kingdom. MOLLY BAWN. “ We shall wake up in the morning after the ball to find ourselves famous,” says Lady Stafford. " The country will ring with our praises. But we must have help ; we cannot depend upon broken reeds.” With areproach~ ful glance at Sir Penthony. who is looking the picture of laziness. “ Talbot Lowry, of course, will assist us ; he goes without say- 111g.” ” I hope he will come without saying,” puts in Sir Penthony ; " it would be much more to the purpose. Any smart young tmdesman among your fellows, Mottie ?" "Vifin'déed I do. What 1 is be stationed with you now ? He must have rejoined very lately.” “ Only thg other day. Would he be of any "7 "1) u 7“ Unless Graingér. You know, Grainger, Lad! Syafiprg ?". «...... ... 1 use to “ Oh I Molly Bawn, why leave me pimng, All lonely waiting here for you.”â€"Old Song BY THE AUTHOR OF " PHYLLIS." " Love. thou art batteryâ€"ELAINE UlelAN’S PENSION you ?” CHAPTER XXII. “ The very greatest," “ What ! Spooney ?" says Tedcastle, laugh- ing. “ I don’t believe he could climb a ladder to save his life. Think of his pretty hands and his sweet little lost.” ‘ “And his lisp â€"-and his new eye-glass,” says Stafford. , "‘ Never mind; I will have him here,” de- clares Cecil, gayly. “ In spite of all you say, I pos_i_tively adore ghat Grainger. boy_.” ' 3‘ You Qeem to have a. pissiou'for fools," says Sir Penthony. a little bitterly, feeling some anger towards h_er. “ And“ you seem to have a. talent for inci- vility,” retorts she, rather nettled. This ends the conversation. Nevertheless Mr. Grainger is asked to come and give what assistance he can towards adorning Horst, which, when they take into consideration the ladylike whiteness of his hands and the general imbecility of his coun- tenance, is not set at a very high value. He is a tall. lanky youth, with more than the usual allowance of bone, but rather less of intellect ; he is, however, full of ambition and smiles, and is amiabilitv itself all around. He is also desperately addicted to Lady Staf- ford. He has a dear little moustache, that undergoes much encouragement from his thumb and first finger, and he has a captivat- ing way of saying “ How charming l” or, “ Very sweet,” to anything that pleases him. And, as most things seem to meet his appro- bation, he makes these two brilliant remarks with startling frequency. To Cecil he is a joy. In him she evidently finds a. fund. of amusement, as, during the three days it takes them to convert the ball- room, tea-room. etc., into perfumed bowers, she devotes herself exclusively to his society. Perhaps the u'ndisguised chagrin of Sir Penthony and Talbot Lowry as they witness her civility to Grainger goes far to add a zest to her enjoyment of the young man’s exceed- ingly small talk. After dinner on the third day 8.11 is nearly completed. A few more leaves, a few more flowers, a. wreath or two to be distributed here and there, is all that remains to be done. “ I hate decorating in October," Cecil says. “ There is such a dearth of flowers, and the gardeners get so greedy about the house- plants. Every blossom looks as 1f it had been made the most of.” “ Well, I don’t know," replies Mr. Grainger, squeezing his glass into his eye with much difficulty, it being a. new importation and hard to manage. When he has altered all his face into an appalling grin, and com- pletely blocked the sight of one eye, he goes on affably: “ I think all thisâ€"erâ€"very charming." “ No? Do you? I’m so glad. Do you know I believe you have wonderful taste ‘2 The way in which you tied that last bunch of trailing ivy had somethlng about it absolutely artistic.” “ If it hadn’t fallen to pieces directly after- wards, which rather spoiled the etfect,” says Sir Pienrthonyivith aniunlitind smile. _ “ Did it? How sad. But then the idea remains, and that is everything. Now, Mr. Grainger, please stand hereâ€"~(will you move a little bit, Sir Penthony? Thanks) â€"just here-while I go up this ladder to satisfy myâ€" self about these flowers. By the bye”â€"-â€"paus- ing on one of the rungs to look backâ€"“ sup- pose I were to fall? Do you think you could catch me ?” “ I only wish you would give me the oppor tuniEy of Prying," replies he, wegkly; “ Perhaps I shall, if you are good. Now look. mthey straight ‘I Do they look well I?” asks Cecil. “ Very sweet," replies Mr. Grainger. “ Potts. hand me up some nails." exclaims Lowry, impatiently, who is on another ladder close by, and has been an attentive and dis- gusted listener; addressing: Potts, who stands lost in contemplation of Grainger. “ Look sharp. can’t you? And tell me What you think of this.” Pointing to his design on the wall. “ Is it all your fancy painted it ? Is it lovely and divine ? Answer.” “ Beastly' plippy Y” mutters SifPenthuny, under his breath. “ Very sour‘ I think,” returns Mr. Potts, hitting off Gtainger's voice to a nicety, while maintaining a. countenance sufficiently inno- cent to border on the imbecile. Both Sir Penthony and Lowry laugh im- moderatcly, while Cecil turns away to hide Lhe smile that may betray her. Grainger himself is the only one Wholly unconscious of any joke. He smiles, indeed. genially. because they smile, and happily refrains from inquiry of any sort. Meantime in the teaâ€"roomâ€"that opens off the supper-room‘ where the others are engaged â€"â€"-Molly and Philip are busy arranging bou- quets chosen from among a basket full of flowers that has just been brought in by one of the under-gardeners. Philip is of], his kneesâ€"almost at Molly’s feet While she bends over him searching for the choicest buds. " What a lovely ring !” says Philip, pres- ently, staying in his task to take her hand and examine the diamond that glitters on it. “ Was it a present?" “ 0f couise. Where could such a beggar- maid as I am get money enough to buy such a ring 7" “ Will you think me rude if I ask you the every-day name of your King Cophetua. ?" “ I have no King Cophetua.” “ Then tell me where you got it 1’” “ What a question I" Lightly. “ Perhaps from my own true love. Perhapsit is the little fetter that seals my engagement to him. Per- haps it isn’t." “ Yet you said just nowâ€"â€" “ About that eccentric king ‘2 Well, I spoke truly. Royalty has not yet thrown itself at my feet. Still"-â€"-coquettislllyâ€"“ that is no reason why I should look coldly upon all com- moners." n “ Be serious, Molly, for one moment.” he entrants, the look of passionate oarnestuess she so much dislikes coming over his face, darkening instead of brightening it. “ Some- times I am half mad with doubt. Tell me the truthâ€"nowâ€"h‘ere. Are you engaged Is there anything between you andâ€"Lut- trell ?" The spirit of mischief has laid hold of Molâ€" 1y. She cares nothng at all for Shadwell. Of all the men she has met at Herst he attracts her least. She scarcely understands the wild love with which she has inspired him; she cannot sympathize with his emo- tion . 7771‘ it is true”, then 1"" dries he, rising to his feet and turning deudly pale. “ My fears did not deceive me." “ VWell, if you compel me to confess it,” she saysL lowering 1361' axes, _“ there is." “ Quite true. There is a. whole long room between me and Mr. Luttrell and"â€"â€"â€"droppiug her voiceâ€"" you." Here she laughs merrily and with all her heart. To her it is a jestâ€"no more. “ How a. womanâ€"Abe very best womanâ€" loves to torture 1” exclaims he, anger and re- lief struggling in his tone. “ Oh that I dared believe'thnt the latter part of your sentence â€"that I could stand between you and all the world!” V‘V‘i‘flFain would I climb, but that I fear to fall,’ ” quotes Molly, jestingly. “ You know the answer? ‘If thy heart fail thee, do not climb at all.’ ” VOL XXII. “ Is that a challenge 7" demands he, eager- ly, 313in pegn‘er t9 her. . -v. . . . v -. .. r7 n, ,“OI dgn’itiixrnrow.” Waving him back. “ Hear the oracle again. I feel strong in appropriate rhyme to-night: They are qulte alone. Some one has given the door leading to the adjoining apartment 9. " ‘He either fears his late too much, 0r his deserts are small, Who fears to put it to the touch To Win or lose it all.’ " THE push that has entirely closed it. Molly, in her white evening- gown and pale blue ribbons, with a bunch of her favorite roses at her brow-st, is looking up at him. a. little mocking smile upon her lips. She is coldâ€"perhaps a. shade amusedmwithout one particle of senti- meut. “ I fear nothing,” cries Philip, in a low, impassioned tone, made unwiser bold by her words, seizing her hands, and pressing warm, unwelcome kisses on them; “whether I Win or lose, I will speak now. Yet what shall I tell you that you do not already know ! I love youâ€"my idolâ€"my darling! Oh, Molly, do not look so coldly on me.” “ Don't be earnest, Philip,” interrupts she, with a frown, and a sudden change of tone, raising her head, and regarding him with dis- tasteful hauteur; “ there is nothing I detest so much ; and your earnestness especially wearies me. When I spoke I was merely jest- ing, as you must have known. I do not want your love. I have told you so before. Let my hand go, Philip ; your touch is hateful to He drops her hands as though they burned him; and she, with flushed cheeks, and a still frowning brow, turns abruptly away, leaving him aloneâ€"angered, hurt, but still adoring. Ten minutes later her heartâ€"a. tender one â€"mlsgives her. She has been unjust to him â€"unkind. She will return and make such reparation as lies in her power. With a. light step she returns to the tea- room, where she left him, and. looking gently in, finds he has neither stirred nor raised his head since her cruel words cut him to the heart. Ten minutesâ€"~41 long timeâ€"and all consumed in thoughts of her! Feeling still more contrite she approaches him. “ Why, Philip," she says, with an attempt at playfulness, “ still enduring grinding tor- ments? What have I said to you? You have taken my foolish words too much to heart. That is not wise. Sometimes I hardly know myself what it is I have been saying.” She has come very near to him-~50 near that. gazing up at him appealingly, she brings her face in dangerously close proximity to his. A mad desire to kiss the lips that sue so sweetly for pardon fills him, yet he dares not do it. Although a man not given to self-re- straint where desire is at his elbow urging him on, he now stands subdued, unnerved, in M01- ly’s presence. “ Have I really distressed you ‘1’" asks she, softly, his strange silence rendering her still more remorseful. “ Come”~laying her hand upon his armm“ tell me what I have “‘Sweet, you have trod on a heart.”’ quotes Philip, 111 so low a tone as to be almost unheard. He closes his ‘hand tightly over hers for an instant ; a momentlater. and it is she who â€"this timeâ€"finds herself alone. done In the next room success is crowning their efforts. When Molly Ire-enters. she finds the Work almost completed. J net a finishing touch here and there, and all is ended. “ I suppose I should consider myself in luck ; I have still a little skin left,” says Sir Penthony. examining his hand with. tender solicitude. “ I don't think I fancy decorating; I shan’t take to the trade.” “ Yesâ€"should have put on gloves, you know, and that," says Grainger, who is re- garding his dainty fingers with undisguised sadness ~something that is almost an expres- sion on his face. “ But isn’t it awfully pretty ‘2" says Lady Stafiord, gazing round her with an air of pride. I “ AwfullSy nice," i'eplies Molly. ‘ ' “ Quite too awfully awful.” exclaims Mr. Potts, with exaggerated enthusiasm, and is instantly suppressed. “ If you cannot exhibit. greater decorum, Potts. we shall be obliged to put your head in a bag," says Sir Penthony. severely. “ I con- sider awfully quite the correct word. What mm the ivy and the gigantic size of those paper roses, the rooms present quite a start- ling appearance.” ' “ Well. I’m sure they are far prettier than Lady Harriet Nitemair’s; and she made such a. fuss about here last spring,” says Cecil, rather injured. “ Not in be named in the same day," de- clares Luttrell, who has not been at Lady Harriet Nitem air‘s. ” Why, Tedcastle, you were not there; you were on your way home from India at the time.” “VWas I? By Jove ! so I was. Never mind, I take your word for it and stick to my opin- ion," replies Lptfsrell, unab_a_sl;ed. “'I réally think wé ought to christen our work," Mr. Potts put in, dreamily, being in a. thirsty mood; and christened it is, in cham- pagne. -- _ ~ - ‘ . Potts himself, having drunk his own and every one else’s health many times, grows gradually gayer and guyer. To wind up this momentous evening without making it re- markable in any way strikes him as being a tame proceeding. “ To do or die" sud.- denly occurs to him, and he instantly acts upon it. . u. . .. .1 Viréefieihg his two former allies standing rather apart from the others, he makes for them, and thus addresses them: " Tell you what.” he says, with much ge- niality, ” it feels like Christmas, and crackers, and small games, don’t it? I feel up to any- thing. And I have a capital idea in my head. Wouldn’t it be rather a joke to frighten the others 1’” “ It would," says Cecil. decidedly. “ Would it ?" says Molly, diflidently. “ I have a first rate plan : I can make you both look so like ghosts that you would frighten the unsuspecting into fits.” Plantagénet. bEfore we go any fur- ther into your ghastly schemes. answer me this : is thgrg anygunpowfler about it ?” “ None." Laughing. “ You just dress your- self in white sheets, or that, and hold a plate in your hands filled with whiskey and salt, andâ€"there you are. You have no idea. of the tremendous effect. You will be more like a. corpse than anything you can imagine." 1v ,, WA“ fid‘gfighvégfiul 1;; rvnurmurs Ceéil. “ You make me longfpx: the shgetg and that.” .- -1330 the iglllskey and the salt ever blow up ‘2" asks Molly, cautiously. “ Because if 30___n “ No, they don‘t; of course not. Say noth- ing about it to the others, and we shall aston- ish them by-and-by. It is an awfully becom- ing thing. too,” says Potts, with a view to en- couragement; “ you will look like marble statues." ‘j We are trusting you again," says Cecil, regarding him fixedly. ” Plantagenet, if you should again be»911~riu1:lldt_)ingâ€"â€"” A .1- Viva-{or the V’slightest fear of a fiasco this time,” says Potts, comfortably. As eleven o’clock strikes, any one going up the stairs at Herst would have stopped with a mingled feeling of terror and admiration at one particular spot, where. in a. niche, upon a pedestal, a very goddess stands. 1.,1,1 It is Melly, clad in white from head to heel, with a lace scarf twisted round her head and shoulders, and with one bare arm uplifted, while with the other she holds an urn-shaped vase beneath her face, from which a pale-blue flame arises. Her eyes, larger, deeper, bluer than usual. are fixed with and and solemn meaning upon space. She scarcely seems to breathe; no quiver disturbs her frame, so intensely does she listen for a coming footetep. In her heart she hopes it may he Luttrell’s. TIE-minutes, pass. Her arm is growing tired, her eyes begin to blink against her will ; “ Here’s such a. coil! Come, What says Romeo ‘2’ â€"SEAKESPEARE. CHAPTER XXIII. RICHMOND HILL, THURSDAY, AUGUST 7, 1879. she is on the point of throwing up the game, descending from her pedestal, and regaining her own room, when a. footfall recalls her to herself and puts her on her mettle. Nearer it comesâ€"still nearer, until it stops altogether. Molly does not dare turn to see who it is. A moment later a wild cry. a smothered groan, falls upon her ear, and, turning her head, terrified, she sees her gand- fnther rush past her. tottering, trembling un- til he reaches his own room, where he disap- pears. Almost at the same instant the others who have been in the drawing‘room. drawn to the spot by the delicatomachinations of Mr. Potts, come on the scene ; while Marcia, who has heard that scared cry, emerges quickly from among them and passes up the stairs into her grandfather’s room. There follows an awkward silence. Cecil, who has been adorning a. corner farther on, comes creeping towards them, pale and ner- vous, having also been a witness to Mr. Am- herst's hurried flight; and she and Molly, in their masquerading costumes, feel, to say the least of it. rather small. They cast a withering glance at Potts, who has grown a lively purple ; but he only shakes his head, having no explanation to offer, and knowing himself for once in his life to be un- equal to the oceanirn. . Mrs. Darley is the first to break silence. “ What is it ? What has happened? Why are you both here in your nightdresses ‘2" she asks, unguardedly, losing her head in the ex- citement of the moment. “ it was grandpapa,” says Molly, in a frightened tone. “ He came by, and I think was upset by myâ€"appearance. Oh. I hope I have not done him any harm I Mr. Potts, why did you make me do it ‘2” “ What do you mean ‘3" says Cecil, angrily “ Nightdresses! If you don’t know dressing- gowns when you see them, I am sorry for you Plantagenet, what has happened?” “ How could I tell '2” replies: Potts, who is as white as their costumes. “ What an aw- ful shriek he gave ! I thought such a stern old card as he is would have had more pluck.” “ I was positive he was in bed,” sayé Cecil, “ or I should never have ventured." “ He is never where he ought to be," mut- ters Potts, gloomily. Here c'ofiversat'ion fails them. For once they are honestly dismayed, and keep their eyes fixed in anxious expectation on the bed- chamber of their host. Will Marcia. never come? “Grandpapa is very much upset. He is ill. It was heartlessâ€"a cruel trick,” she says, rather incoherently. “ He wishes to see youI Eleanor. instantly. You had better go to him." “ Must I ?” asks Molly. who is quite color lesstmd much inpljned to pry.” At length the door opens and she appears, looking pale and destraitp. Her eyes light angrily as_ they fall on Molly: “ Unless you wish to add" disobedience to your other unfeeling conduct,” replies Marcia, coldly. ' ‘Vith faltering footsteps she approaches the fatal door, whilst the others disperse and re- turn onco more to the drawing-roomâ€"all, that is, except Lady Stafford, who seeks her own chamber, and Mr. Potts. who in an agony of doubt and fear lingers about the corridor awaiting Molly's retuTn. “ No, no ; of course not. "I will go,” says Molly neryougly. A As she enters her grandfather‘s room she finds him lying 91: Ta. couch, half upright. an angry, disappointed expression on his face. distrust in his search! 1g eyes. “ Comeba- " ' hlylrmoti ing. her with one finger to he; side. “ and tel me Why you of all others should have chosen to play this trick upon me. Was it revenge ‘2” “ Upon you, grandpapa! 011, not upon you,” says Molly, shocked. “ It was all a mis- take-u. mere foolish piece of fun ;but I never thought you would have been the one to see “ Are you lying? Let melook at you. If so, you do 11: cleverly. Your face is honest. Yet I hear it was for me alone this travesty was enacted.” “ Whoever told you so spoke falsely,” Mol- ly says, pale but firm, a great indignation to- wards Marcia rising in her breast. She has her hand on the back of a chair, and is gaz- ing anxiously but openly at the old man. “ Why should I seek to offend you, who have been so kind to rueâ€"whose bread I have eaten ? You do not understand ; you wrong "I thought it was your mother,” whispers he, with a quick shiver, “ from her grave re- turned to reproach rueâ€"to remind me of all the miserable past. It was a. senseless thought. But the likeness was awfulâ€"appall- ing. She was my favorite (laughter, yet she of all creatures was the one to thwart me most ; and I did not forgive. I left her to pine for the luxuries to which she was accus- tomed from her birth, and could not then pro- cure. She was delicate, I let her wear her heart out waiting fore worthless pardon. And what a heart it was ! Then I would not for- give; nowâ€"now I crave forgiveness. Oh that the deed could speak l” He covers his face withhis withered hands, that shake and tremble like October leaves, and in troubled sigh escapes him. For the moment the stem old man has disappeared ; only the penitent remains. “ Dear granclpapa, be comforted." says Molly. much affected, sinking on her knees beside him. Never before, by either brother or grandfather, has her dead mother been so openly alluded to. “ She did forgive. So sweet as she was, 110w could she retain a bit- ter feeling ? Listen to me. Am I not her only child? Who so meet to offer you her pardon? Let me comfort you." hifillerst {makes no reply. but he gently presses the fingers that have found their way around his neck. “ I too would ask pardon," Molly goes on, in her sweet, low. trainamtc voice. that has a Bob in it here and there. “ How shall I gain it after all that I have doneâ€"to distresu you so, although unintentionally? And you think hardly of me, grandpapa? You think I did it to annoy you ?" “ No, no, not now.” “ I have made you ill," continues Molly, still crying ; “ I have caused you pain. Oh, gtandpapa I do say you are not angry with “I am not. You are a good child, and Marcia wronged you. Go now, and forget all I may have salt]. I am weak at times, and-â€" and Go, child ; I am better alone.” the cdrridor ofitside stands Mr. Potts, with pale cheeks and very pale eyes. Even his hair seems to have lost a shade and looks sub- dued. " Well, what did he say to you ‘2" he asks, in what he fondly imagines to be a whisper, but which would be distinctly audible in the hall beneath. " Was he awfully mad? Did he cut up very rough ? I wouldn’t have been in your shoes for a million. Did heâ€"dld he say anything aboutâ€"me ‘2” “ I don’t believe he remembered your exist» ence." says Molly. with a laugh, although her eyelids are still of a shade too decided to be becoming. “ He knew nothing of your share in the transaction." leievl-iéfibéfir Mr. Potts declares himself thankful for so much mercy in a devout man- ner, and betnkes himself to the smoking- room‘ Here he is received with much applause and more congrapglatjrons.» “ Another of Mr. Potts's charming enter- tamments,” says Sir Penthony, with a wave of the hand. “Extraordinary and enthusi- astic reception 1 Such success has seldom be- fore been witnessed! Last time he blew up two young women ; to-night he has slain an inoffensive old gentleman ! Really, Potts, you must. allow me to shake hgmds with youi” “ Was there ever anything more unfortu- nate ‘2" says Potts, in a lachrymose tone. He has not been inattentive to the requirements of the inner man since his entrance, and al- ready, slowly but surely, the brandy is doing its work. “ It was all so well arranged, and I made sure the old boy was gone to bed.” “He is upset,” murmurs Sir Penthony, with touching concern, “and no wonder. Such tremendous exertion requires the aid of stimulants to keep it up. My dear Potts, do have a little more brandy-und-soda. You don‘t take half care of yourself.” “ Not a. dropâ€"not a drop,” says Mr. Potts. drawing the decanter towards him. ” It don’t. agree with me. Oh. Stafford I you should have seen Miss Maseereene in her Greek cos- tume. I think she is the loveliest creature I ever saw. She is,” goes on Mr. Potts, with unwise zeal; “ by far the loveliest, and the same I would rise to maintain.” “She will just Vlike Vémis, orÂ¥some of those other goddesses,” says Mr. Potts, vaguely. “I wouldn’t if I were you," says Philip, who is indignant. “There is no knowing whai iricks your 1eg_s_ms)_'_play with you." “ I can well believe it,” returns Stafford ; “ but don’t let emotion master you. There’s naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion. Try a. little of the former." “ There is nothing in life I wouldn’t do for that girlâ€"nothing, Ideclare to you, Stafford," goes on Potts, who is quite in tears by this time ; ‘* but she Wouldn’t look at me.” Luitrell and Philip are enraged, Stafiord and the others are in roars. “ Wouldn't she. Potts?” says Stafford, with a fine show of sympathy. “ Who knows? Cheer up, old boy, and remember women never know their own minds at first. She may yet become alive to your many perfec- tions, and know her heart to be all yours. Think of that. And why should she not ‘2” says Sir Penthony. with free encouragement. “ Where could she get a. better fellow ? Faint heart, you know, Potts. Take my advice and pluck up spirit. and go in for her boldly. Throw yourself at her feet.” “ I will,” says Mr. Potts. ardently. “To-morrow." advises Sir Penthony, with growing excitement. “Not to-night ; wait till to-morrow,” Sir Penthony says, who has not antimpated so ready an acceptance of his advice, getting between him and the door. “ In my o in- ion she has retired to her room by this; and it really would be rather sketchy, you knowâ€" eh ?” " Noi” declares Potts, with Wild enthusi asm, making a, rush for thgdoor. ‘ “ What do you say, Luttrell?” asks Potts. unceArtajntly. “ Wl_1at wogld yell advisq?" “ Bed,”yreturns Luttrell, cfirtly. turning on his heel. And finally the gallant Potts is conveyed to his room. without being allowed to lay his hand and fortune at Miss Massereene‘s feet. About four o’clock the next dayâ€"being that of the ballâ€"Sir Penthony. strolling along the western corridor, comes to a stand-still before Cecil’s door, which happens to lie wide open. “ Is that the garment in which you so much distinguished yourself last night ‘I" Sir Bantlmny mum lmlp -aaking - . and.. wit little start and blush, she raises her eyes. ‘1 Is it you 2’" she says, smiling. “ Yes, this is the identical robe. Won’t you come in. Sir Penthony? You are quite Welcome. If you have nothing better to do you can stay with and talk to me for a little.” Cecil herself is inside, and is standing so as to be seen, clad in the memorable white dress- ing-gown of the evening before, making a. careful choice between two bracelets she holds in her hands. fl “ I have plenty to do”â€"coming in amiclos- ing the doorâ€"“ but nothing 1 would not gladly throw over to accept an invitation from you: “ So this is her sanctum." thinks her hus- band, glancing round. What a. dainty nest it is, with its innumerable feminine finelies, its piano, its easel, its pretty pink-and-blue cv-etanne. its wealth of flowers, although the season is of the coldest and bleakest. v “ Dear me l What a charming speech ! What a. courtier you would have made ! Con- sider yourself doubly welcome ; I adore pretty speeches. when addressed to myself. Now, sit there while I decide on what jewelry I shall wear to-nigth’ A cosy fire burns brightly. In the wall op- posite is an open door, through which one catches a. glimpse of the bedroom beyond, decked out in all its pink-and-white glory. There is a very sociable little clock, a table strewn with wools and colored silks, and mir» l‘OI‘S everywhere. As for Cecil herself, with honest admiration her husband carefully regards her. What a. pretty woman she is! full of all the tender graces, the lovable caprices, that wake the heart to fondness. How charming a person to come to in grief or trouble, or even in one’s gladnesez 1 How full of gayety yet immeasureable tenderness is her speaking face ! Verin there is a depth of sympathy to be found in a pretty woman that a. plain one surely lacks. Her white gown becomes her to a mcrveille, and fits her to perfection. She cannot be called fat, but as certainly she cannot be called thin. When people speak of her with praise they never fail to mention the pretty round- ness of her figure. Her hair has partly come undone. and hangs in a. fair loose coil, rather lower than usual, upon her neck. This suits her, mak- ing still softer her soft though piquante face. Her white and jewelled fingers are busy in the case before her as, with puckered brows, she sighs over the difficulty of making a wise and. becoming choice in precious stones for the evening’s triumphs. At Instâ€"a set of sapphires having gained the dayâ€"she lays the casket aside and turns to her husband, while wondering with de- mure amusement on the subject of his thoughts during these past few minutes. He has been thinking of her, no doubt. Her snowy wrapper, with all its dainty frills and bows, is eminently becoming. Yes, be- yond question he has been indulging in senti- mental regrets. V â€"vsiilr:fli’en‘?hony’a first remark rather dispels the illusion. “1‘ Elie old boy puts you up very comfortably down here, don‘t be ?" he Faye, in a. terrible prosaic Atonf: Is this all? Has he been admiring the fur- niture during all these eloquent moments of silence, instead of her and her innumerable charms ? Insufferable I V “ He do.” responds she, dryly, with a. care- fulfidgptatjon of his Egglish: V fiefithony raises hi; eyebrows in affected astonishment, and then they_both laugh. do hope, you are not going to 55y rude things to me about last night," she says, still smiling. " No. You may remember once before on u very similar occasion I told you I should never again scold you. for the simple reason that I consider it language thrown away. I was right, as the sequel proved. Besides, the extreme becomingness of your toilette alto- gather disarmed me. By the bye, when do you return to town ?" “ Next week. And you ?” “ I shall goâ€"when you go. May I call on you there ‘2" “Indeed you may. I like you quite Well enough," says her ladyship, with unsentimen- tal and therefore most objectionable frank- ness. “ to wish you for my friend.” “ Why shoula we not b}; more than friends, #73751; should have thought of all this be- fore.” Cecil?” says Stafford, going up to her and tak- ing both her hands in a warm, afi'ectionate clasp. “ Just consider how we two are situ- ated ; you are bound to me forever, until death shall kindly step in to relieve you of me, and I am bound to you as closely. Why, then, should we not accept our position, and make our lives one ?” “How could I? Think what a deception you practised on me when sending that mis- erable picture. I confess I abhor ugliness. And then, your own conditionsâ€"what could I do but abide by them ‘2" W“ There are "certain times when a. woman does not altogether care about being taken so oomgletelrv at her wqrd.” yv._r--.-- ... _.__ . “ But timt was nbfi’sighe of them.” Hastily. “ I do not believe you would have wished to live with a man you neither knew nor cared " Perhaps not." Laughing. “ Sometimes I hardly know myself what it is I do want. But are we not very well as we are ? I dare say, had we been living together for the past afihree years, we should now dislike each other as cordially asâ€"-as do Maud Darley and her husband.” “He certainly is plain,” says Cecil, pen-l sively, “andâ€"he snaresâ€"two great points, against him. Yes, on consideration, you are an improvement on Henry Darley.” Then, with a sudden change of tone, she says, ” does all this mean that you love me ?" Tor. n “ Impossible. Maud Darley is one person, you are quite another; while Iâ€"well”â€"with a smileâ€"“ I honestly confess I fancy myself rather more than poor Henry Darley.” “ Yes. I confess it, Cecil," answers he, gravely, earnestly. ” I love you} as I never believed it possible I should love any woman. I am twenty-nine, andâ€"think me cold if you willâ€"but up to this I never yet saw the woman I wanted for my wife except you.” “ Then you ought to consider yourself the happiest man alive, because you have the thing you crave. As you reminded me just now, I am yours until death us do part.” “ Not all I crave, not the best part of you, your heart,” replies he, tenderly. “No man loving as I do could be contented with a part.” “ Oh, it is too absurd,” says Cecil, with a little aggravating shake of the head. ” In love with your own Wife in this prosaic nineteenth Nntury! It savors of the ridiculous. Such .istaken feeling has been tabooed long ago. unquer it ; conquer it.” ~‘ r.‘l‘oo Ill-t8. Besides, I have no desire to mnquer it. On the contrary, I encourage it, in laogepf some; return. No. (19 not dishearten “ r:l‘lien‘go alittle farther, and say youâ€" love me.” “ That would be going a. great deal further, because I love so few.” 1m. ‘1 know what you are going to say; but. uL least you like me, Cecil ?” " Well, yes ; but what of that? I like so numxrpeople." ‘ “Never mind. Say, ‘Penthony, I love 3011:”: “ Would you have me tell you an untruth.” “ I would have you say you love me." “ But supposing I cannot in honesty.” " Try.” . “ Of course I can try. Words without mean- ing are easy things to say. But thenâ€"9. lie ; that is a serious matter." “ It may cease to be a. lie, once uttered." “ Wellâ€"just to please ygu, then. and as an experimentâ€"and , You are sqrejou will “out Gunyifid mafia. saying it r‘w ~ ‘ »»«k it No." ‘ ” Nor accuse me afterwards of deceit ?" “ Of course not." “ Nor think me weak-minded ?" “ No, no. How could I ?” “ Well, thenâ€"Penthonyâ€"Iâ€"don’t love you the least bit in the world 1” declares Cecil, with a, provoking, irresistible laugh, stepping back- wards out of his reach. ' He has placed his hands upon her should- ers, and is regarding her with anxious fond- 11658. Sir Penthony does not speak for a moment or two; then “ Sweet is revenge, especially to women," he says, quietly, although at heart he is bitterly chagrined. To be unloved is one thingâ€"to he laughed at is another. “ After all, you are right. There is nothing in this world so rare or so admirable as hon- esty. I am glad you toll me no untruth, even in jest.” Just at this instant the door opens, and Molly enters. She looks surprised at such an unexpected spectacle as Cecil’s husband sitting in his wife’s boudoir, tete-a-tete with her. “ Don’t be shy, dear,” says Cecil, mischiev- ously, with a little wicked laugh ; “ you may conga in ; it is only my husban_d_.” The easy nonchalance of this speech, the only half- suppressed amusement in her tone, angers Sir Penthony more than all that has gone before. With a. hasty word or two to Molly, he suddenly remembers a pressing en- gagement, and, with a slight bow to his wife, takes his departure. “ Take, 0111 take those lips away, Them so sweetly were forsworn ; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the mom; But my kisses bring again, Seals of love, but sealed in vain.” â€"SHAKEBPEARE. The longed-for night has arrived at last; so has Molly’s dress, a. very marvel of art, fresh and pure as newlyâ€"fallen snow. It is white silk with tulle, on which white water-lilies lie here and there, as though carelessly thrown, all their broad and trailing leaves gleaming from among the shining folds. “ Our visit is nearly at an end, Sarah ; how have you enjoyed it ‘2” she asks, in an inter- val, during which Sarah is at her feet, sewing on more securely one of her white lilies. Miss Massereene is in her own room, dress- ing, her faithful Sarah on her knees beside her. She has almost finished her toilette, and is looking more than usually lovely in her London ball-dress. “ Very much, indeed, miss. They’ve all been excessive polite, though they do ask a. lot of questions. Only this evening they wanted to know if we was estated, and I said yes, Miss Molly, because, after all, you know, miss. it is a. property, however small; and I wasn’t going to let myself down. And then that young man of Captain Shadwell’s est me if We was country people, which I thought uncommon imperent. Not but what he’s a nice young man, miss, and very affable.” “ étil] ébnstmit, Safah 2’” safe Molly, who is deep in the waves of doubt, not being able to decide some important final point about her dress. “ 0h, law! yes, miss, he is, indeed. It was last night he was saying as my accent was very sweet. Now, there isn’t one of them country bumpkins, miss, as would know whether you had an accent or not. It’s odd how traveling do improve the mind." “ Sarah, you should pay no attention to those London young menâ€"(pin it more to this side)â€"â€"because they never mean any- thing.” “ Law, Miss Molly, do you say so ?” says her handmaid, suddenly depressed. “ Welll of course, miss, youâ€"who are so much with London gentlemenâ€"ought to know. And don’t thefimean what they say to you, Miss M01131?” 7 “ Eh ?” says Mlly, rather taken aback ; and then she bursts out laughing. “ Sarah, only I know you to be trustworthy, I should cer- tainly think you sarcastic.” “ Wham; that, miss ?" “ Never mind-â€"something thoroughly odious. You abash me, Sarah. By all means believe What each one tells you. It may be as WHOLE N0.1,099â€"N0, 9; CHAPTER. XXIV. honestly said to you as to me. And hom‘finow do I look, Sarah ? Spgwk,” says Molly, sailing away from her up the" room ’like ‘a "‘ white, White swan,” and then turning to confrc nt her “ Let me get down-stairs at all events, Without having my head turned,” says Molly, laughing. “ 0h, Cecil, I feel so happy ! To have a really irreproachable ball-dress, and m go to a really large ball, has been for years the dream of my life.” “ Do I really? Thank you, Sarah,” says Molly, humbly. “ I agree with Sarah,” says Cecil, who has entered unnoticed. She affects blue as a rule, and is now attired in palest azure, with a. faint-pink blossom in her hair, and another at her breast. “ Sarah is a person of much discrimination; you do look quite the lady. You should be grateful to me, Molly, when you remember I ordered your dress ; it is al- most the prettiest I have ever seen, and with you in it the effect is maddening.” and give her a fair opportunity of judging of her charms. ' ‘ “ Just lovely,” says Sarah, with the moat fluttering sincerity of tone. “ There is no doubt, Miss Molly, but you look quite the lady." '5 “ I wonder, when the evening is over, how you will look on your dream ?” Cecil cannot help saying. “ Come, we are late enough as it is. But first turn round and let me see the train. So; that woman is a perfect artist where dresses are concerned. You look charm- mg.” “ And her neck and arms, my lady I” puts in Sarah, who is almost tearful in her admira- tion. “ Surely Miss Massereene’s cannot be equalled. They are that white. Miss Molly, that no one could be found fault with for com- paring them to the dribbling snow.” .yu "1‘ may delightful simné," exclaims Mol- ly, merrily. and forthwith follows Cecil to con- qugsfi. They find the drawing-rooms still rather empty. Marcia. is before them, and Philip and Mr. Potts; also Sir Penthony. Two or three determined ball-goers have arrived, and are dotted about, looking over albums, asking each other how they do, and thinking how ut- terly low it is of all the rest of the county to be so late. “ Such beastly affectation, you know, and such :1 putting on of ads, and gen- eral straining after effect.” “ I hope, Miss Amherst, you have asked a lot of pretty girls,” says Plantagenet, “ and only young ones. Old maids make awful havoc of my temper.” “ I don’t think there are lots of pretty girls anywhere; but I have asked as many as I know. And there are among them at least two acknowledged belles.” “You don't say so 1” exclaims Sir l’en- thony. “ Miss Amherst, if you wish to make me eternally grateful you will point them out to me. There is nothing so distreSSing as not to know. And once I was introduced to a. beauty, and didn’t discover my luck until it was too late. I never even asked her to dance. Could you fancy anything more humiliating ? Give you my word of honor I spoke to her for ten minutes and never so much as paid her a compliment. It was too cruelâ€"and she the queen of the evening. as 1 was told after- wards." The ball is at its height. Marcia. dressed in pale maize silkâ€"which suits her dark and glowing beautyâ€"1's still receiving a. few late guests in her usual stately but rather impas- sive manner. Old Mr. Amherst, standing beside her. gives her an air of importance. Beyond all doubt she will be heavily dow- eredâ€"a Wealthy heiress, if not exactly the heir. Philip, as the supposed successor to the house and lands of Horst, receives even more attention ; While Molly, except for her beauty, which outshines all that the room contains, is in no way noticeable. Though, when one holds the ace of trumps, one feels almost in- dependent of the other honors. “ You didn‘t admire her ‘2“asks Cecil, inter- ested. “ Never saw her beauty 5?" “ No. She was tall, and had arched brows â€"â€"two things I detest.” r The chief guestâ€"a marquis, with an aris- tocratic limp and only one eyeâ€"has begged of her a square dance. Two lordsâ€"one very young. the other distressingly oldâ€"have also solicited her hand in the mazy dance. She is the reigning blene; and she knqws it. " “Blihllr’t‘ifui‘ kyux'mggfihfiil ., 3h: Jamey} through the rooms. A great delight, a joy- ous excitement, born of her youth, the music. her own success, fills her. She has a. smile, a kindly look, for every one. Even Mr. Bus- carlet in the blackest of black clothes and rather indifierent linen, venturing to address her as she goes by him, receives a gracious answer in return. So does Mrs. Buscarlet, who is radiant in pink satin and a bird‘ofâ€" paradise as a crown. “ Ain’t she beautiful ?" says that substan- tial matron. with a beaming air of approbaâ€" tion, as though Molly was her bosom friend, addressing the partner of her joys. “ Such a- love-turned jaw! She has quite a look of my sister Mary Anne when a. girl. I wish, my dear, she was to be heiress of Herst, instead of that stuck-up girl in yellow.” “ So do I ; so do 1,” replies Buscarlet, folâ€" lowing the movements of Beauty as she glides away, smiling, dimpling, on my lord’s arm. “ Andâ€"ahem !â€"â€"With a. meaning and consequential coughâ€"“ perhaps she may. Who knows ? There is a. certain person who has often a hold of her grandfather’s ear l Ahem l" Meantime the band is playing its newest, sweetest strains; the air is heavy with the scent of flowers. The low ripple ofconverea- tion and merry laughter iises sibove every thing. The hours are flying all too swiftly. “ May I have the pleasure of this waltz with you ?" Sir Penthony is saying, bending over Lady Stafford as she sits in one of the num- berlesa small, dimly-lit apartments that branch off the hell. “Dear Sir Penthony, do you think I will test your good nature so far ? You are kind to a fault, and I will not repay you so poorly as to avail myself of your offer. Fancy com demning you to waste a whole dance on your â€"wife !” The first of the Small hours has long since sounded, and she is a little piqued that not until now has he asked her to dance. Never- theless she addresses him with her most charming smile. “ 1, f0; my part, should not consider it a dance wasted," rep}ies he, siiffly. “ Is he not self-Henying ?” slie says, turn- ing languidly towards Lowry, who as usual stands beside her. (Letter to Charleston News.) Reedy River, in Laurens county, S. 0., is a. poor stream for fish. Perhaps by a whole day’s fishing the angler may be rewarded by one-half dozen little catfish. We had a. visit last week from the Raburn’s Creek otter, William Vaughn. He said there were fish in the river and he had come after them. It was amusing to see him in the shoals. diving under the rocks, and bringing up the cats ; sometimes he would come up with one in each hand, and occasionally with three fish, one in his mouth and one in each hand. After fishing the shoals he tried his hand on suckers and red-horse in the deeper water. diving down under the banks and bringing up the fish in his hands. He caught about twenty fine suckers. weighing one, two and three pounds each. Vaughn has been known to catch as many as six suckers at one time in his hands. He says when under the water he can rub a sucker on the side and it will lie as still as a. pig when you are scratching it. ~Considerable sensation has been caused at Bridgewater, England, by the appearance at a place of entertainment of six men who were advertised as Zulus, and announced to go through War-dance performances. An enormous crowd assembled, and the show manager, to meet rumors which had been cur- rent, invited any one to question the Zulus in their own language. The challenge was taken up by a seaman, who, after talking to the blacks, denounced them as impostors. A scene of great excitement ensued, much rough language and-some blows being exchanged ; but ultimately the performance proceeded. A IIUMAN ID’I‘TE B [TO BE CONTINUED.} 41,0025":