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Kapfi', with a. Etrange ufiacountable sense of hap omens, which I cuuid not 'analyae even if I would. ' ‘TIio you like her singing?" he asks, when the song is ended. wnuu "nu nuns Aw vuuwu. “ She has a. very pure contralho. He: voice is better than her method of sing- ing. Don’t you think so 7 " “ Yes. I have heard people say that she in study ing for the stage, that she is going to Inaly to finish her musical educa- tion." 'Iiiegen like one in a dream. I know that he is there, standing near me in his sombre evening mimeut, and thep I am And then, instead of finding myself nearer to the Rolleatona, I find myself sitting on 5. their near a cool bank of ferns and exotica with Mr. Baxter aband- lng behind me, listening to a girl with a magnificent contralto voice singing the “Clang of the Wooden Sheen." "-So [ have heard. I think she is quite right. Such a. voice as hers was never meant to ‘ rust unbumished, not to shine in use.’ ” Heaven you wul never do It 1 " “ But if I must do 11:? "' I my wl "fully encouraging the idea. which he somehow or other seems to have taken into his head. “ If my daily bread depends upon it, what am 1 to do i’ ” ' ” Can't you teach, or something 3” he says boyiehly. "You could teach other girls; couldn't you? ’_" “But; fancy teachingâ€"fancy wearing oneself out with a troop of idle git-ls, as Madame Cronhelm does. when one might be bowing to a delightful audience behind the foot~lights, with one'a arms full of bouquets I"r “ That’s jnah what. I hate." he resorts savagely. “ That is just; what no girlâ€" no cmsin or sister of mineâ€"should ever degrade heraelt by doing 1 How do you think a manâ€"who loved you for lnatsnce â€"-would like to see other men level their opera glasses at you, and perhapsâ€"indred certainly-make comments on your per- sonal appearance? ’ "But he would mind. If he were her brother or her husband, he would rather see her in her coffin than subject her to such degradation." CHAPTER iV.â€"- (Commune ) It is the evening of Madame Cronhelm’s concert, which is indeed more of a conver‘ sazione than a concert, the performers mixing among the audience when not ac- tually required on the raised platform at; bhe upper end of the room, where the grand piano and violins and violincelio are located. and a hum of tnlk filling up the intervals between the songs and con- certed pieces. We all enjoy it, having so many friends among both performers end audience, and though most of Madame Cronhelm's pupils take part in the chorus- es only, they are pleased to appear in pub- lic in any capacityâ€"if so exclusive a. re- union csn be called public at all. ‘ n A 1"! I” " “I paid you a comnliment once, and you misunderstood it." he says more gravely. “Perhaps I may find some safer road to your favor than that. Have you forgiven me yet for my stupidity '1 ’ “ Long ago," I answer frankly. “Let us forget: all about a piece of folly for which 1 am sorry. and of which I am heartily ashamed. ” r wish me to once. STRflNGER THAN LIFE. "‘1 Oi yours '2 ” he questions a little wist- fully. “ They tell me you are studying for Dublin exhibition too.” stage 7 “ I do no care to think of your doing it." “ But one can do it. and yet: â€"â€"-” “ I hope you will never do ih.”he in- terrupts, with more pkasiln than the oc- casion seems to warrant. “ 1 hope to Heaven you will never do it I" “ But if I must: do it? "' I any wl "fully “ If ifiey were complimentary, I don’t snppgse ghe won}? m_im_i vegpuch." _ I amuse myself by looking for my own particular friends in the crowd. Olive is in a corner flirting with J ack Rolleston, Poppy is sitting calmly beside her fiance, looking as lazily handsome as ever, Katie Eolieston is looking at. me. I wonder if she would like very much to change places with me, and if half at least of Olive's suspicion about; her and Gerard Baxter is true? Perhaps Kanie has loss her heart to this artist-friend of her brother's, though, according to Mrs Wau- chfipa, Mr. Baxter does not care for “ And if [am," I say, laughing, "do you think that I am right in putting the talent wh!ch has been given me to some practical use ’1 " ‘ rWho could ha've told him so? Tho idea amuues mes) much that I do not immedigtely: adv[§e_him to _the pqntrafy: - “Ifyou have hoodâ€"yen.” “ You do not “Oh don’t you flaxtter mel"I laugh, shrugging my shoulders. “ Why do you emphasise the ‘\ on’ ? ’ “ Because it seems unnamral for you to piay cpfnplimema." n , . "A, _A5 “HOV; delightfully selfish I" Ilaugh, lhrllgglng my shoulders. ” Oh, we are all very selfish !" Mr. Baxter allows ; and then, the overture to Tsnnhauser commencing. we find lb Im- possible to talk on; Inore for the present. am rea fly to forget all you do not remember," he rejoins at approva of singing on the no other means of liveli young ladies. I am puzzfing over Katie's steadfast look, and wondering how It. has happened that, among 31! our Common friends, nobody has told Gerard Baxter who I am, when Tannhawser comes to an end, and I rise from my seat, Blutnen- thal’a “ Band of the River " being next on the programme. “ You practise a great deal '1 ” Mr. Bax- ter observes. as be (flat: me his arm 3881!; u- ,_.:n_\_ .m T monk Mr. Baxter must think the Deanea and Rollesbons have been very kind in taking me up : but; then he knows them to be fond of art and artistic people, especially the Rollestona, and likely enough to make much of me for the sake of my voice. What fun it is to think of myself as working for my living 1 What fun it will be to keep up'the delusion with the help of my scampish friend Olive, who loves numbing so much as a practical joke i again. “ Yea ” I answer, smiling, as I meet hi5 splendid dark eyes. “ I hope it does not agnoy}9u."‘ (v I , _:|I bn‘I "AI1 that I have never been no induennoua an since you came to Carleton Ssreeb.” “ I am glad to hear it," I venture, somewhat aoberly. “ If I had your tal- ent, I should certainly not let it lie idle.” “ I mean to work very hard, now," he says quickly. “Before, I did not care Very much whether 1 made a name for myself or not. But nowâ€"I do 1 " But my fun is put a. stop to in a very summary manner. While I am sitting here at the piano, 3. note from Ollve is put, lnto my hand to say that Elllnor has scarlet fever, and that I am not to come near the house. All the others have had lb, and are not; afraid ; but Mrs. Deane will not allow them to come near meâ€"I must. not expect even to see Olive at Madame Crouhelm's tie-day, as her mother does not: think it would be rlght to allow her to go there out of an infected house. I meet Mr. Baxter there very oftenâ€" infect, I may my awry day. I do rob think he can be working very hardâ€"un- lesa he pzints by lampiightâ€"he is always with Jack Ralleston, smoking in his stu. dlo or chatting to us in the drawing-room, He even stays to dinner sometimesâ€"I know it because they insisted upon my dining there once or twice, and, when I dine there, he dines there too. They laugh at me about himâ€"0f course, girls laugh at each other for very littleâ€"and call him my handsome sweetheart. But) I do not flirt with him, though he man- ages somehow to be always in my neigh- borhood, and I cannot help knowing that he is_a.lmost always looking at me. During thenvxt five or six davs I spend most of my time with the valestons. Ada pets me and spoils me very much, in the fashion of Olive Deane who has “ fagged ’ for me since we were children together. The house in Berkley Street is a very pleasant oneâ€"there are always visitors coming and goingâ€"clever people. poets, painters. artists, and literary men and women. We are never at a loss for amusement, between the preparations for the fancv~ball, Jack’s amateur studio. and the great music room where their musical friends would willingly play sym- phonies and fantasies all day long, if they could find any one to listen to them. 1 am very sorry, not only for my own sake, but; for Elllnor and all of them. I write a. note to ()live, and have just. made up my mind not to go out at all this morning, when AdaRolleshOu comes run- ning in with an urgent request; that I would come over and spend the day in Berkley Street, which I am rather an- willing to do, but which Ada persuades me into doing in the end. . I am going home on the second of April. to come up to town again for Poppy's wedding, unless it; is postponed on account of Ellinor's illness. Olive who writes to me almost every day, says they are think- ing of going to Brighton as soon as Elllnor is strong enough to travel, and I should not; be surprised if Poppy's wed- ding took place from there. Tne proapect of seeing Woodhsy so soon does not fill me with unmixed delight. Something has thrown a glamour over Mrs. Wanohope's shabby furnished lodg- ings, which my own beautiful Manor has never knownâ€"“a. light that. never was on land or sea ” iiiumines these dusty rooms, a. “glory and a freshness and a dream," in which I walk like one who “ on a mounhaln takes the dawn." I am ’vu. Mrs. Wauchope _ wjll ‘tgll you CHAPTER V. industrious so happy, and yet I cmnot say what has made-[us happy One day the Rollesbons take me to see the studio of an artian of whose pictures I have heard â€"-aman who very often comes to Berkley Street, and. who, giant and gray and dishevalled as he is, is one of Lhe “ lions ” of the day. As we go up the 5 sins leading to the atudlo, we meet a girl coming down-a young girl, poorly dressed, but with a faceof such extraor- dinary beauty that it absolutely dazz‘ea me. I had never dreamed that a humf'n face could be so lovely, and Mrs. Runes- ton, who has also been ahrnck ;by it, makes the same remark co the grew pain- ter himself. wish a about. co could an ethereal ish lips l the 1mm He has turned a canvas which has been standing with its l“awe to the wall, and we are looking again at the girl we met (n the stairs. There are the pure Greek oullines which Phidias might have wor- shippedâ€"the tangled red-gold heir tossed back from the white forehead, glittering like a halo rouni the angelic head, the dark blue velvety eyes, the exquisite smiling lips. The great artist had painted her in rags, selling violetsâ€"she is holding out a bunch in one small slender hand. as she leans against the pillar of some grew. portico, looking out of the canvas With those innocent wistful eyes I stand be- fore the picture for a long time; studying that girl’s face. I envy her, though she is in rage and I am wearing a dress of steel-gray velvet with a bonnet of the same. whose cost I scarcely care to re- member. How hsppy she nught to be with a. face like that i What matter about cold and hunger and rags, if one could smile on the beholder with those ethereal eyes, with three exquisite child- ish lips l So I think, looking down at the lifeless canvas. And as I look a shiv- “ Oh that, " he says, laying down his palette and brushes, “ Isa. poor child who sits to me as a modelâ€"her name is White! Her mother in a wretched wo- man, always beggingâ€"sometime): drunk. Here in her picture-yea it is a lovely face." feeling the like when some one walked over their grave that was to be. You why should this gu-l’a {203 makes me shiver? In is as beautiful as she face of an angel, ani as innocentâ€"it; is not very likely that It should ever do me any ham 1 This evening the Rolleatons lnslsb up- on sendlng chelr carriage to take me back to Berkley Street to dinner. I should have spent a. lonkly evening if I had not gone, and yet I go rather unwillingly, having had a pile of letters from Wood- hay and Yantenden in the morning, which I have not yet had time to read. But the temptation to spend the evening in that; pleasant house is too strong to re~ sineâ€"against my better judgment I allow myself to be persuaded, and seven o‘clock finds me in the drawing-room at Berkley Street ; and, as usual, I find Mr Barber there before me. “ I don't think you are working very hard." I say to him in the course of the evening“ _ _ “ Igbink we have both been rather idle lately," he ratorts, with his boyish smile. “ I have been here every dayâ€"I have no time to practisp." “ But how are you to make this great name for yourself if you do not work ’1” “And yrs 1" he suggests, laughing. . “ Oh, I am nonin any great hurry to make a name for myself !" “ I am glad to hear it. I hope you will never make a name for yourself at all.” “ Thank you 1" “ I mean that; I hope you will never make that voice of your: public proper- ty'n__ “ And [have baan here every dayâ€" 1 have no time to paint." “ What then is to become of me ’i’" I ask, with laudable gravity. “ Let some mun work for you,” he says hurriedly, his boyish face flushing like a girl’s. “' Give some man the chance of making a name For himself-for your sake I” I shake my head gravely, looking out. into the twilight. We are standing at an open window at the upper enl of a long music~room. All the rest of the party are clustered round the piano at the lower end, where some music imd friend of Cmuford's is playingBerlioz‘s Symphonic Fantastique. These are all In a. warm glow of candle-light from the lights on the piano, but we, standing at this distant window, are illumined only by the low glimmer from a. faint: clear apple-green sky against whlch the houses stand up pictur- esquely dark and indistinct, and in which, just above the shadowy chimney-tops, bungone great red lovely star. His volce startlee me, low and qulet as the words are spoken. I look up at the tall dark figure, ludietlnfi ln the twillght ; and suddenly this boy, with his beautlful eyes, hla desperate poverty, his passion- ate pride, seems to take me by the hand and lead me lnlo some “ fairy-land for- lorn " of which I have never dreamed in all my life before._ "Miss SEoth, do you 'think the man you marry will ever allow you to sing on 11141 gtagg 'l ” “ I'do not think about it,” I answer with truth. “ Miss Scott will you marry me '1" The question takes me so enhlrely by surpglse that it conveys no meaning to my min . “ Allie, will you marry me, and give mg [sheylghtpo wo_rk for youA?"_ I look 3p into the eagér dark eyes of the lad who is so eager to work for me, but who cannot or will not work for him- self. “ You with a wife l" I exolatm, with a cruel smile. “ It seems to me to be as mug): asbyou can_ 90mg“; â€"" “ To li've myself. You are very bitter ; I think you take a pleasure in hurting meâ€"I think you always did 1 " seling the like when some ver their grave that was to 1 ‘BB CEUVZB. hrough my mw us. as laugh i ng In z inacur “ Fovgive me,” I say, holding out my hand ; 15 looks very white and slim in the half light, {181 am sure I look myself in my fauna white clinging gown. “ lb was kind of you to wish to help me in the only way you could " ' “Kind 1 ” he interrupts pasaionmwyy taking the hand 1 have ufl'ared to him and daring to press his warm young lips against it. “ I am kini to you, AJlie, if you call it kind to love you with all the strength of my heart 1mg! aoul I ” “I know that I love yonâ€"I know that I have loved you since the very first evening Imet you here. I believe I fell in love with your voice before I ever saw you, though Mrs. Waucbtpy thought she nipped any danger of that kind so clever. ly in the bud ;" andhelanghs a. iittle~the old boyish laugh. I think of the yiolets and am silent, looking at that great solitary star, at the houses standing up black againstthe gold- green sky. The quaint fantastic music of the Symphonie fills the room, the group about the piano listen to it eagerly, with the light full on full on their preoccupied faces :oniy we two are alone together in the twilight window, two tall shadows against the faint clear sadness of the sky. “Should we care for that?" he ex- claims, with acornful dark eyes. “ If we were happy, we should care very little what other people said. We are both poor, and, if we choose to be poor to- gether, ib is nobody’s business but our own." Perhaps my silence says “what I would never swaar," for he comes nearer to me, bending his dark head to look into my eyes as he did once before in this very room, when we quarrelled about a bunch of withered violets. “ Allie, couldn't you care for me enough to ‘ lay your sweet hands in mine and trust to me "I" “But you have only known me for so short a time." I say, dmwing my hand away coldly. “ You can know nothing about me ” He looks as if he could “ pile him a. palace straight, to pleasure the princess he lowed,” as he stands there, so young and strong and full of life and hope. “ But: what. fools people would think as l" I say, smiling, and wondering what he will any when he hears the truth about We should be poor, Allie ; but, if we cared for each other, that would not mat- ter. And 1 would work so hard for youâ€" I would work day and night to become famous furyouraakeâ€"nothing would be too hard for me with such a. hope as that." Could I 1 Can I 1 He takes main his arm I, kisses me passionately, and I, Allie Somers Scott of Woodhay, uubmit to it. with an amazed docility which I could not have believed possible a fortnight ago. And no we stand for “ one vast; moment, “ of intolerable happiness; and than. with a laugh which ends in a sigh, I push him away from me. _ __ “ Oh, this Is folly I” I exclaim, with rather tardy wisdom, it must be confess- ed. “ We are mad to think of such a thing for a. mlmzce. You have nothing, and yet you want to burden yourself with a wife whose onlv mode of earning her liv- lng you condemn X” 7" My wife shall never sing for her bread 1"the boy says, throwing up his head. - “ Then how do you propose to live ’1” “ I shall live by my art." “ But you must practise your art be- fore you can llve by lb.“ “ And 1 inhmi to practise lb." “ And if you fail 'I ” “ 1 shall not fall with such an incentive to work.” “You are very confident," I say, gaz in; lnfio the eyes which look dark as night under their black lashes. “But suppose you should not succeed? ” " I shall succeed." “Bub you seem to me to be more anx- ioul to bewilder my audacious orlglnxlity than to conquer by sober work," I say deliberately. There are somethings that should be re- membered while watching the negotiations that may lead to a vast war or patch up a temporary peace between the rival con- querors of Asia. When England acqui- esced in the move by which Russia po- ssessed herself of Merv, it was on the agreement that a joint commission should be appointed to “delimit the Afghan iron- tier from Khoja Saleh on the Oxus to Sarakhs” on the Hari Rad or Taj ind river â€"a distance of about three hundred miles. The Russians make the peculiar claim that this line crosses the river about one hundred and fifty miles nearer Hers-t than Sarakhs, the point from which it starts and at which it would naturally cross the river. The English claim that the line sheuld cross the Taj and at Sarakha and starts from thence in the direction of Khoj s Saleh. The disputed territory almost forms a regular parallelogram. with Khoja Saleh, Sarakhs, and Kafar Kalek at three angles, while the fourth angle of nearly three hundred miles due east is the last named point, at no place in par- ticular but anywhere that Russian di~ ‘plomaoy may consider best suited for some military advantage. The English maintain that the way to “delimit the Afghan frontier from Khoja Saleh on the Oxus to Sarakhs” is to run it on the one sldeof this parallelogram which lies al- most in a strait line between the two points. The Russians insist that the psoper way to do so is to follow the other three sides of the parallelogram. This is the same as saylug that the proper way to pass between two points on the same street is to go around the block. If Russia does not come out ahead in this controversy it will not be because of her modesty in claiming. “From Khoja Snleh to Sal-akhs." A grave responsibilityâ€"The sexton'l. (T0 31: CONTINUED.) \«<-W The Russian soldier in the field is a. man of mmy vu'tuea. At; home in peace. indeed. he has bus one Vice to speak of. He wlll get, drunk when he can, and keep drunk a: long as keen. Drink does intake him dangerous, bub simply adds L In child-like amiabll- ity. He tumbles about badly, but. quletly picks himself up, and siaggem on ml) the next. tumble 36:5 in. He is eager to hug every one he meets, and his enthusiasm forkissmg and calling all the world brother‘ when he is in his cups. would be grotesque were in not degrading. The Russian soldier needs no iron-hand- ed discipline to keep him in order. He is docile by nature; and he obeys his offi- cer, whom, indeed, he addresses as “little father ” asif he were a child. He is con- The Russian comic songs are full of “snap” and verve; and they always have a rattling chorus, in which every one with- in hearing joins ; while the singer accom- panies the strains of his chorus with a 1n- dicrously fantastic breakdown, in which he seems to dislocate every joint in his body The plaintive melodies vibrate with a strange pathos, that swells the heart of the listener, even though he may understand nothing of the words. And the grand chant with which the massive columns move forward into the battle glows with the true fervor of fighting srdor. There is a legend of a battle-song so heart- stlrring, that it inspired Mennonites to violate their tenets, and fight like men possessed. _ tented in hardship; hea: takes no eflect on him. and he has become well lnured to cold. His weakest point in campaigning is his auscepbibilty to homesicknesa. When thé Ruaa'ian armies were lying in front pf Constantinople? in that {0115 weary inaction between the treaty of San Sbephano and the treaty of Berlin, thou- sands of soldiers actually died of nostalgia, or homesicknesa. Despondency of mind lowered the bodily tone, and they seemed simply t3 fade away:_ The Russian soldier, when the home- aickneas is not upon him, is a right: merry- hearted (allow. All daylong the camp re- echoee to the voic: of 5 mg. Russian vo- cal music i: real singing, not the horrible croak, alternated by ear-splitting falaebw. which the Serviana and Bulgarians insane- ly regard as vocal harmony. five per cent. can read, and a still smaller percentage have any knewledge of writing. Their relxgion, which is fervent, in mixed with superstition. But their external de- voutneaa is unremitting. ‘ _ The Russian soldiers are almost wholly without book-learning. Not, aboyg tweqpy- They live chiefly on soup, thickened wlth a. little meats, much meal, and any~ thing that fortune may offer on the march [11 the way of vegetables. This soup is made in large camp~ketbles, one of which cooks for each company ; and when the soup in ready, each company marches up to its own particular kettle, every man with his pannlkin in hand, into which the cook bales a. ladleful. Wben all are supplied, the company re- forms, and there is sung a long grace be- fore meat, which I never knew omitted or curtailed, even when as on the Shipka. Pass, the enemy's buflets would be whist- ling bvet the co'oklng-place, and occasion- ally rattling against the kettles. Throughout every regiment is s. sprink- ling of foreigners, whose loyalty is not to be relied on, but with this exception, the Russian soldier is a whole-soulsd, devoted adorer of the Czar. The cxpressinn con- stantly in his mouth as regards the future, just as clergyman are wont to say, “God willing,” is, “If God and the Czar will i” They are to him the arbiter-s of his des- tiny. “If God and the Czn‘ will." Ihave heard a. Russian soldier ssy. “ that I re. turn home, oh. how happy 1 should be ; but if they d( c 759 that I must die here in s foreign land, their will be done I” He may be relied on agains‘n fa‘ling a. victim to panic ; he is too atolid and u:- impreasible for that. If one-half of a Rus- elan army were slaughteredin the morning, the other half would eullenly rally and be ready to confronb the prospect of being slaughtered that same afternoon. In the bloodiest battles of the old world: Boro- dlno, Eylau. Friedland, and the Plevna combats of July and September, 1877, Russian troops hnd been combatants. The bravery of the Rusian soldier ad. mtts of no question. He is stupid, poor fellow, and requires to be shown what it is wished that he should do ; he has n'o idea of initiative or of acting for himself on a. pinch ; but he may be relied on to go forward while an officer stands up to lead him, and he will hold his ground till he falls. But the spectator of a battle In which Russian soldiers are participants always feels half sorry for them, half angry with them. They have no fighting versatility or in- dividual ingenuity ; if their flank is turn- ed, well, "God and the Czar" has willed the misfortune, and they endure It pas- sively till the manoeuvre sweeps away all who have not fal'en. Unless there are officers to order him, the Russian soldier has no more idea of helping to form a new front in such an emergency than he has of usurping the crown of the Great White Czar. He has not even that appreciation of the situation that would move him to run away. A girl with three arms is one of the ab- tractions of a Louisiana side show. This young lady ought to be sought for by every marriageable young man in the neighborhood. She could puh two arms around a man’s neck, while 5119 turned. pancakes with the other. ‘ An Irishman caught a. bee after it had stung him, and examinlng lb carefully, he said : “Ye dirty little blaggarb l Yez bin aibtin’ round tlll yez worn the ante out: of yer breaches, an’ bedad ol’ve found yer knolfe shflcken through the hole in yet hip-pocket, yet little hnythen l " The Russian Soldier. ARCHIBALD FORBES.