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'iHi'iiiiiiiigiiisuMi/iii. CHAPTER II. That same evening, as aunt and niece were seated in the little room which served as dining-room and (liawing-room both, they saw the well-known figure . of _the village postman stopping before their little ate. g “ Run, Avice, dear, and see what letters old David has for us," said Miss March- mont, looking round at her niece. ought to have one from graiidmamiiizv to- day, it is so long since she has written.’ _ Avice needed no second bidding, and in another moment she was standing by the old postman’s side. “ Now, David.“ she said coaxingly, “ where are those lettcrsi you promised me yesterday? I‘m getting fearfully impatient- for them." ‘ David shook his head. “ I‘m fearing ‘ there’s naetliiug for ye the niclit, missic,” , he replied, as he held open his scantily- filled bag for her inspection. “ llut hercs twa for the auld leddy youdel‘.’ nodding his head in the direction of the . window as he spoke, and at the same time producing two square-looking packets from the bottom of his bag. “ Maybe there 5 some bit letter inside for you.” , Avice shook her head donbtfully ; thcrel was not much likelihood of that, she thought, as she returned to the sifting-room with them. “ Two for you, auntie," she said, as she handed them to her. “ One’s fromgrandmamma, and theotlier’s anIndian | letter~from papa, I expect ; it‘s like his writing." l If she had wanted to know the con- ‘ tents of the last-named letter, she was 1 doomed to disappointment. for Miss March- 1 meat, after glancing at the superscription, placed it in her pocket and turned her attcn~ . tion to the other one. Her brother-in-law's scrawls were not easy to read, and she pre- ferred deciphering them by herself. Presently, however. Avice, seeing the Standislies at the gate, went off '.0 join them in their walk ; and then pulling the Indian letter out of its resting-place, the elder lady proceeded to peruse it. Apparently the contents did not exactly please her, for her usually placid forehead wore a decided frown as she replaced itin its envelope, and an ejac- : ulation which, coming from other lips, might have been termed impatient, escaped her. “It’s a great nuisance,” she murmured, half aloud, as she gazed absiractedly out of the windowâ€"~“a great nuisance. If only he had waited until rather laterâ€"until l October, say, or even the end of September ! But to have him coming home just now. when mother and I are both away from home. and Erica tooâ€"it is really [00 provoking. How- ever, he’ll just have to come and stay down here,if he really wants to see us on business. â€"â€"Ah, well, I just wish Margaret had never met him. Poor Margaret! it Would have been better for her at anyrate if she hadn’t. ” And then the good soul went off into a day- dream, a sad-sweet dream of days which could never return, when her long dead sis- ter, Avice’s mother, had been a laughing joyous girl, just as her daughter was now, in the bright careless days before she had met and loved Kilmur Sachai ty. The shadows were growing long and black ere she was roused from her reverie by her niece’s merry laugh. She smiled as she watched the girl’s (left fingers light the little lamp, “ to save Perkins the trouble ; " and sighed, too, as she noted how like every gesture, every movement of the slim figure, was to that of the dead young mother. “ l have had a. letter from your father," she began at last after a few minutes’ pause. This was merely by way of introduction, as Avice knew that much already. “ It is not very long, nor is there much in it, except the fact that he is on his way homeâ€"ahein, I should say to England, at this moment." “ Papa. coming li‘ome ! Why, how’s that, auntie? He hasn’t been abroad more than four years since he was here last. What can be bringing him home ‘3 ” And Avice turned a look of inquiry upon her aunt. “That- I cannot- teil you, for I do not know myself,” returned that lady. “ He merely says it is a matter of business, which he can settle best personally. But you know how erratic his movements are.” Avice lookedpuzzlel, but not altogether pleased. The truth was, she also wished her father’s visit had been deferred till later, for she had no mind to quit Mark’s Cove before the Standishes, and she feared that this might lead to her aunt’s returning home at once. So she was not a little relieved to hear Miss Marchinout declare that she had no intention of going back, and that if Kil- mur wanted to see them, he could just come down to Mark’s Cove. ' “ That’s another fulfilment of my pro- phecy," said Avice, as she related the news to her ally Humphrey the next. dayâ€"“at least, I mean u. kind of fulfilment, for of ' mulrsc it is a very nice one, and I prophesied cm , ‘ llliiiijilircy' didn’t answer. Ilcrippearcdbus- ily ergrossed iiibailingone of the girl’s hooks -â€"in icaiitiy, lie was doubtingr whether the news were really so goodâ€"â€"at least. forliinrfor “ papa " might object to his suit, and shat- ter all his hopes with one cruel blow. How- ever, it was no good meeting trouble half- way. as he told himself; so, c isti is; all tliouglitsof parental opposition to the winds, he set to work to enjoy himself as heartin as if no such thing could possibly exist, and l the next. few days passed more swiftly than ' those before. Destiny, however, was bring- ing the iiiucli-dreaded father nearer and nearer, until at last one fine day it. landed him outside the little green door of Miss Marchiiiont's moms, and gave him a friend- ly push over the threshold. H: niplircy was out when he arrived»â€"by himself, for a wonderâ€"the fact being that he had gone out in a herring-boat, “ just to see what it was like," as he said; and he did not return until about eight o'clock the next morning. Mrs. Standish told him the news over his break'ast. and also added that ~lie had been introduced to the new-comer. “ 0n ! And what is he like ‘3” inquired Humphrey, diligently buttering liis bread, as if Kilmur Sacliarty's appearance was no more to him than that of the sweep. “Is he good-looking?" “ Um â€"â€"yes. I suppose he would be con- sidered rather handsome. But, my dear Humphrey," iii an expressive whisper, “ he is black. " “Black ‘." almost shouted her son, spring- ing out of his seat in astonishment. “ Do \ ou mean to say that Avice Sacharty’s father '3 black '3" Mrs. Standiin looked a little surprised. \‘he had certainly not expected such an ex- “ “'0 not considered such a very dreadful thingl , had imagined. i subject himself. “Of course, he is not like a nigger, my dear," she said mildly. “ He is an Indian â€"â€"but I’m not sure, as it is in Malacca be livesâ€"a. man of great influence, and of very high rank there, I believe. And he is not. very black, not very much more so than Avice herself; and you know she is not particularly dark." ; Humphrey frowned. However noble and ‘ powerful the father might be, the idea of a j coloured father-inllaw was not etactly a pleasant one, even though the tinting were light. But. still, as be reflected, intermar- , riage with foreign potcntatcs and nobles was iiowa'lays. In fact, it was done, well, if not everyday, at least sometimes. And then ,tlierc was Avice herself, so sweet andbriglit aiidlovable,witli lierwiiisomcfacc, which had learned to brighten at his coming, and her merry laugh, which rang in his cars like 1 music. Surely, if she loved him, it was Worth wliilc sulviiiilting to some little diS» :Ign'calilcs for her sake. Aiidzis he thought. itall over, the recollection {lislicil over him of how that bright face had looked in its deathly pallor that day on the clizls,whcn lie, all but lost her she was won ', and lie shud- dercd again at the rein- iiilii'aiice, and felt firmly and clearly how impossible it would l‘e for him to rclinquidi her. come what might. And after all, when he was introduced to Mr. Sacliarty, he found thatâ€"to look on, at all eventsâ€"lie was not at all so bad as 110 Dark he most certainly was, but exceedingly handsome iiotwithstaiiding, with clear-cut. featurcs, a thin composed- looking mouth,aiid glossy hair the colour becomingly. He professed himself charmed to meet his precious daughter's prescrver, for as such he most assuredly regarded Humphrey, and offered no obstacle to the free unre- strained intercourse which had all along existed between the two To be when Humphrey proposed any ramble or excursion for himself and Avice : but the astute young man early discovered Mr. Sacliarty’s objection to the motion of the sea. and accordingly increased the number of his aquatic expeditions, much to Avice's secret joy, for she loved boating beyond everything. S » far there had been no mention of the ‘ bu .lness,’ the grave importance of which had brought him to England, and Miss Marchinont was beginning to think of making some inquiries as to its nature, when, They were alone. Miss Marclimont was sitting by the open window busily engaged in embroidering a pinafore for alittle niece in Ireland, when Kilmur suddenly drew up his chair opposite hers and said quietly: “Amelia, I which has brought me over here, and it seems to me that just now is a very good opportunity for doing so. ” " Well," returned his sister-in-law, laying down her work, “I am glad that. you have started the subject: for was beginning to have some very seri- ous doubts as to the existence of any business wliate . er. " The Indian smiledâ€"an unpleasant smile. “Oh yes, it is very real business," he re- pliedâ€"“ very real, I assure you. It is about Avice’s marriage. " Miss Marchmont started. “Avice’s marriage,” slie repeated, a nameless dread striking cold at her heart. ‘ \Vliy, she is not even engaged. What is the use of talkâ€" ing about marriage for a child like that?" “Her mother was exactly the same age when she married me," replied the other, in his cold measured tonesâ€"“ exactly the same age, if I remember right ; besides, what has age to do with the matter ‘3" “ She cannot choose for herself : she is too young to know her own mind,” began Miss Marchinont; but her brother-iii-law inter- rupted her. “ It is not a case of choosing for herself or of knowing her own mind," he said quietly. and I hare chosen.” “ Good gracious, Kilmur, what do you mean ‘1” Miss Marchmont was not given to the use of ejaculations, but the violence of her emotions forced this one from her. “ I mean precisely what I say," was the answer. “ I have exercised my parental right in choosing my daughter's husband, and he is one of the richest men in all the Malay Peninsula." “And his name?" gasped Miss March- mont. “ The Rajah Mutwanee,” returned her brotlier-in-law triumphantly: “ and. he has promised to make her his principal wife." “ His principal wife ! The principal wife â€"tempor.irily, of courseâ€"0f a Malay rajah.” honour rose in arms at such a thought. Her brotlier-in-law must have taken leave of his senses, and she would take upon lier- self the duty ofsetling him right. Possessed of a considerable flow of language, she took him severely to task there and then, and poured out the vials of her wrath upon him. But he did not mind. He shrugged his shoulders at little, and then sat patiently waiting, a smile on his thin lips, until such time as her eloquence should be exhausted. At last she stopped, more from want of former declaration, that he, as the girl’s father, had complete authority over her in all matters whatsoever. Miss Marchmont was momentarily dumb- founded by his coolness. ()nly momentar- ily, however, for suddenly bending forward in her chair, the light of triumph in her eyes, she exclaimed : “ Kilmur Sacharty, you have no such authority. You renounc- ed it entirely on her mother's deathâ€"No l" as he opened his lips as if to reply ; “ you need not trouble to deny the fact, for I have your formal renunciation in black and white at the lawyer’s, and by that paper her grand- mother and myself are appointed Avice’s guardians. ” An angry gleam flashed in the dark eyes of the foreigner. ing," he cried fiercely. “ In my own land, among my own people, I can snap my fin- gers at your musty lawyers and their foolish decrees, tit only for the control of slow- blooded Englishmen. \Ve in Malacca do not acknowledge such papers; we do not hold that faith should be kept with infidels.” A seornful smile curled round the corners of the spinster’s lip as he said this. “ You talk foolishly, Kilinur," she said, rising. " When you come to think the matter over, you will see that I am right.” i hibiticn of feeling, although she guessed that the news would be rather startling. Apparenllv. Miss Marchmont was right ; when she predicted that Kilmur Sacharty of Avice's, which waved slightly and most sure, he often made one of the party to her relief, her brotlier-in-law started the i want to have i a little talk with you about the lJIlSlDCSS‘ “It is I, her father, who have to choose ;’ All Miss Marchmont’s ideas of right and, breath than from lack of argflment; and, then be repeated, politely but firmly, his; “ The paper is not bind- - " r 1 would think better of what he had said ; ‘ for the next morning he waylaid her as she ‘ was going down to the beach and humbly apologised for his rash and foolish words. She was the more surprised at this, as she ! knew her brother-in-law to be a man of an I intensely proud nature, and for a moment i she was somewhat inclined to doubt his 3 sincerity. However, his penitence. al- thouin somewhat theatrically expressed, l seemed i‘cal enough ~, and after giving him ' i a sliarply-sertuinisiiig glaiice,whicli be here ' without i'liiicliiiig, she graciously accorded him the pardon he sought. I “ Only I hope, Kilmur,“ she added im- :pi‘cssivoly, “that you will never entertain. such an outrageous idca again. Remember Avii c is not in the slighest degree answer- able to you, nor have you any power over , her." With which twinningr speech slic , passed on down to the beach, leaving Kil- ] four to digest. her words at his leisure. Had ‘slic seen the look of hatred which passed over her brother-in-law's face as she turned away, she might not have fel. so comfortable ; as she did ; but. she was thinking of other ytliiiigs, and, she did not notice him. ' The truth was she had remarked for some time past Humphrey's growing at taclimciit for Avice, and her mind was oc- cupied with tho problem, did the girl return his allot-lion, or were her feelings to- warr‘s him mercly those of friendship? She could not tell. Girls were queer creatures, and Avicc in some things was one of the qucerest. The only way in which her aunt coiildjudge was by watching her closely 1 when With Humphrey : and even then, as she acknowledged with a sigh, it was very 4 hard to tell. Matters were in this state when one morn- ing she received a. letter from her sister in Ireland begging her to come over and help ‘, her, as her youngest child was dangerously ill wibli scarlet fever, and the two older ones seemed to be sickcniiig of the same fell coni- plaint. She had scarcely finished reading her sister's mournful epistle, written in pen- cil by the sick child’s side, when Kilmur, who was also engaged in perusing his cor- respondence, glanced up. “Can you tell me when the next train goes to London?” he inquired. “ I find I tmust go at once to Berlin. I have some business there which requires my immediate l attention, and I must go to London first.” A feeling of relief came over Miss March- 1mont‘s heart. If Kilmur were away, she should not mind leaving Avice in Scotland, to pay a long promised visit to some friends, while she herself went to Ireland. “ There is a train about eleven o'clock,” broke in Avice’s voice before her aunt had time to answer. “ You could catch that nicely, I should think." Evidently her father thought so too; and by five minutes past eleven he was slowly lsteaming out of the Mark’s Cova station, ; l 1 i l i l . leaving Avice and her aunt to return home and make their own preparations for a speedy departure. Humphrey pulled a decidedly long face when he heard of their change of plan; “though,” as Avice remarked, “it only made two or three days’ difference, after all, Miss Marclimont having all along in- tended leaving on the first.” “And to-inorrow will be the twenty- eighth," added the girl by way of 00115013.. tion. - “ Are you really leaving to-niorrow, then ‘3” queried Humphrey anxiously. “ So soon as that ?” They were standing by the little green gate, the afternoon sun glinting full upon them when he spoke, and in the soft light Avice looked more beautiful than ever. The thought of parting from her even for a short time was a painful one. “ Yes, really and truly tomorrow,” she replied, absently pulling off the petals of the crimson rose at her belt. Was it fancy, or was there really a. sad inflection in the bright voice as she spoke? He could not say, but a. sudden impulse made him ask hurriedly : “ Are you sorry to go, Miss Sacharty‘? \Vould you have [ liked to have stayed ?” 1 Something in his tone startled her, and she drew a step or two back through the little ate as she replied : “Sorry? Well, yes ; 1I am soriy l It has all been so happy, and now it is at an end, and it can never come over again.” Humphrey looked at her in surprise. i “What do you mean '2” he inquired. “What is it that can never come over again '3” “ Why, the summer,” she returned,color- ing slightly under his earnest gaze. “ Of course there will be other summers,but then no two are quite alikeâ€"do you think so? I always feel that at the end of summer. A year will pass, you see, before the nextâ€"and a. year is along time.” Before Humphrey could reply, Miss Marchmont appeared in the doorway. “ Come in, Avice, dearâ€"I want your help," she said, nodding kindly to Humphrey. “ We have a good deal to do, you know, and Perkins has got one of her bad head- aches, and can do nothing.” Avice turned away, not sorry for the in- torruption. Humphrey had looked so strange, she thought, and had evidently not understood her remarks about the summer. That was the last opportunity Humphrey had of a private talk with her : for, as Miss Marchinont had said, there was plenty to do, and the girl herself left early the next morning. “ Good-bye l” she cried gaily, waving her hand to him as the train began to move. “I daresay I shall see you soon again ‘." And then, as the lit tle trio on the ! platform faded out of sight, she sank back l among the cushions of the carriage and pre- , pared to enjoy her book. But somehow or ‘other, its contents failed to interest her. l The storyâ€"one which she had long wished l to read, and which Humphrey had pushed '.into her hands as he bade her good-byeâ€" i seemed for the time to have lost its charm. l l l l The words made no sense. Two or three . times she read over the same passage, and every time Humphrey’s face seemed to come i between her and the print, until at last she ' was him to declare herself beaten, and shut it up with a bang which considerably startled the elderly lady who was seated in the opposite corner. Strath Carron, whergDSlie was going, was - a small place, but a good deal frequented just at that season by visitors, who were at- tracted paftly by the mildncss of its ‘ climate, and partly by the pictur- esqueness of its scenery, which was ex- tremely grand and mountainous. Her friends, Major Douglas and his wife, had gone there chiefly on account of the mineral l waters, for which the place was celebrated, ' and they were staying in an hotel near the as she led Avice lip-stairs on her arrival. “ One is saved all trouble and bother then.” She was a. pretty, delicate, little woman, of about two or three and thirty, of an easy- going temperament, which made her any- thing but a. strict chaperon, as Avice quickly found out. Indeed, her husband was much the best cliaperon of the two, and had he been there all the time, it would have been better for Avice. But the day after her arrival he went oil" to Perthshire for some shooting, and the girl was left prac- tically to her own devices. She had been there about a week, or per- haps a little longer, when one morning com- ing in to lunch she noticed a fresh face at the long dining-table. The new-comer was a dark handsome man of about forty, clean shaven, and so dark in line that she immedi- ately decided that he must be, if not wholly coloured, at anyratc half-caste. “ \Vho is he, Mrs. Douglas, do you know 2’" she inquired, gazing curiously at the apparently unconscious stranger ; but though Mrs. Douglas turned liergold-rimmcd glasses full on the swarthy visage opposite, she could not say who or what he was. “ We shall learn his name by-and-by,” she returned carelessly ; and Avice‘s curiosity remained for the time unsatisfied, and she dismissed him from her mind. Presently, however, siiefelt irresistibly impelled to look across the table at the stranger ; and a curi- ous undefinable uneasiness stole over her as she saw those keen black eyes fixed steadily upon her. She tried in vain to remove her eyes from his face. She looked at his neighbour, at the pot of. heather which form- ed tlie central ornament of the table, and finally at her own plate ; but wherever she looked, her glance seemed compelled to return to him. She gave a. half-impatient shrug as she endeavoured to control her eyes, and asmile of satisfaction flitted momen- tarily over the dark face opposite. Lunch appeared that day an interminable affair, and Avice heaved a. sigh of intense relief when at length it drew to a close and she followed Mrs. Douglas from the room. “How oppressive it was in there!" she exclaimed as they reached their own room. And indeed all lunch-time she had felt as if she were being stifled. Mrs. Douglas looked slightly astonished. “ Hot, doyou mean '2” she inquired, drawing on a pair of dainty driving-gloves. “ \Vhy, my dear, I thoughtit quite cold. In fact, I made up my mind that a jacket would not be a bit too heavy driving this afternoon.” “No; I don’t mean that it was hot," returned the girl. “ I meanâ€"well, I can’t quite explain ; but itfeltvery horrid.” And she sliivered slightly as she spoke, lyingback in the easy-chair with evidently no intention of dressing. Her friend was almost ready by this time. Aren’t you coming out ‘3 " she asked with some surprise. “ \\'e are going for a drive with Mrs. Barfelt, you know." “ Oh, to that placeâ€"what do you call it â€"-that old castle near here? No ; I don’t think I’ll come this afternoon. I've got rather a headache." Mrs. Douglas looked quite distressed. “What a pity l” she cried. “Do change your mind, like a sensible girl, and come. You won’t have the chance again, perhaps.” But though she could not herself tell why she refused an excursion to which she had long been looking forward, Avice declined the invitation persistently. “ I’vegotratheraheadache,” she repeated “and I should not enjoy it." So her friend was obliged reluctantly to depart, leaving her ensconced on the sofa. with a novel anda bottle of lavender water by her side. But less than an hour after Mrs. Douglas had started she sallied forth, armed with the book and a. rug, to a little glen at the back of the hotel. Why she chose that spot she could not have said, for it was not much frequentedby the guests of thehotel , who usu- ally scorned it on accountof its neainess. Per- hapsit was the cool green shadows of the glen which tempted Avice there that after- noon, or perhaps it was the tinkling music of the little burn which ran through it, and by the side of which she established herself, raising her eyes every now and then from her book to gaze into the clear depths of a pool in which were mirrored a thousand varying tints from the autumn trees above. The time slipped slowly by, the silence unbroken save by the calls of the birds, the murmur of the brook, or the occasional rustle of some rabbit in the bushes, when all ofa. sudden, and without the slightest warning, she felt the same odd feeling of mental oppression which had so distressed her at lunch. Glancing up quickly, she saw the tall lithe form of the stranger standing before her. ' (TO BE CONTINUED.) -â€"â€"â€".â€"â€"â€" Ilow it Feels to be in Battle. As one who served through the terrible hardships and battles of the Crimea, 1854 and 1855, perhaps I am entitled to say a few words on this subject. I can truly say, for my own part, that I was a stranger to fear when in the heat of battle. “'The only timidity and serious thoughts that I felt was when taking what little repose we could get on the damp ground. Then the mind turned upon the possible results of next day’s fighting. and a prayer went up to God for safety. But when once engage in combat with the foc, every vestige of tiinidity disappeared like magic. In fact, it is hard to define one's feelings when engaged. One seems to think of nothing whatever but dealing as much destruction as possible among the enemy. My feelings were some- thing like those of men in a pugilistic en- counterâ€"of which I once had a trial pre- vious to the Crimea. That Was the Intention. An Irishman, lately landed, was taken to see the cathedral. Ashe entered the magni- ficent building, bewildered by its beauty, he turned to his companion and said 2 “ Pwliy, Pat, this hates the divil.” Tfiirs. ( Young but Observant , Bulfinchâ€"“ And so Aunt E with her up into the choir Johnnie 1’" Johnnie (who has some difficulty with his g's)â€"“ Yes, Isat up all amon’ the sin’ers." took you did she, Sticking up for His Horse. “ Your horse didn‘t win first money, as you said he would.” “ No, but did you ever see an animal lose a race so magnificently ‘3" A Demonstration. “ Single blessedness,“ said Bruning, \Vitli his solitude communing, “ Cannot yicld us, that is plain, Half the sweet content and pleasure That doth, in such bounteous measure, Unto double life obtain.” Then he “ set his cap," and wooing \Von a maid, whose love’s accruing Would, he thought, his moments bless; VVh‘en a year they had been mated Twms appeared and demonstrated Sweets of double blessedness. Some Satisfaction. At the seaside. Gertrude-“ What shall we do, girls? There hasn’t been a man in sight for two weeks.” Emilyâ€"â€"“ Let’s go down to the shore once more and look at the buoys.” Doing Him Justice. Irate Fatherâ€"“ There’s one thin th ’ wonderful about you. ” e g at s Dudesonâ€"“ Aw ! What's that ?” IratelFatherâ€"“ That a spongy head like yours doesn‘t absorb anything. ” ho Brain Trouble. Anxious Parentâ€"“ Doctor, he doesn’t do a. thing except mope around, smoke cigar- ettes and chew gum. Is it his brain that’s affected ?" Doctorâ€"“ No madam. The trouble is in his head.” McCuo’s New Bat- Mrs. McCueâ€"‘I Well, Con, are yez ter choorch wid me this mamin’ 1’” Mr. McCueâ€"“Iain ;yis.” Mrs. McCueâ€"“VVell, yez can shtay /, to ‘ home if yez intend to wear that Nellie Bly hot, so you will. Oi’ll not hov’ the Dud‘eys on the nixt block askin’ me who’s the jude Oi hov’ wid me. It’s bod enough to wear Mopte Cristo wliuskers on yer face, so it. s 1’ A Description- Maudâ€"VVhat’s a kiss like, Ethel? Ethelâ€"Oh, it don’t feel much like any- thirg ; but it has an odor that is acambina- tiou of brilliantine, brandy, and cigarettes. Retrieving the Past. When Mabel was discreet sixteen, She was so prim and so sedate,‘ She was so dignified of mien, So calm, unruffled and serene, ) You would have thought her thirty-eight 1 I. But now that Mabel’s thirty-eight, Oh, what a difference is seen ; She’s struck now such a. giddy gait, And. goes it at so brisk a. rate, You’d surely take her for sixteen ! Docked for Lost Time. Mrs. McCartliyâ€"“ Yer wages is twinty cints short this wake, Moike.” Mr. McCarthyâ€"“ Yis, Mary Ann. We had an explosion on Toosday an’ th’ foorman docked me fer the toime Oi wuz in th’ air.” Sir John’s Memory F or Faces. Once he and a friend were walking togeth- er, when a working man stepped before them. Sir John, after shaking hands, said : “ Well, Dâ€", it is 16 years since I met you. By the way, how is your boy ‘3” The man agreed as to the time, and said his boy was better. After they parted and went on, the friend said to Sir John, “ Of course that was a chance hit." “ No,” said he, “ I remember when 1 met him once before he was in great distress about his little boy, who was suffer- ing from a lame back.” To the same friend Sir John said he might forget one face in a. thousand but scarcely moreâ€"[Biggar's Anecdotal Life of Sir John. Too Poor to Take His Wife Along With Him- “ Some years ago. while looking at the clock at Strasburg,” said Mr. Depew, “I noticed a large party of American tourists making the rounds of that celebrated an- cient city. I was told by one of them that while most of the visitors hugely enjoyed the trip there was, by way of contrast, one among them whom nothing wonderful in nature and art could touch. “ The landscape had no charms for him ; the Alps did not impress him ; the beauties of Paris and Vienna did not evoke his ecs« tacies. Nothing that he saw had the sligh- est effect of drawing out the least expression of admiration. Weeks and weeks passed and the party were dumfouuded at his lack of appreciation of the sights which met them on all sides. “ Finally it was decided to send a com- mittee of four, tWU gentlemen and twoladies, “ That’s the intintion, Moike,” was the reply. Inspecting the Protrait. Maudâ€"W'ell, mamma, how do you like it ? Does it look like me? @ammaâ€"Humph l The face is good enough, but no one would ever think that dress cost your dear papa. $3,000. A Little Girls Prayer. A little girl in Connecticut was taken by her mother to a dentist, who removed a E \Vcll. . i “It is so much more convenient than staying in rooms," Mrs. Douglas explained tooth. That night at prayers she said: “ Forgive us our debts as we forgive our dentists." to his room and inquire what it was prevent- ed his enjoyment of the trip. “ ‘ Old maii,‘said one of the committee, ‘ tell us What is the matter. If any one in the party has displeased you we will dis- miss liiin, if any wrong has been done you we shall see that it is remedied, but do tell us what the trouble is, for we are trying rd to lease '011.’ ha“ ‘ \\’I;ll,’saill the unappreciative toast", ‘1 do not care to say anything about my trouble. I wanted to keep it to myself, but as you have asked me I may as well outwith it. The matter is fjust tlijisd: '.I‘this is my eddino tri â€"the rst we ing rip ever iiiadeâ€"an I'm so blamed poor that I did not have money enough to take my wili with me ‘-’ "' goin' [,- / / / /