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The last words were spoken rather bitter- ly, and Mavis, feeling chilled and indignant, turned away with a. great lump in her throat, thinking passionately, “ How horrid he has grown l” while Mickie, mmbhematising the whole fair fickle sex, sat down to torment his soul with the inward question, “ \Vho is Mr. Foote ‘3” “Nonsense 1” she cried, running forward with outstretched hands and a. glad smile of welcome. “VVhy,Mickie,how ou’vegrown!” “So have you,” answered Mickie, taking her outstretched hands a little constrainedly, and not kissing her as she had somehow hoped he would; you have quite come to women’s estateâ€"balls and bouquets, &c.” “Yes,” answered.Micl{ie stoutly ; “why, I’m eighteen, Mavis ! If I don’t go away now I’ll never be able to marry you. But it won’t be long, I’ll only be a. year or two at college, then I’ll do something wonderful and be made a colonel ; of course, we’ll be married immediately, and have yachts and horses, and everything awful jolly.” “ LookrNan, that silly Mr. Foote hasâ€"” Suddenly she paused, for a great military looking man had risen from the window and was coming toward her. “I beg your pardon,” ‘she murmured in confusion and was about to retreat when Agnes’s voice, from the doorway behind her, exclaimedâ€" “Mavis, is it possible you don’t know “Oh, confound it I so it is,” aEd with one bound Mickie was in the middle of the floor, causing Maggie to beat: a hasty retreat. After making fully more noise than a. young walrus over his ablutions, he hastily drew a. comb through his fiery hair and hurried down stairs, ‘wriggling into his jacket as he went. A tall girTishvform, in avpretty sailor cos- tume, was leaning on; 01' the schoolroom window, and when Mickie entered she did not turn her head. So Mavis yielded, and sat heroically 011 the top spar oi the garden gate, waving a tiny damp handkerchief, till the fair face with its crown of brightred curls vanishedâ€" for how long 7â€"from her sight. ""All right, Maggie ; I’m rising. You can .go now, honour bright E” and the speaker wound the clothes tightly round him, and rolled over, preparatory to taking another nap. “But you must rise at once, Master 1VIickie ; this is your last morning, and Miss Mavis is waiting for you in the schoolroom.” As she spoke the maid advanced and shook him heartily, by.wa.y of enforcing her words. It was a bright May morning when, with a conscious cm‘mine in her cheeks and a bouquet of fragrant spring flowers in her hand, Mavis frisked into the dining room, exclaiminaâ€" “Good morning, Mavis ; what’s up? Are you angry because I’m late ‘3 I’m really awfl‘lvlly §prry. When she did turn her head she was wip- ing her blue eyes and blowing her httle red nose very hard ; but iL was only dew ofl‘ the roses, she assured Mickie, for Mickie thought it spooney to cry. But, somehow, Mickie wasn’t nearly so scornful and unsympathetic as usual this morning ; he let the explana- tion passâ€"in fact, he got hold of a rose and smelled it very hard himself. And when Mavis cuddled up to him, and laid her brown curly head on his shoulder, he only said, “Don’t bother, Mavis,” and blew his nose. “But I don’t want {0 be married, Mickie, â€"indeed I don’t, if you would only stay at home ; unless, of courseâ€"with a pangâ€"you wanted go marry some one else !” “Oh, but yotfdon’t understand, Mavis ; girls never do,” he replied, with calm super- iority. “A fellow must remember his posi- tion. Papa. meant me to be a. soldier, and I will be. But,”he added, consolingly, “you can Write to me if you like.” “ The bloom from § our cheeks has gone to your nose, Lbester”o. A \ _ “ Have you xisen 01! you: wrong side, “Thomaé, 'what does Solomon say of him that: Winketh with the eye :3” Thomas was not at all clear on the sub- ject, but not caring to confess as much, grumbled something away down in his boots, rather doubtful of Charlie’s whispered hint, “Is a. knowing blade, and so am I.” “Remind me, and we will inquire into the matter together on Sabbath, my son.” “N6, I’m 'not angry ; I’mâ€"I’m smelling the roses, Mickie.” Even in that hour of parting the thought flashed through Mickie’s mind, “ What will the fellows think ‘2” but he only said sooth- ingly, “ All right, Lobster ”â€"~a nickname deemed appropriate from poor Mavis’s ten- dency to blush. Just then the breakfast bell rang, and thrusting a rose into Miekie‘s hand, Mavis darted upstairs to wash from her face the traces of the dew. Mickie was the only son of a distinguished colonel. Early deprived of his parents, he had been brought up in the family of his guardian, a Free Kirk minister placed near Edinburgh; and now, in accordance with his father’s earmst wishes, was about to begin his military career. "1 “ Mickie and Mavis were up early study- ing, as usual," said Agnes, the gentle elder sister; and her blue spectacles prevented her observing the broad wink which Tom bestowed upon Mickie, who seemed sudden- ly smitten with a violent irritation of the larynx. But it did not escape Mr. Douglas’s watchful eye, and he demanded severelyâ€" “Are you going to take Neddy to the station with Mickie’s box ‘2” “Yes but 011 ain’t cominrr,” ’ o grufly. “Why ?” she asked in injured tones.” “One cuddy’s enough,” replied her am- iable brother. “I really don’t think you should, Loh- ster,” said Charlie kindly :you’d be sure to cry and kiss Mickie, and I’m sure he wouldn’t like it.” said Tom, “Oh, Mickie,” said “must ygu really goggvgy “Of course I will: every day,” cried Mavis imgulsiwtely: Mickie‘ Breakfast was bemm “ hen Mavis entered the dining- room, and a. perfect chorus of polite grebungs Irom 1101‘ Mob hers assailed her. “ My daughter, don’t make faces ; you’ve no beauty to spare.” “ Hush, boys,” said Mr. Douglas per- emptorily. “Come away” “in is, my lassie , I dargsay you ve slept m. The mlfil the conversation 11an takenseem- ed to revive Mavis wonderfully, and she asked briskly, with a. triumphant smile, at 1‘0an love}7 “Should Auld Acquaintance he Forgot 2" “ Mickie has brought us glorious news, 9n .9” CHAPTER II. CHAPTER I. Mavis presently, “LVIiss'Mas'Jis !” he exclaimed, coming closer in his dismay, “you cannut mean it; until this morning you have given me every en- . “Mr. Fo‘Jte I” the wrap dropped from her shoulders, and her great eyes dilated with surprise. “I never dreamt of that. I hope you do not mean it; for I am very sorry, but I cannot, oh, I cannot 1’: “There is only one I care about, and if I am to have it- you must give me it. You are the fairest of them all. Miss Mavis,” he said, suddenly lowering his voice, ”give me yourself. ” cast acloot £111 May’s \veel out." “That’s it. Miss Mavis, I want to ask a favor.” “Say on.” “Will you let me choose a. flower out of your garden for my very own ‘2" ) “Sirely !’ she answered, standing back from the border; “that is a. very modest re- quest. Make a. careful selection, and choose a pretty one.” V Her face was a. delicate oval, her features regular and clearly cut. But: there were great dim-k shadows in and round her eyes, and the pink in 1 er cheeks, though vely lovely, wms fax too bright an d transient for health. “Good morning, Miss Mavis. Your cos- tume is very charming; but is it entirely prudent ‘2” “Well, I think so. It is very mild, is it “Oh, I know it,” laughed Mavis; ‘Never cast acloot till Mav’s \veel out.” The sun, after many sallies into Mr. Foote’s bedroom, had at length succeeded in awaking him ; and with a. tremendous yawn he heaved his huge well-made body out of bed, the consciousness that he had rather an awful undertaking to go through was prey- ing upon his mind. Less than two hours afterwards it jaunty figure in a light suit of a large and pleasing check, with a drab hat inclined rakishly over the left ear and a large hot- house bouquet in its coat, issued from the porch of a hotel in the neigh bour- hood and took its way towards the D\lanse. Mavis was in the garden gathering lilies ina delicate cream dress, and a soft blue wrap thrown over her head and shoulders. Not less fair than the fragrant flowers among which she was bending, and scarcely less fragile she looked as she raised her head to greet Mr. Foote not?” Presently the first soft notes of the song fell on his ear. He could scarcely credit his senses ; in a low, clear voice of exquisite pathos she was singin “Robin Adair.” The wild, wailing cry, “ Yow thou artl cold to me,” had hardly died away when her voice rose a, ain, clear and steady as a. bell, in proud eclaration of faithfulnessâ€"“Still in my heart shall dwell, he whom I love so well. Oh! I can ne’er forget, Robin Adair.” “ Now you will sing us something, won’t you, Miss Mavis ‘2” asked Mr. Foote, as the last round of wool fell from his fingers. She laid the wool in his hand, and silently com- plied. “ So she is obedient already, is she ?” was Mickie’s mental comment. Was it ssible he had misjudged her after all? is heartbeat fast with trembling anxiety; but as he leaned forward, trying to catch a. glimpse of her face, she rose swiftly from the piano, and turning to Mr. Foote, said gaily, “ There, you tiresome man, are you content? Now I mean to be dreadfully busy, so don’t ask me to sing any more to night,” and taking up her work, she seated herself on an ottoman at Agnes’s feet, carefully averting her face from Mickie. “Good night and good bye, Miss Mavis,” he said In his freezing toneS' , “I shall be gone to moriow before you are up.” And before she could answer he vanished as sud- denly as he came. Mr. Foote took her in to dinner. Mr. Foote turned her music. Mr. Foote held a skein of wool for her to wind. And every time her fair finger touched his, as she un- ravelled some knot his clumsiness had occa- sioned, a fierce stab of jealousy pierced Mickie’s heart. What did she mEan ‘3 Her whole soul seemed to sob out in the song ;but if she had really felt it, could she have stifled her feel- ings so quickly, and turned gaily as she did to Mr. Foote ‘2 No, it was mere caprice, an inexplicable act of an inexplicable creature~ woman ;and Mickie crushed back the con- flicting emotions that were rising in his heart and thanked her briefly, as courtesy required. “ Indeed, Miss Ma‘is,” said Mr. Yoote, looking at his watch “ I must leave you now, 10th as I am bmgo L1 133213,pr late But be suré yom exquisite rendeI 111g of that, lovcleong \_v111if30h0 1}) mx dreams.” _ “ \Vl) y, A211 Foote,” said Agnes, laughing “ isn’ t that xathei hand on poor Mavis ’ It is usually something disagreeable that haunts one’s dreams.” But Mavis gave him her hand in silence, for_ on_ce 3111ab1e_ p0 refly. A single candle stillybnrned at the piano, and in its dim‘ light Mavis bent alone ar- ranging her music folio. A firm step on the carpet caused her to turn round, and Mickie was at her side. “But what if he is handsome,” she thought bitterly; “he is as calm and unmovable as a statue, as heartless as a stone. I will let him see that his iciness is nothing to me. He need not fear that I will distress him with my obnoxious presence and attentions. ” And she turned to Mr. Foote with gentle raillery on her lips, the prelude to a. spirit« ed flirtation. Just at that moment a tiny pink note dropped from her bouquet at Mickie’ 5 feet He lifted it and offered it to her coldly; as she took it from his hand her fingers tremb- led, and noting her confusion and the deep blush on her lovely face, he turned from her in despair, his dread deepened into con~ viction that her love for him was gone. In the evening Tom, nowa highly pol- ished. promising young barrister, brought Mr. Foote, a. gentleman farmer, home to dinner. They had been High School chums and though there was now little affinity in their natures, Tom good-naturedly endured Mr. Foote’s society, that their friendship might give the poor fellow some excuse for his frequent visits to the Manse. Wheh Mickie and Mr. Foote were intro- duced Mavis could not help noting how ill Mr. Foote’s black hair, bright complexion, and boisterous greeting contrasted with Mic- kie’s fair fine features and cold though courteous acknowledgment. Agne} said. “ He_i§_Coquel_}}alfour pow." “lam very glad,” said Mavis soberly. Then their last conversation in the school- room, and what they had arranged was to happen when Mickie was made Colonel, flashed through her mind and her face flamed scarlet. “Yes; but we have CHAPTER III. an old Scotch proverb “ Yes,” answered Mavis, hesitating still with the card in herhand; then with sud- den determination, “ There,” and she pushed it into the elvelope and sealed it. “ I must carry it outmow. What a goose I am, I don’t half knov my own mind. I’d better have them pasted immediately, in case I repent. Whats that, J ane ‘2” to the maid who answered tie bell. “ Only a. paper, Miss Mav s. “ Thank you. Wil you post these at once, please?” “ Yes, Miss.” “Only a paper” reyeated Mavis; “some of Charlie’s horrid fo¢bzilL Let’s have tea. first, Agnes. I feel equal to any amount of buns.” “Capital I” cried Agnes. “But, Mavis, if you recall him, you “ill have to marry him. ” “I know,” said Maxis, thoughtfully ; “but 1 think I could now,Na.n.” “I am very glad, clear; it will be a. great joy for him, and really he deserves it, for he has behaved beautifully through it all.” It was Christmas Eve. The dining-room was brilliantlylighted, and atemptingtealaid ona snowy cloth. Agnes sat in an easy-chair gazing into the fire, her hands unwontedly idle, folded in her lap. Mavis was seated at her desk, a great pile of cards and enve- lopes before her. She, too, was gazing into the fire, and a half sad, half mischievous smile lingered on her lips, as if some pleasant memory were present with her. Suddenly the smile widened into a, low rippling‘augh, and she exclaimed, “I tell you what, Agnes, I feel very Wicked and frisky; I think I’ll send a card to poor old Jamie Foote.” “All right, ” said Agnes, with 3.11 answer ing smile; “wlmu v. ill you send him 7” “That,” answered Mavis, handing her a. beautiful bunch of lilies, with “‘Should auld acquaintance be foxtrot. 1’ M. D. ” on the back. “\Vhy; child,” exclaimed Mrs. Balfour, sharply, as Mavis turned up the bedroom gas and turned to go, “how pale and thin you'alre ! “{th is _v_vrqng ‘2” When Mavis re-entered the drawing-room Colonel Balfour was alone. “Mavis,” he said, hoarsely, ”come here a. moment. There is something I must say to you.” “You w'ere so colt,” sobbed Mavis, “1 was frightened to show you I loved you; but I did, Mickie, ail the time.” “Don’t!” she cried, sharply, as Mickie would have touched her. “Dan’t make it worse. It can’t be helped now,”a.nd she fled from the room. “Heart disease,” she answered, with a. strange, wan smile. Then, with a sudden hard sarcasm in her tone, “Don’t be alarmed, dear Mrs. Balfour ; it is not likely to kill me for many a year to come.” And closing the door softly she was gone. “Well,” she uttered, pausing, pale, and trembling, in the doorway. “Why did not you marry Mr. Foote ‘2” “I never loved him.” “Never ; not even at the first ?” “No, never.” “Then why did you deceive me ? O Mavis, how could you ! If I had only known.” “D511’t undress her hefe, please, Mavis,” said Mrs. Balfour. “I had rather go straight to my room ; I feel tired and dusty, and Netta. wants to be‘put to bed.” Taking the childA in her arms Mavis led tllevwmglad mgscape from the strain of Mickie’s prgsgch. It wasa, dull grey Novembei day. No light from without enlivened the) gloom within. But Mavis would not 1ing for candles, for she felt that the gloom would help her 111 the trial that was tob come. They sat together 1n the fireâ€" light, Max 15’s head 011 Agnes’s knee, and e\ er and anon the elder sister smoothed with a gentle hand the lines of pain that gathered 011 the younger’s brow. “ Come on,” cried Charlie impatiently, “What is it ?” then catching sight of her white, drawn face, he started to his feet just in time to catch her as she fell. Four years had passed with many changes. Mr. Douglas was gathered to his fathers, but Mavis and Agnes and the boys lived on in their old home. Even as she spoke a bell souhded, and with a. stifled “ 0 Agnes!” Mavis started to her feet. “Colonel and Mrs. Balfour,” announced the servant, and Agnes went forward with gracious words of welcome, while Mavis stood trembling in the shadow, striving vainly to regain her self-control. “And wKere’s the Mavis I’ve heard so much of?” cried Mrs. Balfour peering into the gloom. “W'hy, here she is l” and Mavis was clasped in a. warm embrace. Glad to be réleased Mavis hastily shook hands with Colonel Balfour, and then bent 0v er the child, a frail little girl of two, with great mournful black eyes, and began taking off he: hat. and cape. The inward sheet was folded outward, and red ink dashes directed Mavis's glance to the following item in the marriage col- umn: “At 42 Eaton Square, on the 22nd inst, Colonel Michael Baliom of the 02 d High- landers, to Alice Mary, only (laughtei of Glahani Eastwood, Est}, of szLyleigli, Es- 56X. “It is beautiful, dear," Agnes answered. “Tiley shou1_d be hgre imgnefiiately _no_w.” “Open quick, Mavis!” cried Charlie. “I thinkit‘s from Mickie. See if he’s been made General or Commander-iu-Chief, or what !” A; last Mavis spoke with an effort-â€" “Will the table do ‘2” One morning towards the end of August Mavis found the Times on her plate at break- fast addressed in a entleman’s hand that sent a strange thrill to er heart. But; he cut her short. “I leave you to judge if you have acted as a true woman," he said sternly. “All the love of my life is yours, but till you send for me you shall never see my face again.” And with a. mag- nificently scornful bow: he left her. . He gaied fit her intently, all the lines of his face hardening, as he said, “Are you in earnest?” “Yes,” she subbed. “Oh, I am so sorry, M5. Fopte, I ” couragement a. man could Wish. Perhaps I have said it too suddenly. Don’b be dis- tressed. dear Mavis. I can wait,” and he ap- proached her and began gently arranging the shawl about her shoulders. But Mavis pushed him from her in breathless eagerness. “N o, no, Mr. Foote ; you must understand it can never be. It is no use to wait. I do not love you, and I never can.” “Here, Agnes, quick ; she has fainted CHAPTER IV. CHAPTER V. ‘n No one sees the wallet on his own back, though every one carries two packs, one be- fore, stuffed with the faults of his neighbors ; the other behind, filled with his own.w[01d Proverb. Slich is the destiny of great men that their superior genius always exposes themto be the butt of the envenomed darts of calumny and. envy.-â€"-[Voltaire. A dull man is so near a. dead man that he is hardly L0 be ranked in the list of the living; and as he is not to be buried whilst he is half alive, so he is as little to be employed whilst he is half dead.â€"[Sa.ville. Conceit and confidence are both of them cheats; the first always imposes on itself, the second frequently deceives others too.â€"â€" [Zimmerman Some men are as covetous as if they were to live forever; and others as profuse as if they were to die the next momentâ€"[Aris- tot-1e. It is an old saying that charity begins at home ; but this is no reason it should not go abroad. A man should live with the world as a. citizen of the world ; he may have a pre- ference for the particular quarter, or square, or even alley in which he lives, but he should have a generous feeling for the wel- fare of the wholeâ€"[Clarendom A cheerful temper, joined with innocence, will make beauty attractive. knowledge (le- lightful and wit good natured. It will lighten sickness, poverty and affliction ; con- vert ignorance into an amiable simplicity, and render deformity itself agreeableâ€"[Ad- (lison. H. M. Stanley’s criticism of England’s ‘ African policy has provoked Lord Salisbury to make reply. The Premier claimed that nothing had been surrendered to Germany, because no agreement had been arrived at as yet ; and that it was impossible that Eng- land could make a settlement not acceptable to those principally concernedâ€" the trading companies, nuss1ons, etc. Moreover he con- tended that in a matter involving issues so vast it was wise to “make haste slowly.” Said he: “ The acquisit10n of this magnifi- cent territory which Stanley has revealed must be viewed from the point of prudence as well as from that of boldness. After our experience at Khartoum, grave reflection and the full assent of Parliament and the country are necessary before committing ourselves to the defence of a territory that is only accessible to the sea after three months’ travel.” To this Stanle replies in a long and caustic letter, in whic 1 he says : “If the German colonial demands be granted it would be more economical to make Ger- many a gift of the whole British sphere in Africa. Then British investors might ob‘ tain so many shillings for the pounds they so credulously have been victimized out of. He declares the German sphere is the finest in Africa and adds : “Still their cry is, give! give ! If you think they are better adapted than the English to civilize Africa, do noth- ing half~heartedly. Yield all, including Egypt Excessive amiability may become an infi1mity, and the infiunity of neg li- gence, like othe1 diseases, grows till it ends in chronic senility. ” Though this “passage at arms " between the Premier and the illus- trious traveler is not the most seemly thing that can be imagined, there is a proba: bility that it will not be unproductive of good, and that it will result in a more vigor- ous policy being adopted. The fact that Lord Salisbury condescended to notice the strictures at all is an evidence that he does not feel supremely satisfied with What his government has done. \Vhile cautioning Englishmen against the danger of overâ€"esti- mating the facts set forth by Mr. Stanley, it is more than likely that he is laying ‘his plans for action more in keeping with the demands of the hour. It would be a great pity if any false sentiment regarding inter- ‘ national comity, or excessiv e caution should prevent England f1om taking her light/[111‘ part in the wo1k of civ ilizing the many mil- ions of the Daik Continent He threw her hand from him as if it burnt him, and strode out into the 111 '.ght The grey dawn of the morning was beginning to streak the east. The sound of a chamber door softly opened and closed echoed through the silent house. A figure in an old faded sailor costume stole into the schoolroom, and laying her brown curly head on the hard window-seatâ€"â€"for there was no manly breast to support it nowâ€"sobbed with a. low wail- ing cry, “ 0, Mickie l Mickie l” “I“ cannot,” sobvbed Mavisv in helpless misery, her face hidden in her hands. Struggling under herv new sorrow Mavis tried to recieve him kindly and stifle the sense of loathing that arose whenever he ap- proached. But all her efforts were fruitless, and Mr. Foote, conscious that she shrank from him on all occasions, determined to have an explanation. As she was passing upstairs for the night he drew her into the dining-room. " Then,” he answered, towering over her in indignation, “ why did you recall me? You have neither heart, soul nor conscience; you play with the deepest feelings of a, man’s nature. You are not worth an honest man’s regEet.” Years of comfort and inaction had changed Mr. Foote. Though a faithful lover, and glad from the heart to receive his recall, he had not pined in his banishment ; and though his black hair was thickly streaked with grey, his complexion was ruddier than ever, and he had grown fatâ€"nothing coarse or eogpulent, but decidedly fab. “Listen, Miss Mavis. I asked you once before to be my wife. My love has never changed, and I ask you once again.’ .â€"â€"-“0h, Agnes, is he dead ?” The mid-day post on Christmas brought a. lovely card to Mavis from Mr. Foot, bearing the words, “Certainly not. I will be down with the evening express. Till then kindest regards and greetings.«J. A. Foote.” But Mavis, lying pale and miserable on the sofa, pushed it from her with a. moan. “I must investigate this, now my ap- petite is appeased,” she remarked, present- ly, taking up the paper. “ \Vhy,” in mm prise, “it is to me, in Mrs. Balfour’s writ. ing. Oh, how nice, listen, Agnes,” and she began in a. tone of triumphâ€"«‘“Distin- guished throughout the action for a. courage and self-possession that have seldom been surpassed, Colonel Balfour fell ’fell!” â€"her voice rose into a. wild, beseeching cry “I’m glad to hear it,” Agnes answered, laughing, “ that relieves my mind about the shqrtpreadz I_ megp t_o_deyot,e m_ys_e1f to i_b. ” “A reed,” said Mavis “i hope that damse hurries with these letters.” Stanley and Salisbury. Aphorisms. It is likely, however, that they will now change their opinion concerning the harm- lessness of kissing a woman against her will. Six months’ imprisonment and banishment; for life, is a. price which few would care to pay for the momentary pleasure. Such is the sentence imposed by the Turkish author- ities upon the officer and five students who assaulted and forcibly kissed the wife and daughter of the chief dragoman of the Rus- sian Ambassy while walking in the public garden at Constantinople. The Sultan has done Well in so sternly condemning the out- rage, and in making such an exhibition of its unprincipled perpetrators. “Them that sin rebuke that others may fear. ” It is to be presumed that the half dozen Turks who the other day engaged in an os- culatory exercise in which the fair ones con- cerned were not willing partners were under the spell of Burns‘ ballad : “If a body meet a body Comin’ through the rye, If a body kiss a body Need a body cry 2" Mr. Dunster, American vice-consul gen- eral at St. Petersburg, is at present on a visit to his native land. He is not particularly fileased with the manner in which Mr. Geo. ennau is showing up the barbarous cruel- ties connected with the Russian exile system. He complains that Mr. Kennan, whom he calls ‘ ‘ asensationalist given to exaggeration,” suppresses important facts concerning the character of certain females referred to in his lectures of whom, had he told the whole truth, he should have said that they were plotters against the government and anar- chists. Mr. Dunster claims that the Rus- sian prisons stand on an equal plane with any in this country. “ Prisoners,” he says, “are well treated and well fed, while the prison system is in many respects better than the American.” The unfortunate thing about this testimony is, that it is not above the suspicion of being influenced by the re- relation the witness sustains to the authorit- ies at St. Petersbnrg, whose favor it can be conceived he would naturally desire to retain. Moreover it has the misfortune of standing alone, while Mr. Kennan’s story is fully corroborated by Mr. Felix Brant, who, after twenty years in Siberia, escaped to America. and is at present lecturing in Ontario. Mr. Brant’s account is no less discredit-able to Russia than the story of Mr. Kennan. Those who are capable of putting two and two to- gether are not likely to be deceived by the apologies of Mr. Dunster, however much they might wish his presentation was cor- rect. 1 and hopefully to coming days. What (lvoors of usefulness He will open before us we can not tell. We go forth at a peradven- ture. A hand divine is leading as, leading us through more wonderful ways than the desert of old was to God’s chosen people. God’s reserve stores of benedictions are infin- ite. His grace will be richer than our lofti- est dreams. All that we long for, hoped for, dream of, yearn for, will God be to us, and much more abundantly if we love Him and wait patiently for Him. The Apostle Paul is here quoting a as- sage from the prophecies of Isaiah. ' he phraseology is not quite identical, but as is the case so often in the Scriptures, the one passage helps to ex ound and make clear what may seem in efinite and perplexing in the other. It may be laid down as a rule, that the Bible is its own best expositor. The passage from Isaiah is a. little different from the quotation in Corinthians. Isaiah says : “ For since the beginning of the world, men have not heard, nor perceived by the ear, neither hath the eye seen, 0 God, beside Thee, what he had prepared for his that waiteth for Him.” It is hardly ‘needful to remark that this passage as ex- pressed by Paul has been frequently made to apply almost exclusively to the unim- agined glories of the heavenly state. Such a. use of these words is perfectly natural and reasonable. The deep-laid longings for a life to come, the inborn yearnings for im- mortality, that form not only a part, but. the very best part of our nature, are sure to give rise to many earnest question- ings concerning that eternal state. We are not, and perhaps could not well be content with only broadoutlines and general prom- ises. We long to pierce through the thick folds of that veil that hides from us the shekinah of the universe of God. In our earnest longings we forget our limitations. Wonderful as is this gift of mortal vision we can not see on a level prairie or at sea a. hundred miles 1 How can we see into eter. nity ‘2 If a man should lift up his voice like a trumpet, or a choir should sing in loudest strains ten miles away, we should neither hear sermon or anthem, so limited is this wonderful gift of hearing. How then can we hear the music of the cherubim and seraphim who day and night without ceasing continually do cry, “Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Sabaoth.” All that the eye has seen is as nothin to the splendors‘ that remain unseen ! all t at the ear has heard is as nothing to the music that shall break 11 on the ear attuned to heavenly song. ay more ; all that the heart has yearned for of things high and holy, all that the mind has dreamed of in its loftiest flights will be more than realizedâ€"~and the cry of Sheba’s queen will break forth from thelips of the redeemed. They, too, with grateful wonder willexclaim: “The half was never told.” But while, as we have said, it is reasonable to ap 1y these words to the undreamed-of glories o the lifeto come, it is almost certain that the words were not intended either by Isaiah of Paul to have this exclusive meaning and application. It is as true of the life that is, of the life to come, that God has in store for those who love Him, for the church and for all who wait hopefully and trustingly on Him, stores of race and blessings of which we have no ream. Isaiah never dreamed of an Apostle Paul, and Paul never dreamed of a Luther and Luther never dreamed of the Wesleys, either John the greatest preacher and evan- gelist, or Samuel the greatest singer of the eighteenth century. We may take these words and bind them about the history of our personal lives. And if they are thus bound about our lives and graven on ourhearts they will inspire us with courage and with hope. Has not allour life that is past been 3. continue alhistoryof God’s ways? Let uslook out glad- Unseen, unheard, undreamed! “But as It is written. Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart; of man, the things which God hath pre~ pared for them that love Him. ”-â€"â€" I Corinâ€" thians 1i, 9. A Well Deserved Punishment. A Defender of Russia. The Life to Come.