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“ Shall you go to Mrs. (‘xrahame’s to- night?" usLoJ Arundel that evening at din- ner. setting down his wine-giass‘and looking acrosu the table, bright with ghining silver and glittering glass, :1; Bimini. “ Yes, I uuoss so, Russel. I piomised her we would come; :he is very anxious to have us meet her brother and his wife who are on from Chicago. Have you any engagmncnt for this aveumg, Louie '2” HIS SACRIFICE : X‘How very quiet in has been since the be- ginning of Lem,” continued Muriel, sugar- ing her claret delicately ; “there is positive- ly nothing going on in society. Don’t you miss your sociables‘ Louie, and Mrs. Von Alstynu's pleasant little Germans ‘3" “Ch, of course,” said Louie. "but it seems rather nice, I think to be quiet for awhile. I believe I was getting tired out dancing night attcr night. However, all people do not think alike. I met Mrs. Van Alstyne coming out of church this morning, and she asked me if I did not thiLk Lent came a little too early this year.” UdUlU u: Aluldv uux, yum-J ..... J 7,, , “Poor Kate 2” laughed Muriel, “ It is al- most a. pity she is such a. strict Episcopalian, for she does enjoy society and everything pertaining to it so much. But; won’t you be lonely this evening, Louie, home alone ? 1 'no; 0 some one of your friends will call.” .n 1 ku. “ Very likely some one will drop in, mamum. Still if nobody comes I shall not be lonely; 1 shall read, 01 find something to pas< aw ay the time.” 1 ,-, 1.»..-J “A l\‘\l PW" unuJ -n, ___ To tell the truth Louie hoped no one would call. She wanted to be alone to think over the new happiness that came so sud- denly into her life, to try and decide how she should tell Percy Evringham that which she knew would bring him. sorrow and pain. So that evening, when her father and nioth- er had left the house, ,she went into the quiet library, and closing the heavy doors after her, curled herself in a. huge chair in front of the fire. She had no book, no fancy work, but she had thoughts enough to keep her very busy. She had been so perfectly unconscious that the feelings she entertained for Roy Glcnmorc were any warmer than those of a sincere friendship; that she could not quite ' understand the knowledge that had so un- expectedly come upon her. Yet she knew that she loved himâ€"had loved him from the very firstâ€"and she wondered sorrowfully how she could have been so blind as not to see her own heart more plainly. For her i own blindnesa she reproacned herrelf bitter- ly. If she had only seen it all before, then she could havu told Percy gently, tenderly ;’ as it was, she had gone on hoping ; she had. innocently encouraged himI had answered his letters, had allowed him to think that her aiisu'er would be yesâ€"ah ! that wa's‘th'e hifter part of it. He was coming to her now â€"â€"perhaps he was already on his way, his ,1 heart filled with love for her, and beating ‘highbwith hone. , For she had‘ givéu‘ him ‘hope"; he'had reason to believe that she would tell him that she would. be his wife.. Louie’s heart was aching as it had never ached before, as. she ‘sat there before the fire thinking. She had always thought it was the most contemptiblc and heartless thing a Woman couldi‘do, to lead on a man,’ knowing he loved her, making him believe that in time she ”would consent to be his wife, holding out hope and encouragement ;' then, at the end, throwing him off, saying only, by way of excuse, “ 1 thought I loved you: I find that I have made a. mistake”. She had never Been able to make any-excuse for such a course of action ; it had seemed to her that a woman capable of such a thing must be lacking every sense of truth and honor; and now the very thing she had al- w-iys despised and considered unpardonable in others she had done herself. She could not blame Percy if he should think her heart- less and cruel ; she could not say one word in her own defence if he should say, “ Why did you not tell me before, Louie! [How could you let me go on hoping as I have done ‘3” He would not understandâ€"nor would anyoneâ€"if she should tell what was the truthâ€"that she had been all unconscious of her love for Roy Glenmore. No, they would all think she had acted untruly, un- womanly. Percy would think so, her father and mother would think so, Aline would think so; and even Roy, when he came to M ._.l sunk Jvuv . “ No, mamma,” ans“ cred z; xe giy-L sim- know of itâ€"Roy, who â€"-would think so: 1299. With a great choking sob Louie laid her head upon the arm 01' her chair, her tears falling fast. it had all been axnistake. God- knew she had not meant to deceive Percy. He knew that. what had been done had been done in ignorance. Her grief wan deep and sincexe ; she had a tender, sympathetic heart anda very true one, and it hurt her cruelly to think that she must give Percy pzfin ahd u, I... sorrowâ€"that she had been innocently untrue to her own nature. So deep was her bad reverie that she did not hear a quick stop in the hall, the open- ing of the heavy iibrary door ; she was not aware that there was anyone save herself in the room until a hand was laid lightly upon her bowed head, a voice, anxious and tender, said : “ L'mie, my darling, are you crying ‘2" With a. little cry she raised her‘head, to see Percy Evringham standing bzside herâ€"Percy, who dropped on his limbs and wound his arms around her, saying, tenderly : 7..- A. ‘1 a Tulaa 117‘”. .w. trunk-:4. “ What IS the matter, Louie? Why are you here all alonn, crying so bitterly?” She raised her tearâ€"«ct, mac to his almost impioringlyâ€"siient, Lot knowing what to say to him. , “ I oniy got into iixe city about an hour ago," said Perzy, by way of explanation, never for a moment; sn‘pccting the true cause of her tears, but thinking she had ex- perienced some iittte disapprzintment or trou- ble. “ I went to the Windsor, then came right. up hcre. Jackson told me that-Zyour father or mother were not at home, and that he believed you were in here, so I came in thinking 1 would surprise you ; did you get For [love 0fI:Ier. 9:) my lettevr “ Yes, this afternoon.” She could not look at the handsome CHAP r121: xxxm R0 who was so nobTe and true Y. _ 7” flushed face with its eager, hopeful eyes; and something in er eyes, in the tone of her voice. startled him, for the flush faded out of 1119 face as he said : “Louie, are you ready 1.0 give me my answer 'Zâ€"oh, my dariing, you don‘t know how hard’it has been for me to wait so long for it; there has not been a day nor an hour that 1 have not thought_ of you.” She had thought to tell him gently as she could, but the words would not come ; they died away on her lips, and she only moaned, as she clasped her hands together : “Oh, Percy, Percy 3” Perhaps he understood, for he :tarted to his feet, his faeo very pale, his dark gray eves almost blaclf. A w _..._A1.. y 9 ha wlunvuu ”nun" “Louie, what do you mean? You surely cannot mean that after having giving me every hope as you have done, receiving my letters and answeringthem. encouraging me, leading me to believe that you woukl be my wife,vthat nowâ€"no, no, Louie, you cannot mean that." It was just as. she had expected it would be, yet. she knew not how to answer him ; it would seem so small and mean to say, in un- swer to his passionate outburst. “ lt was a mistake, Percy.” ..-, I Still, ’she magi: say something, and though her lips ‘were quivering, she hised her face bravely. I “fifibughb I knew my own heart better tharLI did, Perrgyfl” 1 ”H; no... ._ .0“, _ .. _J . “You mean that you have discovered that you do not love me; that while I have been patiently waiting, fondly hoping, you have been thinkingr the matter over, and have come to the conclusion that you will not lie my wife. Is that it, Louie '3 Answer me I” I do not think men know how cruel they are, sometimes, to the women they love; there seems to be, in masculine natures, a. latent. cruelty that will crop out now and then, as most wives and mothers and sisters can testify. *Really and truly, Percy did not know how coldly and sternly he had spoken, how tightly his lips were compressed, how dark an'l stormy his eyes were; but Louie knew, and she shrank back in her chair as ther‘h he had struck her. He had never spoken so to her before, not looked at her as he. was looking now. "Oh. Percy, do not speak like that ; I did not knowâ€"not until todayâ€"that I could not be your wife.” He heard her words distinctlyâ€"she could not be his wife. Poor Percy, he had cherished such bright hopes, had built so many beautitul castles, and now the hopes were suddenly shattered, the castles hurled to the ground. There was no anger in his heart, nothing but pain and bitter disap- pointment; the stormsr darkness died out of his eyes, his lips, so tightly com- pressed a. moment before, quivered; with almost a. sob he spoke, his voice hopeless and despairing. “Ah, Louie Louie, I love you so." Then folding his arms upon the mantel- piecé, he drogped his head upon them. , "Jun .04. Inn". an, TnV. . -v 'r g1?!“ 3’95 anfi only to- dayâ€"oniy' g. few? h4 5 ago, I‘ discovered -~ Avvv’ _. _.,rrv_,,, ‘ A storm of reproaches could not have touched Louie’s heart as those few words did. Hurrying to,bis side, she laid her band upon_his arm. - n , a: ~I.“ -hkL‘A “ Try and forgive me, Percy,” she sobbed, ‘f you” do not know how sorry I: am. I did not mean to give you an; false hope , to de- ceive you in any way. thought when you came back to m_e for my answer I could tell ago, L'ulsco‘zereu " -~ ~'; 4 . ‘ ,She paused. the tearsgligg'fing to 1163“ long lashes, she could not tell him :what she had discovered, that would be adding insult. to injury,” theiéld saying goes. ‘ , J 1. _ . -. . . ‘ tufiu. .4- ...u n "Haul, "I-v-rvuâ€" -_ _,â€"__c, He raised hm handsomgsaxon head with a. deep ugh A11 her words could ‘iiot make less hand 'to béar the fact that s'he had re- fufiedhim. ,1 ‘ __ . The painful flush theft stained her face, mounting to the very rootsof her gold-brown hair, answered him, and he bowed his head dejectedly, feeling that life was a miserable force and the sooner i: was played out the better. f Apause followed, an awkward, embarras- sing pause ; Louie, very sorrowful, feeling in some way guilty, and finding it exceed- ineg diflicult to keep from crying. Percy, quite broken-hearted, wondering gloomily to himself what-he should do With his life. Percy was proud and job: a. little bit egotis- tieal, and his amour propre had been sorely wounded ; he felt that lie had been very bad- ly treated indeed, and though he did not blame Louie, he did blame circumstances and fate, and above all, his unknown rival. , Amen who has just been refused is not generallyâ€"no matter what he may be at other timesâ€"pmrticulurly brilliant or ani- mated ; poor disconsolaie Percy was no ex- ception to the rule; he sat in silence, his head resting upon one hand, with such a. hopelessly sad look upon his face that itwas more than Louie could bear,‘ and she said brokenly, choking; down A sob ‘ whicli‘threat- ened-to strangle her, "Percy won’t you try and forgive me ‘3”. ,,_i1,_-.‘l\.. nu. L. . “Louie,” he said,‘m9umffflly, “ is it be- cause during my absence some oxie else has won what I had hoped to win, that you tell me now you‘canxnnot‘marry me 2” ' A,:_ .J' L-.. LU.“ ”a..- _,,V , “Yes, Louie.” he answered sadly, “ it is not; your fault, it is only my misfortune that: you cannot love me. I hope you will always be very happy, ‘anrl if at any time there should be anything I could do for you, you will let me do it, won’tycu? for the sake of myâ€"for our friendships sake.” And then Percy hastily swallowed a. great lump in his throat and said he guessed he would go, as Louie looked futIgued. . v . , ‘ uuulv “nun“. -_.-.D_V, Poor fellow, he loved Louie very trulc and tenderly, anfl he felt as though th brightness had suddenly gone out of his life' He promised Louie he would come an! see. her again before he went beck to Baltimore, held her hand for an instant in his own, tried to smile as he lnxle her good highland made a. miserable failure of it, then took his departure; and when he had gone LOuie threw herself down‘ in a. chair and cried as though her heart would break. ullvu‘ .. . She li‘ked Percyâ€"had alwayu ed him ; had felt -very sorry for him because he haul no proud father, no loving mother or gentle sister. In a. mild, sismrlv way, she loved him, and she knew she had brought cruel pain and bitter disappointment upou him. nnw 1mm sum. sat there crviug in a wam 7v: How long she sat there crying in a wemy, heart-broken Kittle way she did not know, but after awhile the passion of tears spent itself, and she sat quietly with nnly‘ no N and then a choking sob. Shr heard her father and mother came in, heard the heavystreet door 0pm and close, and Muriel, seeing the ours light in the library, and thinking Louxe was there, walked in, followed after a moment ---. .. .. u‘.,:u LAJ -, _ “ Why, I thought you would be in bed, dear,” she murmured, as she shook OE and threw down upon a chair her cloa'k. “ We had a. very pleasant e'veniug. Mrs. Grahame’s sister-i3 charming. soâ€"-â€"-â€" Why, child, what is the matter 2’” For she had ciught sight of Ltuie’s face, pale and worn with cxylng. “Percy, has beenvhere, mamma.” “Percy Evringham !” exclaimed Muriel in surprise; “and why did he not stay '2” and then a glimmer of truth seemed to dawn upon her, for she said hurriedly : “Louie, did you send Percy away ‘2” “ He came for his answer,” said the girl, wearilyâ€"she was completely worn out with nervous excitement â€"“and I could only tell him no.” .._. Before Muriel could speak, Arundel had risen from the chair into which he had care- lessly thrown himselt. There wera tense lines about his mouth ;1ns eyes were flashing omingusly. . ,1:- ~tyn‘... 17.. ““Do yoil mean to say you told Percy Ev- ringham you'wouid not be his wife?" he said, and the words came through his clinched teeth. . In his mail, reckless college days his chums l used to say, speaking of Arundel Anthon. “ When you see the vein in. his forehead swell, look out for him.” The v'cin in his fore- head was swollen now. ’ “ Yes, papa.” “Yet you know it; was my wish that you should marry him. You have deceived me, for you led me to believe that you would ac- cept him ; you have disobeyed me, for I de- sired you to tell him you would marry him. How dare you thus run counter to my .wishes and commands? I tell you I will have neither disobedience nor deceit; from yell. )5 ”A A __:i:_ ._ ...:LL JV... In Just such a passxon as was msmg w1th- in him, Arundel had dealt the blow which had sent Percy Evringham into eternity. Poor Louie, she had been sorely tried that evening; but tired and heartsick as she was, the words fired her. She raised her small head proudly, her tears all gone, a hright spat upon either cheek, her eyes blaiillg: “ I ”did not mean to disobey or deceive you,‘ she said; “ but I found that I did not love Percy, therefore I told him I could not marry him. I will never marry a. man I do not love, not even to please yo“ )1 a“ . .- ~ .n -u 1nd,:41 _ w“'I A“ l “-Hush, Louie "’ said Muriel, implor- ingly , “ how can you speak so to your facherz” LWUIIVL 5 But Arundel said not a wordâ€"he turned away shivering. For out of the brown eyes ablaze with such indignation Russel had looked upon him, and he dare not, an- swer the girl who at that moment was so marvelously like the father she .had never seenâ€"the ~father who had been so terribly wronged. When Mrs. John Deming found her=elf at the age of thirty-five, a widow with two children, aged respectively thirteen and eleven, to educate and provide for, and very little in the world except the handsome house which her husband had given her in the pslmy da s of prosperity, long before his riches had aken to themselves wings and flown away. she said to herself with com- mendable bravery, when she had rallied from the shock which her husband’s failure and consequent sudden death had dealt her, _“I will take care of the children and my- self. I will keep the houseâ€"and I shall take boarders.” It was a wry brave reso- lution, for Mrs. Deming had never had any reason to believe the time would ever come when she would he left without means of support; but, then, in these days of upsand ‘doWns, when the man who is at the top of the ladder to day, is prostrate on the ground to-morrow, one never knows what one is coniing to. .. 1 l ,L._ u,_____r_-_ Gtod‘D hel 3 those who helps themselves, and he hag helped brave little Mrs. John Deming. In a. shout time her handsome house was filled with peopleâ€"some of them her own personal friends, the test friends of those Whe had known John Deming when he was a, rich and prosperous man ; people of wealth and refinement, who paid munifi- cently for the pleasant home they found un- der Mrs; Deming’e roof.“ Mrs. Deming liked all her boariere, but especially did she like two gentlemen~one young, the other quite an elderly manâ€"who had been with her now for nearly two years, and who, the night after Louie Anthon had told Percy Evringham she could not be his Wife, were alone together in their sitting- room. It was very bright and cheerfulâ€" that handsomely furnished sitting-room, with a. warm. home~1ike air about it. to which the crackling grate fire, the creamy lace Window-curtains, the wine-colored man- tel and door-draperies, "the open upright piano, and the centre-tabla. covered with a crimson cloth and strewn with books, maga- zines and papers, contrihuted largely. ‘ On one s‘ide of the table, seated iri a. huge easy-chair, his head resting upod the cush- lonfi, his eyes fixed upon the crackling fire with an expression in them which told he was thinking very earnestly, was the young man, who was no other than Roy Glenmore; and opposite to him, lookifig over one of the daily newspapers; the light; of the argand lamp falling uppn his face, from which the expression of patient sorrow ‘would be lift- ed never this side, of the grave, sat an elder gentlemanâ€"the man who‘ for nearly nine- teen Wears hid beenknown as Richard Bran- don. v He did not look very much older than he had done the night he had seen Muriel at the theatre‘sorrow had aged him, not years. At thirty-four ho had looked fiftyâ€"now at fifty-two people took him to be somewhere between fifty-five and sixty. There is noth- ing nobler than to suffer and be strongâ€"that is what Russel Anthon had done all these years, had suffered and had been strongâ€"â€" strong in patience and true unselfishness, strong to lift up and help along those of his fellow men who had fallen by the roadside, strong to act accorgling to the dictates of his great, noble heart â€"a.nd he had suifered in proportion to his strength: even strangers notioxl the lines about his mouth, drawn there by fierce mental agony, the mournful darkness of his eyes. There was somethiu g mysteriousabr‘ut him even to those who knew him bestâ€"this sad- faced, quiet man. He never spoke, as most mm (grâ€"of his boyhood and early manhood. CHAPTER XXXIV. He did not stem to have a single relative no: a friend who knew anything about his early life; and people who were given to thinking more about other people’s ail-stirs than they did about their ownâ€"and there are many such in the worldâ€"spent much time thinking about him, wondering what manner of sorrow it was that had brought upon his face the shadow which rested so darkly there, wishing they knew how and where his early manhood had been passed, and What the real relationship was between him and hey Glenmore. Still no oneâ€"not even the worst old gossipâ€"could associate any though of sin Ir shame with a man whoge daily life was as blameless as was Richard Brandon’s. So the years had come and gone, and he had been and was still an enigmgz. to g great many peopge. _ 1 He hat been very schesisful in business, or rather his superior abilities, his fore- thought, and 6110 careful attention 1‘0 gave the most minute details, had met with a just reward. Before Robert M rehead’s death he had lceu taken into the firm, now he was the real head of the large and prosperous business. “-It ongnt to be Brandon & Dis- brow,” Mr. Disbrow said to him repeatedly, “you are the head of .thc firm.” And he an- swered always, “It is best that it should be as it is, Disbmw & Co.” . . nu nly God knew how much good he did with his money ; he was always ready with substantial aid and kindly encouragement. Many were the poor szul souls which had grown glad at the sight of the noble, patient face; many were the faint, weary hearts which his words had strengthened ; he had raised so many out of the'dust, he had set so many on their feet again. and what is more he helped them along until they were able to go alone; and that is the oniy true charity. For it is no exrthly use to pick up anyone who has not the strength to stand alone, they only fall again. And Russel Authon knew, what a greatnnny charitably inJined people do not think of, that it is not necessary to go down to the lowest dregs of society to find those who need help._ _ .. n-,, So forkeighteen years he had been living, striving humbly to do what good he copld do, finding peace in helping to keep burmfig in other hearts the fire‘ofhappiness that had gogf: out forever izi his own. .u - 1 ~,,.. cSitting before the fire, Roy was th: nkinq of Louie Anthon. That she loved him he knew, andadeep, glad thwnhfulness filled all his heart He felt, 1athe1‘ than knew, what her answer would be when he should ask her to be his own dear wife , but that he must go_to her fatherâ€"for Roy had}: deep sense of honor and Justice, and he would have no more thought of asking Louie to give herself to him without having first gained her father's consent, than he would have thought of going into that gentleman’s house and carrying otf an? of his costly Worldly pogsesgions. . . ‘r n .1, A And guppose by any chance Mr. Anthon should not be willing to give his daughter to him. As that thought came to him, Roy sat upright. in his chair, a. little cloud set- tling upon his handsome face. It was an un- pleasant thought, very. Rov wished with all his heart that it had not insinuated itself into his mind; but there it was, and it seem- ed to say with the most disagreeable frank- ness. ' i‘r‘hIt is barelypos'siblc, Ray Glenmore,that it might happen.” Roy san'k back in his chair again' and fell to wondering what he should do if Mr. Authon théuld refuse to give his consent, Would Louie In my him against her parents’ wishes? ‘ Woul he ask her to be his wife if her tath'er had told’ him with‘ his own lips that he did not care talxave him for ason-in- They were very discouraging, these thoughts ; but suddenly Roy remembered that they were only thoughts, onlyhis own vimaginings ; it Was time enough to cross the bridge when he should come to it; it was foolish and 'unmanly to fret and worry about something which was not likely to happen. and having come to this sage conclusion, he wheeled his chair around and ' took up the evening paper, which lay upon the table. But there did not seem to be an thing of in- terest in that paper. Roy loo‘ae through all the columns and could find nothing in the least degree entertaining, and after reading a few of the jokes and deciding in his own mind that the people who had originated them were the lineal descendants of don]: eys. he took his lead pencil out of' his pocket and began to embellish with sundry curves and dishes the heavy black letters which an- nouneed to the world that the newspaper in question Was the New York â€"â€". Hav- ing ornamented them to his satisfaction he fell to scribbling upon the margin at the top of the paper, until he suddenly awoke to the fact that this occupation was, to say the least, exceedingly boyish, and tlnowing the paper aside he arose from the chair, and sit- ting down at the piano began to play hits of dreamy music and snatches of fashionable valses. ‘ An air particularly sweetâ€"a. little song from an opera boufl'e just; at that time very popularâ€"caught Richard Brandon’s atten- tion, and raising his head from his paper he listened to it, his eyes growing very tender as they rggt-ed upon Roy’s graceful, well-knit figure. How he had lovezl him from the time he had first seen him, had taken him a. little four-year-old boy in his arms, and promised to take care of him ! But for Roy his desolate life would have been intolerable to him ;‘ he was only lmman,'and he could not have gone on living all these weary years had it not been for tlielovc, and trust, and confidence Roy had given him so freely. Few fathers loved iheir Sons as he loved,an(l had always loved, Glenmore, and he was justlv proud of him. Surely he had done his duty by Henry Glenmore’s child; by careful investments he had more than doubled his fortune, and he had made outof the pretty, affeetionate boy, a. true-hearted man, with noble, high-souled impulses, and strength to meet and overcome the tempta- tions of the world. (TO 1:}: CONTINUED.) -â€"â€"â€"IIN<‘-’>O§'â€"â€"â€"' "he fishing parties up the Ottawa River this season, most of whom are now return- ing, report their catch to have been very good. The fa'igues of fishing through holes in the ice have been amply compensated, the considrr, by the prides obtained for thelr fish. Owing to the fishery regulation, there has been less fishing than usual for ex- portation, the object of the department be- ing to encourage home consumption in this d 'Etrict. Not only in the days of good Queen Bess and earlier, but very much later in our his- tory, ear;y marriagw n ere allowed |To take an instance in the Georgian period, this en- ' try is in “The Chronological Diary” appen-d ed to the Historical Register, volume six, for the year 1721, June 8 2 “ Charles l’owel, of Carmartben,ylfisq., of aLout 11 Years of Age, marry’d to a Daughter of Sir Thomas Po“ e], of Broadway, Bart, deceas’d, aged about 14.” The young lady’s only brother had died on March 21 ‘preceding. Often did a. guardian having control of a wealthy ward tind’ it convenient not to delay the promo- tion of a. marriage of the Ward with one of his own hith and kin, though not always by any means was it considered necessary that there should exist betwczn the couple the sentiments which induced Dickens’ "young gentleman not 8 years old to run away with a fine young woman of 7.”. . . I may men- tion a_ similar instance which occurred near- ly 130 years later than the marriage to which II. refers, in a family which my mo- ther now represents, viz.. the Shaws, of ‘ Ballytwcedy, County Antiim. lIcnry Shaw (son of John Shaw, of Ballytweedy, and grandson of Capt. Sh .w, High Sherifl‘ for County Antrim, 1793, v. ho was attainted by King J aines’s Parliament) was married 'in the year 1721 to his cousin Mary. (only child of Patrick Shaw, of Brittas, County Antrim) when “neither of them wasyet 15 years old ;” and the old document from which I am new quoting goes on to say‘that the father of this equally precocious bride- groom “ continued to manage for the young couple, and had not long survived their comâ€" ing of ago.” Their eldest child was born in 1723. Henry Shaw died in 1775, a. year after the birth of his great-grandson, Tho- . mas Potter, of Mount Potter, County Down. . ' . . . An instance of early {marriage even more curious than that mentioned by H. is the marriage of Elizabeth, daughter of Thomas, Lord Clifford, of Skipton Castle, in the fifteenth century, to Sir Robert Plump- ton, of Plumpton Castle. The bride was 6 years of age, and the bridegroom 'not much more. The husband died three years after marriage, and the “wiiow” was united to his bratherfiVilliam when she had gained the age of 12 years. .Dodsworth pre- served for us the document from which the above information is given in Whitaker’s “History of Craven.”â€"Notcs and Queries Rug Making In Mkrzapot‘e, India. In the dirty mud huts of the villagers it: is most interesting to observe the slow yet- 1egulmr growth cf the beautiful patterns as developed by the busy, untiring hands of a riozen or more halfâ€" naked nut ves, and which the visitor traces in imaginatmn to their future display 1n the attmctix e w111dows of Regent sheet or Broad“ fly, and eventually to the chambers of \Vestcm homes. As the native quarter of the city is 3.1)? preached, the busy wool carders, the spin-_ ning of the native women, the labyrinth oi dyepots, the dyeing yarns of various colors in the sunlight, buspeak' the industry of the place. The huts, of common structure and one matcriahmud, contain but one- apart- ment. Sunk in the ground to a. depth of two or three feet is along roller of wood, perhaps six inches in diameter and three or four yards in length, supported at either end by iron rods, and movable at pleasure ; upon this shaft the rugr is rolled as theWO‘k advances; attached to the roller. and ex- tending,y to the beams above, are the close, stzong thread of the warp, and in the rear, suspended from the ceiling, with hanging ends at a convenient distance, are countless balls of yarn of varied color and shade; be- neath these sit the native vs orkman and boys. Immediately opposite, at the front of the hut, sea'ed upon a mat, is the pattern reader or overseer, while upon the ground before him is the reversed pattern of the rug whose manufacture he so skilfully directs; it requires the closest attention, rapidity of thought, sight; and unflaggiua application on his part to keep the dozen or more men before him busy, for not a thread is woven but at his direction or verbal or- der, as calling each workman by name or noting his position, he orders the number and color of the yarns to be used, as he traces them upon the pattern at his feet. The workman in the rear seizes the end of the yarn called, weaves the number orderedjthe substance is driven home by an iron comb, the rough edges clipped, and the rug rolls on to completion, every thread of wool and every stitch by hand. Don’t be whining about not having a. fair chance. Throw a sensible man out of a win- dow, he’ll fall on his feet and ask the way to his work: The more you have to begin with the less you will have in the end. Money you earn yourself is much lwigliter than any you can get out of a (load man’s lugs. A scant breakfast in the morning; of 'life whats the appetite for a feast later in the day. He Who has tasted a sour apple will have the more relish for a sweet one. Your present want will make future prosperity all the sweeter. Eighteen-peace has set up many a peddler in business, and he has turned it over until he has kept hlS carriage. As for the place you are cast in, don’t find fault with that ; you need not be It horse because you were born in a. stable. If s bull tossed a. man of mettle sky high, he would drop down in a good place. A hard-working,r young man with his wits about him will make money while others will do nothing but lose it. “Who loves his work and knows how to spare, may live and flourish any- where.” As to the trouble who expects to find cherries without stones, or roses with- out thorns? Who would wm must learn to bear. Idleness lies in bed sick of the mul- ligrubs, whore industry finds health and wealth. The (log in the kennel barks at fleas ; the hunting dog does not even know they are there. Laziness waits till the river runs dry, and never gets to market. “Try” swims it, and makes all the trade. “Can’t do it” would not eat the bread cut for him, but “Try” made more out of mushroons. A standing offerâ€"The bid at 'an out-door auction. How to escape being ship- wrecked:0 shun the ocean. young quouc-pidâ€"Tho Chinese baby.â€"~â€"“A time for awl things,” as the cobbler said on com- mencing work for the day. A fast; gaitâ€" The 22:59 that is bolted.-â€"â€"\Vhen is the house furnace like the victim of the drop gmnaLâ€"VVhen it is v. on shaken down. Early Marriages. Sensible Sentences. Aâ€"-<°>â€"O