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"They want me to this spring. but. 1 don't good yet. 1 should 1i} first." What a. baby the Sweet child Was ! Yet. she would soon be a woman, though always a lender, >tht creat- ture, a. thing to be protected. And giant was to become of lvor socially? Philip had left a two-days' old letâ€" ter on his mantelplece. "Dem- old Ippie," it began. "do» write oftener. Four of Miss Blush- Iords are still in love with you, five with the new curate Z’not a quarter] as nice as Mr. Inglcby), and two with the dran'liigmmstcr. They are such sillies, they steal his pencilâ€"i chips, and even his pencils, for keepâ€" sakes. He is always pleased with my drawings, so I mean to be a {amous painter. What geese those officers must be! How glad I am that you pretended to think the donâ€" key they put in your cot was Capâ€" tain Hare, and took possession of his room instead. Father and mothâ€"1 91' are quite well: so is Sebastopol.§ I leave school this half. Your nfi‘ecâ€"' tlonnte sister, ' Philip listened, a pensive helight irradiating and refining his features, which inclined to a. square solidity, and, leaning against his door-jamb, imagined Jessie one of that bright crowd of flowerâ€"decked, bejewellcd ladies, whose filmy (‘a'raperies floated mistin about them and merng into one broad mass of color with gold- laced scaxlet and blue otlicers, with the varied facings and decoration distinguishing hussars and iancers, artillery and engineers, cavalry and infantry, the brilliance toned down here and there by the blackâ€"blot of a. civilian dress. What a difiorent blending of color some of those preâ€" sent had Seen at Balaclava, when the hea‘qv brigade wedged themselves through the gray mass of Russian troops ! Some of the dzmcers present had been starred the Russian gray with English scarlet. “I am never merry when. I hear sweet music," might be said of Strauss's or Gunglfs Waltzes. But the sadness seems pleasanter than mirth. There are people who despise waltzâ€"music; have they ever been young? ever danced? ever flung themselves like swimmers upon those bright waves of melody, and stayed only by the pressure of one young hand upon another young Waist, floated far away into ideal regions, rising and falling in spirit with the ebb and flow of the music ? Besides that poetry of motion which quivers so strongly through waltz music that it is pain to sit still at its sound, it has all the tenderness, the sadness, the infinite unconscious longing, the ethereal exaltation of youthful love. Young people listen to waltz music with yearning. lookâ€" ing into the vague rich future; old people listen with yearning and reâ€" call the golden past. He thought of his little sister at home. when he saw so many fresh girlâ€"faces in the brilliant whirl of dancers, bright as rolling sunset- clouds turning before him to the acâ€" companiment of love-laden waltz music on a line string band. One night at the end of January, Philip Randal, now a, fine, wellâ€"set up lad, with bright, keen eyes and a healthy brown face, found himself, very smart in his bail uniform, at a large military ball, trying very hard to look bored. but in reality full of enjoyment. He liked dancing and ladies’ sodety, and was fresh to gayeties of this kind. He wished the deficiency in ladies had been on the other side, but then, as so many 0! those gold laced, stalwart war- riors lounging languidly against walls were too vain, too lazy, or too clumsy to dnnCe. it did not mat- ter much, since no lady is ever too tired‘, too bored, or too vain to dance. so he might have his share of partners, ineligible as he was. At home people went, on 1heir usâ€" ual comfortable halfâ€"hearted way, thinking, in spite of their recent rude awakening from dreams of universal peace, that the mad race for wealth was not again to be interrupted, but. that every man was to sit in the shadow of his own shopâ€"front and eat the fruit of pale factory-hands' drudgery, untroubled. People grumâ€" bled impartially at everything over their breakfast newspapers, recon- structing or destroying the British Constitution or propping up the Tenâ€" erable fabric according to the sever- al man-dates of their several jour- nals, but not dreanng of more war, CHAPTER! a. The more he thought of it the IBy the time the aims were beginflimpossibm her position seemed. mng to length again in 1857 people ICould that. dainty blossom-like mad Mme“ ceased to think of the tum dance with such rough {c Crime“ and all its terrible lessonslns her cousin, Roger l’lnmmer, to the nation, no one dreamed of the I if dancing “cm in vogue in film more dlcadful Storm no“, lowerng 0 .ynnd by what possible door coul the tar 13391, and in part occusione be admitted to more refined ("i by eastern misconception of Eng- It had been better. he some land-s Strength in the Crimea_ EVen thought, if the child had been ti in India. where the first low mut. dairy and housework in pine tcrings of thunder had already been Mungnan's Qucsuons' French' heard, some strange madness lulled piano-playing; her hands would the English to a perilou5 sense of that. case have been rougher, he: security and blinded them to the Ceptlbililies bluntcr, her face handwriting blazing an the wall be less sweet. and her heart, as tome them_ Roger Plummet and young edi ‘WOWWO WSMW A MENG PMMEE 1 should like some Jessie Meade." be confirmed want. to be OR, THE MISSING WILL { fun 'hright waves of its yearning melody, xunconscious. of physical being and ‘motion, because of their very in- tensity and perfection, isolated in a. common beautitude, they two alone, leach revolving round the other as a. :sole centre and source of motion, as itwo stars cast. into space free of any .solax- system, might do. At, last, as if by common consent, they paused Ibreathless, flushed, radiant, and 'anp guided his partner to a seat beneath a. trophy of arms and flags, into which she sank smiling. while V When the band struck up the first plaintive chords of No. 11, Philip was already at Miss Maynard's side, eager to claim her promise at the first moment possible. Two gliding steps and a, turn, and they were ofi‘. borne away and away far from the prose of life, lost, upon the fairy sea of that enchanted music, rising and falling upon the Philip tried to look indifferent and not blush; “Iâ€"ah think I have met Miss Maynard," he stammered, “I dm'csay she's forgotten; besidesâ€"ahâ€" her card will be full by this time.” "Oh, come along, look, she's sittâ€" ing down, introduce you again,” re- plied Captain Medway, amused at the subdued eagerness on the lad’s honest brown face. "0h ! Mr. Randal is an old acâ€" quaintance,” said the pretty dark- eyed girl, in a low voice with a subâ€" dued warble in it, on his introducâ€" tion. "I am so sorry,” she added with genuine regret, “not one dance left. Unlessâ€"” She paused, looking at her cousin. “Unless for once 1' moms and give up. Noâ€"] taking her card. "I’m Captain Medway smiled benevo- lently and lifted his eyebrows. "Youthful enthusiasm, fine thing, refreshing,” he said. “Awfully hot tonâ€"night, frightful 'crush, ch? Don't you dance.” “Rather,” "Want a partner ? Know my cousâ€" in, Miss Maynard? Girl in White OVOI‘ there 2’” "0r ste me, too hard hit,” he re- turned, his beautiful blue eyes full of mirth. “What, is her name '2” "Legion," he returned quickly. "Look, h’IedWay, there’s not a really plain or ill-dressed woman in the room toâ€"night.” "How are you, Randal 7" said a. hussar captain, Sauntering up to him later on, but Philip continued to gale at the surging tide of waltzers, grave, rapt, unconscious, until the question was repeated, and the husâ€" sar, languidly smiling, laid a. hand on the laxi's shoulder. “Eh? oh? How are you, Med- way '2" lie exclaimed, starting and flushing". "I didn't hear you come up" The more he thought of it the more limpossiblo her position seemed. How could that dainty blossom-like crea- ture dance with such rough follows as her cousin, Roger Plummcr, m‘en if dancing were in vogue in that set? and by what possible door could she be admitted to more refined ("il‘(‘]€S? It had been better. he sometimes thought, if the child had been taught dairy and housework in place of Mangnall's Questions, French, and pianoâ€"playing; her hands would in that case have been rougher, her susâ€" ceptibilities bluntcr, her face not less sweet, and her heart as pure; Roger Plummer and young editions of Mr. Checsemun would not then have jarre¢ upon her, she would then have no more thought of qum‘relling with her place in life than a flower idoes. She would have blossomed sweetly, and as sweetly faded. untronbfed and unnoticed. in her place. It never struck him that Jessie's exquisite grace and refinement were as native to her as the perfume to the Violet, and widely diflerent from Miss Blushâ€" J'ord’s thin and spurious veneer of history and arithmetic, her feeble pencil drawings, piano-strummings, and petty proprieties of speech and manner. When he took stock of the pretty‘young faces present and 0b- Served the ways of their owners, he felt that Jessie would do herself no discredit among them, he was not sure that many could surpass her. "'A violet by a. mossy stone‘hulf hidâ€" den from the eye.” And amid all the thoughts crowdâ€" ing upon him at this first shock of bezeaval, in the thousand memories, tender, happy, and sad, he still saw the bright face uplifted and heard the clear voice speaking, saw the white muslin and blush-roses, the rounded arms. rich dark hair, and hazel eyes lit up by the dawning spiiit, and was glad in n. way, though his heart bled and his con- scious reproached him, as he thought of things he had done and left undone, and wondered Why 'he had not 'been more tender and duitiâ€" ful to her who had been more than mother to him and had never been harsh even in rcproof. It was too late now; it always is too late when we think of these things with vain regret sharpened by the keen-edged pain of loss. The engine throbhed on to the melody of that last love-burdened waltz, stars passed in solemn shinâ€" lug procession over the heavens, un- was the cry and music. It was a, cold night, he was glad to draw his coatâ€"collar round his ears: and shivered in spite of his thick rug. It. was not. so pleasant to look out into the blank depths of surrounding night as into Ada Maynard's eyes. Philip was able to obtain leave at once, and before long he had torn off his gay ball uniform, put on plain clothes, sprung into the mail train and was rushing swiftly through the darkness, a dreadful terror tearing at his heart. The train moved too slowly for him, flying past fields and woods, mansions, all covered up and hidden {arms and hamlets, and park-girdled beneath the mirk as the future is hidden beneath the shadows of un- certainty, the throbâ€"throb of the engine heating time in his brain to tho me!ody of that last, waltz. He étarted up at once and pushed through the whirling crowd. The music Was all discords now. the people seemed spectres, bright eyes mocking phantons, the flowers poisâ€" onous, the lights burned blue and baleful. He had been dancing and fooling while hiq mother lzul (lying. His partner gazed after his re- treating figure until it was lost in a, maze of floating draperies and brilâ€" liant colors, and the tears gradually filled! her eyes. “Poor fellow !" she murmured, "pqor boy! Has he a. sister '2 or any one to Care for him? I wish he had just said good-night." She read on the paper he showed her, “Your mother is dying. Come.” "And I cannot go till to-morrow!" he said. “You can go at once. Amail train passes through at two. It is not much past one now. If you are quick you can get leave and catch it. My brother has often caught it.” “No, no," he said. recollecting himself, at the sound of her Voice. “But it should have come before, hours before. Too late now, too late.” When at. length she turned her face toward Philip, his head was resting against the draped flags, his face had a bluish tint and his eyes the amazed stare of a wounded animal. attention. He took a paper handed to him by a mysterious figure which giided swiftly away and was lost in the crowd. Miss Maynard turn- ed her head. seeing his attention was thus claimed and looked at the bril- liant figures fitfully seen dancing rbe- tween the palm-leaves for a. long space. “You are ill |” "what can I do ?” The waltz music was still rising and falling in golden wavelets, Philip and his charming partner were resting after another turn in a palmâ€" slmded alcove talking the light nothâ€" ings to which young voices and mu- tually charmed eyes lend enchanted meaning, when a dark shadow fell upon them from an approaching fig- ure, and the repeated utterance of his name at last, aroused Philip’s attention. He took a. paper handed "My last at home, I menu. We go out to India, mother and 1, next week," she sighed. Philip sighed too. “I am sorry,” he said after a pause, "no more chance for me of another dance with you.” He left off using the fan ‘and looked dreamin at the bright ‘moving crowd with ‘1 sudden disen- chantment. “Poox little butterfly,” he thought, “you will be snapped up the moment, you land." Then she would he a flower-hovering butterfly no more; but a gentle little hearth cricket, guarded and sheltered by some strong man. Cherished or crushed, he wondered, with a. sudden fear, as he turned and looked at the slight fragile form and delicate face. Could sorrow or suflering touch a Shin-g so fair and tender 'P The thought was as preposterous as painâ€" ful. Why, she Would fade at the first touch of pain as a rose-leaf shrivels at the first breath of frost. Sunshine and soft airs should be hers through life.‘ "I sometimes wonder if there \viil be dancing in Heaven.” sighed Miss Maynard, who was still in her teens. “You dance so well, no Wonder that you enjoy it.” he replied, won- doling at. the glory of the rich dark eyes, and the curled mazes of the deep black hair and sweet. curving of the warm red lips, “I suppose. you dance a great deal 7" “Oh! no. I am only just. out. This is only my second ball. And it will be the last. I am afraid." "Surely not. Why should it. be All the dark he leant against a U her, and. opening gently on her behalf line that came to his sung itielf to the spirit. deeply dawning in the of hazel eyes.” ‘mst a Union Jack above opening her fan, used it she exclaimed memâ€" dance The coal mines of France, located in the northern part of that coun- try, do not supply the needs of the French people, who have to import 28,000,000 tons. against, an average of 21,000,000 tons raised at 110111. Then she slept again, and ‘ Philip with gentle violence drew Jessie from the room. “Mansions, many mansions,” she murmured, "but I could do with the littlest house, so I could keep it (lean and fresh for the angels to go in and out of and the tour we lost." I set too much on having things clean and tidy about me and men do make such a. litter in a, house. But you was always careful for a. man, my dear, and shut doors after ye, and I wish my tongue had been softer." At. the close of the short sunshiny day she fol asleep, and when she woke, wandered a little. She was content and thankful to be spared a. long illness. “Where thele’s sickness,” she said, “it up- sets a house. And all’s ready. My wedding sheets, Jane, you can lay a hand on. One for me and one. to be kept against, Meade’s burying. You've been a good husband, Matt.” she added later; "we've seen trouble together and we’ve had mercies. I’ve been over sharp at. times, my dear; The spring sunshine poured itself unhindered into the room; Jessie had placed a, bunch of snowâ€"drops. "fair maids of February," she called them, in her mother’s sight: Sebasâ€" topol winked comfortably with‘ her only eye before the fire; and Mrs. Meade herself. the centre of all the sorrow, smiled peacefully from her pillow. It was so strange, so solemn to Philip to find his mother idle; it seemed impossible that the household wheels could run without her aid. But for this unnatural stillness, she did not differ from her usual \ self, and talked calmly of many things she wished done when she should have started on her long Journey. When Philip reached his mother’s room. there was no more need to admonish him to be calm, for the sight before him effectually quieted him, and the memory of that (lay alâ€" ways lived in his mind as a solemn, sweet time of rest, and peace. u 1) do "She slipped’on an apple-paring on the stone steps and hurt her spine, poor dear,” explained Mrs. Plum- mel‘, when he was game. . “I said to her only last Tuesday week, ‘Mar- tha,’ I said, 'that untidy hussy '11 be the death of you some day.’ And so she was,” she added with a satâ€" ie fled air. “But her mind is clear, my dear. 'And she wants you. Keep up before her, there’s a. good Iad', "Now ma’am, stop that !” growl- ed the doctor, who was himself shedâ€" ding coplous tears, "and take care of that girl. Let her cry, but make her eat.” And he hustled off, prom- ising to look in again. "As if there weren’t plenty of tiresome old wom- en to spare in the town. without taking Mrs. Meade," he grumbled as he went. At this Mrs. Plummer began to cry again and unnecessarily besought Philip and Jessie to calm themselves though they were both unmoved in their crushing sorrow. “Nothing, nothing, I tell you," he replied, testily, "keep quiet and don't make a row. Not that any- thing matters to her, poor soul. Confound you, Philip,” he added, "I ain’t a man of science, though I know more than you think; but all the doctors in the world can't help her now !" "Is there no hope, doctor ?" Philip asked:__'jcan nothing he done ?” Cousin Jane had opened the door softly and shut it again. "Poor things !" she said, "let them have their cry out. 'vaill do them a pow- er of good.” Then Dr. Maulc and Cousin Jane came in, the latter with red eyes and haggard face. the former vigorâ€" ously taking snuff and swearing be- neath his breath. “My kitten! My poor kitten !" cried Philip, using his pet name for her Then he sat down, drawing her on to his knee and rocking her softâ€" Iy to and fro as if she were again the baby he had so often hushed to sleep, and Jessie cried as any baby might have done. "Buf you must go to her.‘She has been wanting you all night," said Jessie, suddgply starting up. In n, moment, he Wm: in the parlor. whole Jessie was dozing by the fire after a. long night of watching. She sprang up with a, stifled cry to meet him, her eyes and mouth marked with purple shadows and her fare pale as the snowâ€"drops in the gar- den. panes sparkled in the sunshine, and Philip’s heart gave a joyful leap; for the blinds were not. down; his mother lived. til the gray wintry dawn palcd them and the Chill earth showed ghostly and desolate in the cold light. FRENCH COAL SUPPLY. (To be Continued.) Black loved these downs; and one ‘0011 understand the breeziness of his lbnolcs when one remembers that he worked, while living here, on ulter- nale days; giving up every other day ito a. tramR of 20 miles or so across zthose hills where ! LOVED 'rma DOWNS. Few villages have more interesting associations than Rottingdean. The .Duke of Wellington was at school here. In the picturesque old church, ,which boasts the most ancient lynch- !gatc in England, are three fine stain- _ed glass windows, representing the Archangels Gabriel, Michael and Raphael, by Sir Edward Burnc-«Jones, Whose cremated remains lie hereâ€"a. small memorial tablet on the outer Wall of the church recording the fact. ALSO BURIED HERE. - William Black is also buried at Hot- tingdean. A little white slob in- {scribed "William Black, Author," and bearing the dates of his birth and ideathâ€"he died in 1898, the same year 1113 Burneâ€"Jones â€" marks the site of ihis restingâ€"place. The grave, ac~ cording to the season, is a mass of heather or ivy, or pansies, or other Iflowers: once, among the heart’s-ease. I saw a brightly-hued butterfly hov- iering, reminding one of a pretty leâ€" lgend of the soul. V A pleasant restlng-place this, with- in sound of the sea, and with the green Sussex downs rising against the neighboring sky-line, village,” said someone who stayed there when he was living in the plaice, "gave one an idea how much he loved it. He d‘rank in the surroundings a: it be had never clapped eyes on Hot- tingdsnn before. Again and again when walking on the cliffs, he WOlllt turn touan to gaze at the oldlchurcb town: and the rambling batman. He used to roam about the village and sea-shore in the most unconven- tional attire, making friends with the inhabitants, but, dodging into shops or other hiding-places to get out of view of too curious visitors from Brighton. “To see Kipling standing on the cliffs, or turning back every now and then to look at tho village,” said someone who stayed The tinkling silence thrills. In that northern country of moun- tain and lake and heather, which he also loved so dearly, his memory is kept green by a lighthouse that, year in and out, flashes its warning Kipling’s highâ€"walled house opposâ€" ite the church is an object of interest. to visitors. in and out, flashes through the seaâ€"mists Through the strung unluunpercd days POPULAR EXCURSION. Perhaps the most popular excur- sion from Brighton is to Rottingdcan the home, until recently, of Rudyard Kipling. The most pleasant Way of going is by the electric railway which runs along the sea shore as: far as Black Rock, and thence on foot along thn clifTs. Great preachers, such as Rovertson and Campbell, and the Free Church conferences which have been held there, have given Brighton 2:. more Worthy reputation than the two monarchs who are associated with its history. It is said that at the restoration the King, more liberal, like most of the Stuarts, in promises than per- formances, overlooked the services of the old mariner, who sailed his bat- tered craft up the Thames as a re- minder, and was rewarded at last. with a. generous pension. Those days are still recent enou h to make one wonder at the magnifiâ€" cent palaces which have sprung up since the Regency, and transformed little Brighthelmstone into the Brigh- ton of this twentieth century. ANOTHER MONARCH. Another monarch of unsavory memory, Charles II., is associated with Brighton, for it was from this part of the coast, after Worcester fight, that he made his escape from England. The old skipper who aidi- ed his escape lies buried in a. local churchyard. I INTERESTING HISTORICAL SO CIATIONS. an old lady describe a stage‘ coach journey she took to Brighton, what time Farmer George, mad and old and blind, was strumming hymns at Windsor, while his gmceless son playâ€" ed his mad pranks with his courtier in the little Sussex town. FEW PEOPLE LIVING. There can be very fmv people now living who. as children, saw the lights of the "first gentleman of Europe's" carriage flash past as he travelled through the night to his seaside pavilion, though I have heard The winter season trends closely on the heels of uutumn. Shops display the latest novelties; carriages and motorâ€"cars enliven the fine sea from; hotels and boardingâ€"houses are crowd- ed again with visitors. palace which still attracts the eye of the inquiring visitor, What, a change he would see in the Brighthelmstona of his day! 1! George IV., revisiting the glimpses of the moon, could put, u om»: more at that curious Moori ' palace which still attracts the eye of When the last, bathing muching has been drawn up high and dry, when the niggars have departed, and the Punch and Judy man has Qassed around his shell for the last time, and the summer visitors have left the beaches to the frat and fume of the winter sens; than Brighton shakes itself and takes on n nuw lease of life. says a. writer in the Christian World. USED TO ROAM