He was upstairs now, examining Maud. Would he ever have finished?

At last the doctor came forward and laid his hand kindly on Arthur Trevor's arm, looking into the white anxious face with a straightforward glance.

"Cheer up, my friend !" he said, smiling. “There is no great mischief done. The lady has had a severe shock, and one leg is a good deal bruised; but a month hence she will be as well as you or I. Is she your wife?" But Arthur Trevor did not answer. He only turned his head aside and walked away quickly; the doctor, smiling to himself, went back to the house to have some food before returning to his more injured patients.

CHAPTER XXVII., AND LAST.

WEEK later Maud Etheridge sat in her favorite breakfast - room at Westerton, pale and heavy-eyed, and with a shadow on her beautiful face which never left it now.

It was a bleak, dull afternoon, but a bright fire blazed on the hearth. Maud's arm chair was drawn close to it, and her feet were on the fender; but she shivered slightly as she glanced round the room, and sighed. Her heart was heavier than ever now, for Captain Trevor had left her as soon as he had known of her safety, and she had seen and heard nothing of him since.

Again and again she had repeated to herself his wild words of love when he had found her under the carriage-the words that had made it seem so hard to die. Could his pride be so invincible that now, when he knew all danger was over, he could not bring himself to own that he was wrong—to acknowledge that he could not be happy without her? Alas, it seemed so! and great heavy tears rolled slowly down Maud's pale cheeks as she leant wearily back in her chair.

In another minute the door opened. She heard the servant say "Captain Trevor"; and presently he was standing before her, looking very stern and grave, as he said, in his coldest tones:

you forever, by never seeing your face again, and am just as far from any decision as I have ever been. You said the other day that we were flint and steel-that I roused all that was worst in you. What am I to do? I leave it to you. I know that nothing will ever change my love for you. But, Maud, tell me truly whether you believe you can be happy with me, or can learn to forget me. I will abide by what you say."

His voice was hoarse and quivering, his face was white and eager, as he stood before her.

Maud lifted her eyes to his, full of tears, her mouth tremulous with happiness, and put up both her hands.

“Oh, Arthur, how can you doubt ?" she exclaimed. "You have nearly broken my heart as it is.”

Then he knelt down by her chair, and drew her to him; and, though he said nothing, Maud knew that her trouble was over, her happiness begun.

When Miss Barry came in, half an hour later, the room was dark but for the red glow of the fire, which showed Maud's face like that of the old bright Maud of the past Summer; and her maidenly reserve received a severe shock at finding a mustached mouth pressed to her cold cheek as a deep voice exclaimed, gaily:

"How do you do, Aunt Barry? Will you kindly ask them to set another place at the dinner-table? I mean to stop for dinner."

It was all plain sailing now. There was not a dissentient voice, no opposition even from Maud, when Captain Trevor requested that the marriage might take place in April— "lest they should quarrel again.

Perhaps they do quarrel sometimes now, for Captain Trevor is inclined to spoil his son and heir a good deal more than Maud approves; but it would appear that life only glows the brighter, and love's flame only burns more cheerily, for the occasional sparks struck from FLINT AND STEEL.

Ocular Demonstration.

"Thank you,” returned Maud, in a hurried nervous tone; "I am getting better. Won't you sit down? My aunt has gone out, but she will be home presently.

He did not answer, but remained standing, looking at her keenly; and Maud, conscious that the tears still stood on her cheeks, colored crimson under his glance.

Have you been expecting me?" he asked, in a quick low tone, after Maud had tried to break the pause by remarking on the cold weather, and receiving no answer.

She looked up, and then looked away again. "Yes-no—that is, I had given you up."

She hardly knew what to answer, so utterly uncertain was she as to what he would say next.

advanced, staring me full in the face; I then said: 'Whence

"What was the answer-tell me what was the answer ?” "The following was the answer I received: 'I am watchman of the night, an't please your honor, and made bold to come upstairs to inform the family of their street door being open, and that if it was not soon shut they would probably be robbed before morning.'

THE FLITCH OF DUNMOW.

‘A BALLAD.

"WHAT seek ye here, my children dear?
Why kneel ye down thus lowly
Upon the stones, beneath the porch
Of this our convent holy?”
The Prior old the pair bespoke

In faltering speech and slowly.

Their modest garb would seem proclaim The pair of low degree;

But, though in cloth of frieze arrayed,
A stately youth was he:

While she who knelt down by his side
Was beautiful to see.

A twelvemonth and a day have fled
Since first we were united,

And from that hour," the young man said,
"No change our hopes has blighted.
Fond faith with fonder faith we've paid,
And love with love requited.

"True to each other have we been;
No dearer objects seeing
Than each has in the other found;
In everything agreeing.

And every look, and word and deed
That breed dissension fleeing.

"All this we swear, and take in proof Our Lady of Dunmow!

For she who sits with saints above
Well knows that it is so.
Attest our vow, thou reverend man,
And bless us, ere we go!"

The Prior old stretched forth his hands; "Heaven prosper you!" quoth he; "O'er such as you, right gladly we Say Benedicite."

On this, the kneeling pair uprose

Uprose full joyfully.

Just then passed by the convent.cook, And moved the young man's glee;

On his broad back a mighty Flitch

Of Bacon brown bore he.

So heavy was the load I wis,

It scarce mote carried be.

"Take yo that Flitch," the Prior cried"Take it, fond pair, and go:

Fidelity like yours deserves

The boon I now bestow.

Go, feast your friends, and think upon The Convent of Dunmow.

"Good Prior," then the youth replied, "Thy gift to us is dear,

Not for its worth, but that it shows
Thou deemest our love sincere;
And in return, broad lands I give-
Broad lands thy convent near,
Which shall to thee and thine produce
A thousand marks a year!

"But this condition I annex,

Or else the grant's forsaken:

That whenso'er a pair shall come,

And take the oath we've taken, They shall from thee and thine receive A goodly Flitch of Bacon.

"And thus from out a simple chance A usage good shall grow;

And our example of true love
Be held up ever mo';

While all who win the prize shall bless
The Custom of Dunmow."

"Who art thou, son?" the Prior cried;

His tones with wonder falter"Thou shouldst not jest with reverend men, Nor with their feelings palter." "I jest not, Prior, for know in me Sir Reginald Fitzwalter.

"I now throw off my humble garb,
As I what I am confessed,
The wealthiest I of wealthy men,

Since with this treasure blessed."
And as he spoke Fitzwalter clasped
His lady to his breast.

"In peasant guise my love I won,

Nor knew she whom she wedded;
In peasant cot our truth we tried,
And no disunion dreaded.
Twelve months' assurance proves our faith
On firmest base is steadied."

Joy reigned within those convent walls
When the glad news was known;
Joy reigned within Fitzwalter's halls
When there his bride was shown.
No lady in the land such sweet
Simplicity could own;

A natural grace had she, that all
Art's graces far outshone;
Beauty and worth for want of birth
Abundantly atone.

What need of more? That loving pair

Lived long and truly so;

Nor ever disunited were;

For one death laid them low!

And hence arose that custom old-
The Custom of Dunmow.

THE TEA-CUP TIMES.

O the mind of the thoughtful student of the period, reaching from about the first quarter of the seventeenth century to the present day, a curious idea is not unlikely to present itself: namely, the wonderful influence which the introduction and use of tea has effected upon female character.

Tea is universally admitted to be an essentially feminine beverage; nevertheless, since its introduction, it is an undeniable fact that woman has, in some respects, deteriorated. The woman of the present day is, very often, a kind of epicure, neither perfect woman nor perfect man; lamentably failing when she puts her weaker frame and different-not inferior-intellect into competition with that of the ruder sex, and never showing her impotence more plainly than when she would usurp masculine prerogatives. Nature resents being ignored, and "The laws of Nature there's no force to stop; Women may shriek, but men will keep the top."

The typical woman of Biblical and patriarchal times generally was the one who, virtuous and industrious, looked after the welfare of her household, therein finding ample employment. It is a noticeable and significant fact that, throughout the whole sacred record there is not a single instance of a female attempting to usurp male prerogatives. Putting the women of the Scriptures aside, and coming to the literature of England, the works of Geoffrey Chaucer afford the first picture we have of English manners and customs. The abstract and brief chronicle of the times in which he lived, Chaucer's inimitable " Canterbury Tales," form a setting for the delineation of every phase of English

life of that epoch. The accomplished abbess is a pleasant type of womanhood, the little feminine weaknesses and traits of character portrayed respecting her giving an exquisite softness and finish to the portrait. "The Man of Lawe's Tale,” the story of the patient Griselda, is a fitting cabinet picture to accompany that of the abbess. It shows the secular side of woman's ideal character in days during which the sex may roughly be divided into two classesnamely, the women in convents and the women out of them. Each picture is perfect of its kind. The one is wedded to her faith, the other to an earthly husband, and in each we recognize the palpable admiration and reverence of Chaucer when delineat

ing her essentially womanly attributes; also the sly humor with which the little vanities and weaknesses of both are touched upon. Shakespeare has painted all sorts of women. Those of his

own and every other time, under both ordinary and exceptional circumstances, but his a 11 - pervading ideal is that of the woman who lives in her affections, who is swayed and ruled through them. She is dignified and noble in her feminine capacity, perfect in her estate, only falling from it when she would usurp masculine privileges. Passing onward, we find here and there in the history of literature isolated instances of a better state of female education. At the same time, it is

reverence, and evinces, apparently, a just appreciation of her powers. The adverb is used advisedly, since there is a subtle irony in the fact that when Milton became blind he taught his daughters to read Greek and Latin to him in the original tongues, they not understanding what they were reading. How many women in this so-called age of advancement would have submitted to this tacit ignoring of their capabilities?

This brief retrospect brings us down to the period at which we would glance

"The teacup times of hood and hoop,
And when the patch was worn."

a remarkable fact that the learned women of these ages did not attempt to compete with men. Queen Elizabeth, a scholar of no mean repute, is, when all is said and done, as thorough a woman and as great a paradox as any one of her sex. The gentle Lady Jane Grey may also be cited as an example of womanly dignity and modesty going hand in hand with erudition.

Milton's "Eve" can hardly be instanced as a conception of what woman should be, the "Lady" in Comus coming nearer to poor humanity in that respect. The great poet's rendering of female character is, in the abstract, full of

So sings the Laureate of England, painting, in a few happy touches, one of his marvelously vivid word - pictures. Seemingly an innocent little descriptive couplet, but pregnant with

food for reflection for the thoughtful reader. Suggestive of wellpowdered coiffures, done up high on enormous cushions, conjuring up visions of fair dames square-cut and scanty bodices, high-heeled shoes, colored satin petticoats, and flowered sacques. A goodly company, such as might have been seen con

in

gregated any evening at any of the brilliant receptions frequented by the wits and beauties of the day.

Not less bril

liant in their

attire were the attendant

swains in divers-colored wide-skirted coats, long-flap embroidered waistcoats, snuff-boxes, and buckles, with their clouded canes and well-powdered queues. Correctly speaking, we ought to say the "Tay-cup times," for at the period to which we refer the word had not yet lost its French pronunciation. Dryden says:

"And thou, great Anna, whom three realms obey,

Dost sometimes counsel take, and sometimes tay.'

So Pope pronounced it; so did Lady Mary Wortley Montagu; so did Samuel Pepys and his host of gossips.