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“ Well, eveh this is subétztntfal,” {chums he, with a provoking air. Suddenly he laughs. “ Oh, so much E” 1 say, with a sigh for the delights that are (lead and gone. “You see we have never been acocustomed to any- thing butâ€"butâ€"â€"â€"y” I cannot bring myself to mention the disreputable fossil that lies in the coach-house at home, so substitute the words “ one horse ; and now to find one’s self behind four, with such a. good height between one's self and the ground, is simply bliss. I would like to drive like this forever.” “ May I take that as a cmnpliment ‘i" “ A compliment?” Md of standépg, show a good deal of friskiness at the set-off, and claim their driver’s undivided attention, so that we have covered at least half a mile of the road before he speaks to me. Then, stoop- ing to tuck the rug more closely round me (the evenings have»grown Very chilly) he whispers, with a smile : It is a. common tale. a woman‘s 101:, To waste on one the wishes of her soul, Who téxkes the wealth she gives him. but canâ€" no Repay the interestâ€"and much less the whole. As I look up into your eyes, a nd wait For some response to my fond gaze and touch, It seems to me there is no sadder mm Than to be doomed to loving over much. Are you not kind? ah yes. so very kind, . So thoughtful of my comfort, and so true, Yes, yes, dear heart, but I, not being blind, Know that; I run not loved as 1 love you. And often'timcs you think me childish. weok, When, at some idle word, the tears will start You cannot understand how ought you speak. Has~ power to stir the depths of my poor Mr. Hastings, still adoring, scrambles on by my side, panting and pufi‘ing with the might of the too solid flesh nature has. be- stowed upon him and the wraps he is com» polled to carry. M 1'. Carrington, Dora and Miss Hastings are close behind : Billy strag- gles somewhere in the distance Roland and pretty Lenah follow more (30 the left. “At this moment, believe me, I have no regrets, no troubles,” he says at length, quietly. “Can you say the same? Did Hastings’ eloquence make no impression? I couldn’t hear what particular line he was taking, but he looked unutterable things. Once or twice I thought he was going to Weep. The melting mood would just suit a. person of his admirable dimen» sions.” “ He was very kind,” I return, coldly, “and I don’t wish to hear him spoken of in a. slighting manner. Hé is so attentive and good-natured ; he carried all those wraps without a murmur, though I’m sure he didn’t like it, because his face got as red and he» he lost his breath so dreadfully as we came along. None of the. otherg overburdened themselves, and you, I particularly noticed; carried nothing.” “I’m a selfish beast, I know,” says Mr. Carringtqn, composedly, “and have always had a rooted objection to carrying anything, except, perhaps, a. gun, and there is no get- ting out of that. There are so many dis~ agreeable burdens in this life that must be home, and it seems to me weak-minded voluntarily to add them. Don’t; scold me “Don’t let us quarrel about Hastings," he says, looking down at me ; “I will make any concessions you like, rather than that. I will say he is slim, refined, a. very skele- ton, if you wish it, only take that little pucker off your forehead ; it was never meant to‘ Wear a frown. Now tell me if you have enjoyed your day.” 1 cannot help it, dear ; I wish I could, 0r feign indifference where 1 now adore For if I seemed to love you less you would, Man like, I have no doubt, love me the more. ‘is a sad giftC-thgt m3.chflnppl£§1xflg(l‘ thng Auflwr of “$10111; Ba 11:71." “ The Baby,‘ “ A try Fairy Lilian," 610., etc. ‘ “Miss Phyllis, I think 1 hm] once heard you say you had had never sat on the front of a. drag ; will you take it now? Miss Vernon agrees with me it is a good chance for you to see if you would like it.” How good of him to remember that foolish speech of mine, when I know he is longing for Dora’s socioty ! “ Oh ! thank you,” I say, flushing ; “ it is very kmd of you to think of it ; but Dora. likes it too, and I can assure you I was quite happy. I enjoyed myself immensely when coming.” ' “Are you quite sure you would rather be here with me than at the back with that . Ahoy-J )1 “Qulte positn'e,” I answer, with an em- phatic nod. “I was only afraid you would have preferredâ€"you would regretâ€"you would have liked to return as you came,” 1 wind up, desperately. “ OH I in that caseâ€"â€"” returns ringtggn, goldly, hglf tuljn‘iug‘away: “’Not but that I would like it,” I go on, encouraged by a smile from Dom, who can now afford to be magnanimous, having been made much of and singled out by the poten- tate during the entire day, “if you are sure (to Mr. Carrington) you wish it.” “Come,” 'sJys llé, with a pleased smile, and soon I find myself in the coveted posi- tion,‘our landlord in excellent temper beside me. He stares at me curiously for a moment, almost with suspicxon, as it seems to me, in the gathermg tw111ght. One Lender worda little longer kiss, Will fill my soul with music and with song, And if you seem abstracted, or I miss The heart-m 110 from your voice, my world goes wrong. ‘ X Egfiélafiiyhéfi’rfit: For REE 730th daily i'n‘ovc That constancy finds but a. cruel sting. And fickle natures win the trugst love. ‘ J “gt as We reach the road Mr, Carrington spgaygg 1mg cqlgrs it 1§ttle as he does so. any more: Phyllis; I want to be happy while I can.” “ Then don’t abusé poor Mr. Hastings.” “ Surely it isn’t abuse tO‘say a man is fat when hq wgighs tygnty stone," “It is inTpossible “he can weigh more than fourteen?! 9x5flain}, indigqailtly. héart. CHAPTER VIIWCONTINUED. The Common Lot. BY THE DUO} PHYLLIS. In40>NI returns MI‘. Car- ELLA WHEELER. 7‘ th ?” wifh impatient reproach. “\‘\"110 is there in this miserable forgotten spot to propose to any one, except Mr. Carring- tom 2’” “Dom, what” has happennd‘?” I ask,b1‘eath- lessly.‘ “ Uh, nothing,” returns Dom, reckless misery in her tone ; “nothing to signify ; onlyâ€"Billy was rightâ€"I am quite positive he never cared for Incâ€"has not the slightest intuition of proposing to me." \ “ W'hat? who I)” I demand in my charm- ing definitq way. _ “\Vhat have you heard, Dom ?” I ask, light breaking in upon my obscurity. \Vhen We are all safely landed, papa, to our unmitigated astonishment, comes for- ward, and presses Mr. Carrington to stay and (line. Perhaps, considering he has four horses and two grooms in his train our father guesses he will refuse the invitation. At all events he does so graciously, and, raising his hat, drives off, leaving us free to sur- round and relate to mother all the glories of the day. The following Monday, as I sit reading in the small parlor we dare to call our own, I am startled by Dora’s abrupt entrance. Her outdoor garments are on her; her whole appearance is full of woe : suspicious circles surround her eyes. I rise fearfully and hasten toward her. Surer if anything worthy of condemnation has occurred it Is impossible but I must have a prominent part in it. Has the irreproachahle Dora committed a crime? Is she in disgrace with our domestic tyrant ? My stupidity slightly discomfits my com- panipn. _ “hat a brother-in-law he will make! My heart throbs with delight. This day, then, is to be one of a series. I feel a wild desire to get near Billy, to give him a. squeeze in the exuberance of my joy, but in default of him can only look my gratitude by smiling mphurously into Mr. Cari’ington’s dark-blue eyes. Fiveâ€"six minutes pass, and he does not address‘me. I feel annoyed with myself, yet innocent of having intentionally offend- ed. Presently stealin a. glance at my com. panion, I say contriter : “ Have I vexed you, Mr. Carrington ‘3" “ No, no.” he answers, hastily, the smile coming home to his lips. “Don’t think so. Surely truthfulness, being so rare a virtue, should be precious. I am an irritable felâ€" low at times, and you are find 11g out all my faults to-night,” he says rather sadly, laying his hand for an instant upon mine. as it lies bare and small and brown upon the rug. “You have proved me both ill-tem- pered and selfish. You will say I am full of defects.” “Indeed I will not,” I return, earnestly, touched by his manner ; “I do not even see the faults you mention; and at all events no one was ever before so kind to me as you have been.” Mr. Carrington is on the ground in a moment, and comes round to my side to help me down. I hold out my hands and prepare for a good spring (a. clear jump at any time is delightful to me); but he (lis- appoints my hopes by taking me in his arms and placing me gently on the gravel ; after which he goes instantly to Dora. “I only hoped you meant youfiyou would have no objection to engage me as a coach- man in your never-ending drive,” he says, slowly. “My abominable selfishness again, you see. I cannot manage to forget Mar- maduke Carrington.” Then, abruptly. “ You shall have the four-in-hand any day you wish, Phyllis, asit pleases you so much; remember that. J net name a day whenever you choose, and I shall only be too happy to drive you.” ' I “ It is awfully good of you,” I say, warm- ly ; “you don’t know how much we enjoy it. “'0 have always been so stupid, so tietl down, any unexpected amusement like this seems almost too good to be true. But’Lâ€" with hesitation and a blushâ€"“we had bet- ter not go too often. You see, papa, is a little odd at times, and he might forbid it altogether if we appear too anxious for it. Perhaps, in a fortnight, if you would take us againwwill you ‘3 01' would that be too often. While I ponder 011 what these words may mean, while the first dim forebodingw suspicionâ€"what you willâ€"enters my mind, we reach Bylston, and pull up to give the Hastings time to alight and bid their adieux. Then we go on again, always in the strange silen'ce that has fallen upon us, and presently find Ourselves at home. “ Do you know,” I say confidentially, “I am so glad you have come to live down here. Before, we had literally nothing to think about, now you are always turning up, and even that is something. Actually, it seems to us, papa appears more lively since your ar- rival, he don’t look so gloomy or prowl about after us so much. And then this drivcfiwe would never hail the (thyme of such a thing but for you. It is an immense comfort to know you are going to stay here altogether. “Is it? Phyllis, look at me." I look at him. f‘Now tell me this ; if any other folâ€" low as well all" as I am had come to Sti'angev more, and had taken you for drives and that, would you have been as glad to know him? \Vould you have liked him as well as He is regarding me very earnestly, his lips are slightly compressed. Evidently, he expects me to say something; but alas ! I don’t know What. I feel horribly puzzled and hesitate. “ Go on ; answer me,” he says, eagerly. "I don’t know, I never thought about it,” I murmur, somewhat troubled. “ It is such an odd question. You see, if he had come in your placel would not then have known you, and if he had been so kindâ€"yes, I suppose I would have liked him just as well,” I conclude, quickly. Of course I have said the wrong thing, The moment my speech is finished I know this. Mr. Carrington’s eyes leave mine ; he mutters something between his teeth, and brings the whip down sharply on the far leader. ‘3 I would be kinder if I dared,” he says, $05519,th unstpaflily. r m L‘. “These brutes grow lazier every day,” hejays with M} unmistakable f_r9wq. “Phyllis, can’t: you understand how much I wish to be with you?” His tone is almost impatient, and he speaks with unnecessary haste. I'conclude he is referring to pretty Dora, who sits behind, and is making mild running with Mr. Hastings. an CHAPTER V III. “ \Villium 1” cries my father in a. voice of thunder, “go to your room.” And “’illiam does as he is bid. The brown gravy soup has not yet been removed ; and, Billy being our youngest, and consequently the last helped, more than Now, when I cry I do it with all my heart. The tears fall like rain ; for the time being I abandon myself altogether to. my grief, and a perfect deluge is the consequence. Once I have wept my fill, however, 1 recov- er almost instantaneously, feeling as fresh!» young grass after a- shower. “N6nsense E” says Dora, sharply; “Don’t be absurd. Did you ever hear of any broth- er wasting so much affection upon a sister? Do you suppose Billy 01' Roland Would keep your face or hair in a. locket to kiss and em- brace in priyate ?” I certainly cannot flatter myself that they would, so give. up this line of argu- ment. “ \Vhy Dom,” he exclaims, instantly, in aloud and jovial tone, “what on earth is the matter with you? Your eyes are as red as fire.” Down goes Dora’s spoon, up cnmts Dora’s handkerchief to her face, and a stifled sob conveys the remainder of her feelings. It is the last straw. “ Heard? Nothing. I would not have believed it if I had heard it. I saw it with my own eyes. An hour ago I put on my things and went out for a walk, intending to go down by the river ; but just as I came to the shrubbcries, and while I was yet hidden from View, I saw Mr. Carrington and that horrid dog of his standing on the bank just below me. I hesitated for a moment about oing,r forward. I didn’t quite like,” says ora, modestly, “ to force myself upon him for what would look so like a {rte-(14613; and while I waited, unable to make up my mind, he”â€"a sob~“took out of his waist- coat a large gold locket and opened it, and” â€"a second heavy sobâ€""and after gazing at it for along time, as though he were going to eat it”~a final sob. and an inclination to- wards chokingâ€"“ he stooped and kissed it. And, oh ! of course it was some odious wo- man’s hair or picture or something,” cries Dora, breaking down altogether, and sinkâ€" ing with rather less than her nsualgraceinto the withered arm-chair that adorns the cor- ner of our room. A terrible suspicion, followed by as aw- ful a sense of conviction springs to life with- in me. The Word “ picture” has struck an icy chill to my heart. Can it by any possibility be my photograph he has been so idiotically and publicly femhi‘acing? Am I the fell betrayer of my sister’s happi- ness 7 A moment later I almost smile at my own fears. Is it likely any man, more especially one who has seen so much of the world as Mr. Can'ington, would find anything worth kissing i2 my insignificant countenance? I find unli nted consolation in this reflection, that at another time would have caused me serious uneasiness. Meantime Dora. is still giving signs of poignant anguish, and I look at her appre- hensively, while pondering on what will be the most sympathetic thing to say or <10 1m- llCl' the circumstances. Her nose i§ growing faintly pink, large tears are standing in her eyes, her head inclines u littlefia very little~t0 one side. “If he really is in love with somebody elseâ€"and I can hardly doubt it after what I have secn~I think he has behaved very dishonorably to me,” she says, in a quuver- ing tone. “ How so '1” I stammer, hardly knowing what to say. “ How so ‘3” with mild reproof. “ Why, what has he meant by coming here (lay after day, and sitting for hunts in the drawing- room, and bringing flowers and game, unless he has some intentions with regard to me? Only that you are so dull, Phyllis, you would not require me to say all this.” “It certainly looks Very strange,” I ac- knowledge. “But perhaps, after all, Dora, you are misjudging him. Perhaps it was his sister’sâ€"Lady Handcock’sâ€"hair he was kissing.” “ No. He smiled at it quite brightly, as one would never smile at a dead face. He smiled at it as if he adored it,” murmurs Dora, hopelessly, and the fiftieth drop splashes into her lap. “I shall tell papa,” she gOes on presently. “‘1 have no idea of letting him be imagining things when there is no truth in them. I wish we had never seen Mr. Carrington ! I wish with all my heart something would occur to take him out of this place ! I feel as though I hated him," says Dom, with 'unusual'vehcmence and a. rather vicious compression of the lips ; “and at all events, I hope he will never marâ€" ry that woman in the locket.” Papa. sits down in a snapping fashion and commences the helping process in silence. Mammo. never sits at the head of her table except on those rare and unpleasant occas- ions when the neighbors are asked to dine. Not a word is spoken ; deadly quiet reigns, and all is going on smoothly enough, until Billy, unhappin raising his head, sees Dora’s crimson lids. Not so with Dora. \Vhen she is afflicted the tears come one by one, slowly, deeorous- 1y sailing down her face; each drop waits politely until the previous one has cleared off the premises before presuming to follow in its channel. She never sniffs or gurgles 01' makes unpleasant noises in her throat ; in- deed, the entire performaneewthough per- haps monotonous after the firstâ€" is fascinat- ing and ladylike in theexti'elne. In spite of the qualms of conscience that are still faint- ly pricking me, as I sit muter opposite my sufl'cring sister, 1 find myself reckoning each salt drop as it rolls slowly down her cheek. Just as I get to the fox‘tyminth, Doraspeaks again : ’ And I answer, “so do I,” with a rather suspicious haste, as‘in duty bound. It is the evening of the same day, and we were all seated in our accustomed places at the dinner~table; all, that is, except papa It is such an unusual thing for him to be ab- sent, once a bell was sounded summoning us to meals, that we are busy wondering what can be the matter, when the door is flung violently open, and he enters. It becomes instantly palpable to every one of us, that, in the words of the old song, “sullen glooms his brow ;” Billy alone, with his usual 0b- tuseness, remaining dangerously unconscious of this fact. “Perhaps the person, whoever dead,_” I suggest. 1n9re} bg-illiaptly. CHAPTER IX. she is, is It seems to me that dinner will never come to an end; and yet, to watch me, I feel sure that no stranger would ever guess at my impatience. Experience has taught me that any attempt to hurry will betray me, and produce an order calculated to pre- vent my seeing Billy for the entire evening. I therefore smother my feelings, break my walnuts, and get through my claret; with a. with a great show of coolness. Claret is a thing I detest ; but it pleases papa to form our tastes, which means condemning us to eat and drink such things as are nauseous and strictly distasteful to us. PRESS UAGGIN Lâ€"Fiftcen editors were summoned before the Vienna police author- itics on Tuesday, and informed that the publication of any intelligence regarding the movement of troops, War material, &c., is forbidden. Prince Nikita, has refused Austria’s doinand for the extradition of re~ fugee insurgents, affirming that the presanb spirit of his people renders such surrender impossible, and declaring that the Herze- govinians are not Austrian subjects. ADMIRAL Sm XVILLIAM HEWIT has been appointed to the command of the East In- dia Station, and will shortly leave to join his flagship, “ :[vlaryalusf’ half of his allowance of that nutritious fluid still remains upon his plate. His going now means his being dinnerless for this day at least. A lum rises in my throat and my face flushes. "or the moment I feel that l have Dora. and pasz and my own soup, and, leaning back in my chair, suffer it to follow Billy’s. “ \Vhere’s the fish '2" asks papa, in a ter- rific tone. “ It didn’t arrive in time, sir.” “ Who has the ordering of dinner in this house ‘1” inquires papa, addressing us all generally. as though ignorant of the fact of mother’s having done so without a break for the last twenty-six years. “ Nobody, I pre- sume, by the manner in which it is served. Now, remember, James, I give strict orders that no more fish is ever taken from that fish- monger. Do you hear ?" I am almost on the verge of tears, when, happening to glance upwards, my eyes fall upon Roly’s expressive countenance. In his right eye is screwed the most cnormou‘S butnher’s penny I ever beheld ; his nose is drawn altogether to one side in a frantic en- deavor to maintain it in its precarious posiâ€" tion; his mouth likewise; his left orb is fianly fixed. upon our paternal parent. There is an unaccountable delay after the soup has been removed. Can Billy have been adding to his evil doing by any fresh mis- conduct? This idea is paramount with me as I sit staring at the house-linen, though all the time in my brain I see Ro- land’s copper regarding me with gloomy at- tention. “ Be silent, Roland ; I will have no inter- ference where my servants are concerned.” declares papa ; and exit James, with his hand to his mouth, to return presently with a very red face and the roast mutton. At length, however, the welcome word is spoken, and we rise from the table. Once outside the door, I fly to the cook, and hav- ing obtained such delicacies as are procun able, rush lip-stairs, and enter Billy’s room â€"to find him seated at the farthest end, the deepest look of (lejeetion upon his‘feat- ures. I instantly become hysterical. An awful fear that I am going to break into wild laughter seizes hold of me. I grow cold with fright, and actually gasp with fear, when mother (who always knows by instinct, dear heart, when we are on the brink of disgrace) brings her foot heavily down on mine, and happily turns the current of my thoughts. She checks me just in time; I wince, and, withdrawing my fascinated gaze from Roly’s penny, fix my attention on the table~cloth, while she turns an agonized look of entreaty upon her eldest hope ; but, as his only avail~ able eye is warin bent on papa, nothing comes of it. The silence is becoming positively awful, when papa suddenly raises his head from the contemplation of his nails, and Roland sweeping the penny from his eye with grace- ful ease, utters a languid sigh, and says, mildly : ‘“ Shall we say Grace ?” “\Vhat is the meaning of this delay 1" demands papa, exploding for the second time. “Are we to sit here all night? Tell cook if this occurs again she can leave. Three-quarters of an hour between soup and fish is more than I will put up with. If there is no more dinner let her say so.” “ Perhaps Mrs. Tully is indisposed,” says R01 y, politely, addressing James, “ If so we ought to make allowances for her.” Mrs. Tully’s admiration for“01d Tom” being a well-kno 7V1) fact to every one in the house except papa. “ Yes, sir.” And at length we all got some roast mutton. As our eyes meet this gloom vanishes, giving place to an expressmn of 111tense re- lief. Instantly Billy’s dinner goes under the table again, and the dejected depression re~ turns to his face. But Iâ€"what am I to do '2 Under the bed I dive, plate and allâ€"thrust- ing the plate on before rueâ€"and am almost safe, when I tip over a bit of rolled carpet and plunge forward, bringing both hands into the gravy. In this interesting position I remain, trembling, and afraid to stir or breathe. with my eyes directed through a. small hole in the valance. The door opens noisily, andâ€"enter Roly with a came in hand and a. ferocious gleam in his eyes. " \Vhere on earth have you come from f’” asked Roly, gazing with undisguised amaze- ment at the figure I present. “ And don’t come any neareruJ paws o'fl", Pompey’â€" what is the matter with your hands ‘2” “ No. I could not come sooner, as papa fought over every course. But I have brought you your dinner now, Billy. You must be starving. ” “ I had it long ago,” says Billy, drawing a. potato from his pocket and a plate from un- der the dressing-table, on which mutton is distinctly visible. I feel rather disap» pointed. L “\Vho brought it to you?” I ask; but before I can receive a. reply a heavy step upon the stairs strikes terror to'our hearts. “0h, Roly !” I gasp, scrambling out of my hiding-place, “ what a fright you gave us! \Ve were sure it wag Papa.” “Oh,” he says, “I thought you were Dora.” (To BE CONTINUED) A little girl addresses the molhorofher be! him“. You need n91 be looking around at me so: She’s my kitten, as much as your kitten, you I,“ Artificial Port Wine. Dr. Collcnette, a Jersey physician of temperance principles, lately gave a. lecture on the “ Manufacture of Old Crusted Port.” One of the audience was requested to put- hase from a local wine merchant of re pute a. bottle of port, for which he paid six shillings. This, with cobwebs, ete., was de- posited on the lecturer’s table. Dr. Collen~ ette shen stated he would, in the course of afew minutes, produce a. similar article at the cost of five farthings. A judgeâ€"a. gentle- man saidto be well qualifiedâ€"was then elect- ed by the meeting. A committee was chos- en to come on to the platform and witness the operation; this consisted of weighing out ingredients. The basis of the composition was cider; bulloek’s blood was used for a rich tawny color, tartaric acid to give age, cream of tartar mixed with gum water was smeared on the inside of the bottle and gate a beautiful crust. Outside, cobwebs with dust and whitewash were applied to give an ancient look, and the bottle was stoppered with a. well-stained cork. The expert was introduced, and tasted a. glass from each bottle, declaring, with a knowing wink at the audience, that the wine a la Collenette was the genuine article; the temperance audience of course applauded to the echo. â€"â€"â€"-â€"â€"<oo4s°>>ubâ€"â€"- The French Financial Panic. After mature deliberation a. powerful syndicate of Paris bankers, conspicuous among whom were the Rothschilds, deter- mined ou Tuesday night to come to the re- lief of the embarrassed Union Generale. Stringcnt conditions bzive been imposed at the Rothschilds’ especile demand to prevent any abuse being made of the useistancc given. It is probable that the Bank of Lyons ct Loire will also be propped up. y- w .vvu‘ lung“, JVII knéw, H And I‘ll take her wherever I wish her to go! You know very well that, the day she was 4'“. ,1 She is only cryipg because she's a gown : I‘m not squgczgng heralook, now !â€"my 1'm not squgczing hcrfilook, novflâ€"my hands are (111m: loose ' And she may as weli hush, for it's not any usv And 31014 may as Well get right down and rm A Paris correspondent says that although the disaster to the Union Generalc scarcely allows a. hope of its recovery, it has been shown that M. Boutoux, the manager of the bank, has been atting in perfect good faith. found, If I hacln’t cried. she‘d have surc!‘ ,,,,v, w.“ u “w. V ~uou uvull nu ed, 7 And you oughtto be thankful she’s here and sound ! You’re fiot‘in the thing we are going to play, And, remember, it isn t your half of the day. You're forgetting the bargain we made*and so soon ! In the morning she's mine, and yours all after An iron firm of Prague, 100 years old, and Russo, of Vienna, engaged in the Turkish export trade, have failed, the liabilities of the former are £60,000 and the latter £100,- 000, Sixteen small failures are reported in noon, And you couldn't teach her to eat with a spoon. So don‘t let me hear you give one single mew. Do you know what will happen, right off, if you (1 n 7 V “Oh, Papa! see how near the steeple comes!” Half-startled by this announcement, the honest Hans looked up from his work, curi‘ one to know the cause of the child’s amaze- ment. Turning toward her, he saw that she was coking through two lenses, one held close ;to her eye, and the other at arm‘s length and, calling his daughter to his side, he noticed that the eye-lens was plane-conâ€" cave (or flat on one side and hollowed out on the other), while the one held at a. distance was plane-convex (or flat on one side and bulging on the other.) Then, taking the two glasses, he repeated his daughter’s experi~ ment, and soon discovered that she had chanced to hold the lenses apart at their C);- act focus, and this had produced the won- derful effect that she had observed. His quick wit and skilled invention saw in this accident a wonderful discovery. He imme- diately set about making use of his new knowledge of lenses, and ere long he hadfastened a. tube of pasteboard, in which he set the glasses firmly at their exact focus. This rough tube was the germ of that great instrument the telescope, to which modern science owes so much. And it was on October 22, 1608, that Lippersheim sent to his government three telescopes made by himself, calling them “instruments by means of which to see at a distance.” Not long afterwards another man, Jacob Adriansz, or Metius, of Alkmaar, a town about twenty miles from Amsterdam, claim- ed to have discovered the principle of the telescope two years earlier than Hans Lip- persheim; and it is generally acknowledged that to one of these two men belongs the honor of inventing the instrument. But it seems certain that Hans Lippersheim had never known nor heard of the discovery made by Adriansz, and so, if Adriansz had not lived we still should owe to Hans Lip- perslieim’s quick wit, and his little (laught- er’s lucky meddling, one of the most valuâ€" able and wonderful of human inven- tions. _ , .V.._w .. u. Murry“, “5..” uu, u yum do? She‘ll be' my kitten mornings and afternoons boo. â€"fila7‘garcl Vazldcm'ift, in February, 1352?. How a Little Girl Stiggested the Invention of the elescope. Some of the most important diSCOVeries have been made accidentally; and it has hap- pened to more than one inventor, who had long been searching after some new combin~ ation or material for carrying out a. pet idea, to hit upon the right thing at last by mere chance. A lucky instance of this kind was the discovery of the principle of the telescope. Nearly three hundred years ago, there was living in the town of Middleburg, on the Island of \Valcheren, in the Netherlands, a. poor Optician named Hans Lippersheim. One day, in the year 1608, he was working in his shop, his children helping him in var- ious ways, or romping about and amusing themselves with the tools and objects lying A“ LL. "MHLLMKAL “.1, . “a '. ‘1 “b on 1115 workbench, when suddelfly hIS httle girl cxclzgmed : iennw OUR YOUNG FOLKS. l’way; Partnership. wo<®>~¢m get right down and g0 St. AWL-holds f or ‘ ' been drown. SM 0.