dined, I left quite a number; that, returning to McClure's a few days later, I left another lot with him; and that I carried so many back to the house where my friend had been stopping, that the settler declared he had more meat on hand than his family could use in a month. This was uncommon experience, I admit, and perhaps I shall never see it repeated; for, as I have said, the untimely storm had driven them in from all the surrounding sloughs, and the exceptionally cold weather had closed the river, save at certain points, where the birds were massed. Some of the incidents connected with the trip were thrilling, and some of them were very amusing. In one case I saw a single duck sitting on a snowbank at the river's edge. It was nearly dark, and I had been shooting so much during the day that I cared but little about killing more. And yet I was curious to see how near I could ride to that bird before he would fly away. He was on the opposite side of the stream, and on the side where I was the water was hidden by a steep bluff, rising, perhaps, six or eight feet above the river. I rode on, surprised that the bird did not fly, till I was within twenty feet of the stream, when, at a note of warning given by this sentinel, an enormous flock rose from the water under the bluff. Like the roar of artillery, like the pealing of thunder at midnight, like the sound of many waters breaking in upon the quiet of a Summer's day, was the sound of their wings as they flew away. I sat for a moment in perfect amazement at the sight and the sound. I have no doubt there were three thousand birds in that flock alone. In another instance I saw an Irishman carrying a very long-barreled gun in his hand, and deliberately walking up to a little slough, where, perhaps, a hundred birds were settled on the water. They were not wild, and Pat walked up to a point within at least thirty yards of them, when he took deliberate aim and fired. His old musket spoke out like an ordinary howitzer, but not a duck was injured. I rode up and laughingly said : Pat, the trouble was you had no shot in your gun.” "An' sure an' I did, sur," he promptly responded. "Well," said I, "your old gun is good for nothing," and then, just to see what he would say, I added: "That is the kind of a gun you need," at the same time holding up my matchless Colt breech-loader. He looked at me and at the gun alternately for a moment, and inquired how far I could kill duck with that gun. I replied, "About three-quarters of a mile." Just then two mallards were passing northward beyond the slough, about eighty yards from where we were. Pat saw them, and taking me at my word, cried out : "Shoot one of thim, be gorry." I could not decline the challange very gracefully, and so, while my pony kept moving about uneasily, I aimed about four feet ahead of the duck, and pulled the trigger, and, to my complete amazement, the bird fell dead. The gentleman from Erin opened his eyes and mouth to cavernous proportions, as he dropped his gun and exclaimed: "Just tell me now-an'-an'-fwhat koind of a gun have ye got there intirely?" I assured him that was not much of a shot, and after telling him he might have the dead bird, and giving him a dozen more, I rode on, saying to myself: "I couldn't repeat that in a million shots, nor is there one gun in a million that would have reached the bird that time." I like a good gun, and have tried many different kinds, but for all sorts of work, at the shore, in the brush, and on the prairie, I have never found anything so satisfactory as the weapon made by the Colt Manufacturing Com pany. SUNSET. BY HERMAN MERIVALE. WEARING Aurora's robe, night after night, Had wrought anew His palette there on high, The crescent Moon shines keener than of old, And, as the drawn sword of one armed for war, Marshals those hosts of crimson, green, and gold, Till underneath the quiet Evening Star The great review pales out into the cold. THORPE TOWER. BY S. A. WEISS. R. GRAY, on his sober sorrel, turned out of the highway into a pleasant lane leading across the fields in the direction of his home. It was getting late, and he was tired and anxious to reach home and refresh himself with the tea which he knew his daughter Alice would have in readiness. And the country doctor being a privileged person, made no scruple of opening the gate and crossing the Manor fields, albeit in so doing he was trespassing. He looked up as he closed the gate behind him-looked with an expression of thoughtful interest in the direction of the old Manor house, with its many gables and chimneys, and the ivy-covered tower close behind it, sole remnant of the ancient castle which had once stood here. It was a neglected, uninhabited-looking place, and yet the doctor remembered when it had been an attractive residence, as with a little care it could still be made. But that had been in the youth of the present owner, old Squire Thorpe, and about the time when he had brought home his fair young bride. She had died within a year, and from that time all had become changed at the Manor, and the squire himself, never very socially inclined, had led the life of a recluse, with only one or two old servants about him. In the last year or two he had first one nephew and then another with him at the Manor; but of even them he saw but little, passing his time generally alone in the old tower, which he used as study and library. Dr. Gray was aroused from his reverie by perceiving a woman hastening out of the house and eagerly beckoning to him. He at once quickened the pace of his tired horse. "Oh, doctor, what a blessed providence that you happened to be passing! The master, sir, he's took with one o' his fits, and "Where is he?" inquired the doctor, dismounting. "In the tower, sir, as usual; and But the doctor was already on the narrow flight of stone steps which, ascending against the outside wall of the tower, led to a low-arched doorway. Entering and passing through another doorway, he stood in a gloomylooking room, almost bare of furniture, but lined with shelves laden with books and philosophical instruments, Squire Thorpe sat upright in an oaken chair, his head thrown back and vest unloosed, while his faithful servant, Jarvis, knelt before him, rubbing his chest and limbs. "You came just a little too late, doctor," he remarked, grimly. "It is pretty well over now-except for the faintness here." Squire Thorpe, with a characteristic obstinacy and reserve, would never acknowledge that he was ill. But the doctor, who understood his case, now without a word proceeded to his relief. In a brief time the paroxysm was subdued, and the old man sat easy, but very pale, while the physician anxiously watched him. "It is not necessary," he was saying, in his hard, posi busied with his farm, and Walter-well, I fancy the boy would prefer his shooting and fishing. What pleasure would it be to him to be shut up with an old man in what you can call an owl's nest ?" "So you have handed over the farm to Roland?" inquired the doctor, in some surprise. "Yes. It was lying useless, and I thought it best to give him something to do. You know the whole estate will be his by right of entail, he being the son of my eldest brother; and I did not care to keep him waiting for dead men's shoes." "It seems a pity," remarked Dr. Gray, quietly, "that Walter should not come in for a share." "Walter will be provided for," said the old man, tive way. "I am as well here as in the house below. This old tower has been my favorite haunt-my study and library-since I was a boy, and I don't feel inclined to give it up. I should not feel at my ease anywhere else. Besides, here nothing can disturb me, and if I want anything I ring." "But suppose that in one of these attacks you should not be able to reach the bellrope?" The old man slowly shrugged his shoulders. "What is to be, will be." The doctor gave an impatient gesture. "If you will pass your life in this owl's nest, why don't you give your nephews access to you? You are too much alone for your own good; and their society, I should think, would cheer you!" "I don't like to be interrupted. Besides, Roland is grimly. "You know my own funded property is worth twice the value of the estate." Dr. Gray did know this. He looked for a moment thoughtfully from the window, while absently twirling his watch-seal. A close observer might have noticed a slight flush, a slight expression of hesitancy, on his careworn face. He was thinking of Roland Thorpe and his own daughter, Alice. Until Walter came Roland had been considered the heir not only to the estate, but to the whole of his uncle's property-and Roland loved Alice. But Dr. Gray, though often meek, was honest; and now, after that momentary hesitation, he spoke out. "If you desire to make another will in Walter's favor, would it not be better to do it at once?" "I know, I know," answered the squire. "You would tell me that delays in my case are dangerous." "I would. All life, even that of the young and the | He doesn't look so well as usual, or appear to be in as healthy, is liable to be suddenly cut short; and in good spirits. I fear he has some trouble." your own case "No, sir!" the old man said, positively; "no, doctor, Roland is not a fine young man. Clever and brilliant he is, but that is the best of him. I never knew it till lately; till he returned from college and found Walter here. But I see now that there is an underhand meanness about Roland which no true Thorpe ever possessed. He got it from his mother's family, and you know what they are. Walter is different; not so showy or plausible as Roland, but good-hearted and true, and the soul of honor, sir-the soul of honor." "I believe it," assented the doctor. "I am sorry," resumed the old squire, slowly-" sorry that I have only of late known Walter. But you know how it was, Dr. Gray. His father and I did not get along very well together, and I have seen but little of him and his family. I must try to make it up to them. A poor clergyman with six children needs help. I shall write to him this evening-yes, this evening. It will do me good !" "Then I will give you time to do it," the doctor said, rising; "only I do dislike to leave you here alone in this old tower. It is not safe, either," he added, looking around, "and I feel uneasy every time that I enter that doorway," "Tut, tut!" interrupted the squire. "These old walls will last as long as I do. And now for the letter to David," he added to himself, as his visitor passed out. Dr. Gray cautiously descended the steps, noticing as he went how the mortar had all fallen away, and the stones of the old walls seemed lying loosely upon one another. He felt relieved as he got beyond its shadow; and, remounting his horse, he pursued his way homeward, wrapped in thought. He was in sight of his own house before he knew it; and there at the front garden-gate stood Alice, watching for him. But she was not alone, for a tall young man stood leaning on the gate talking to her, apparently very earnestly. In the twilight the doctor at first took him to be Roland Thorpe, but on coming nearer discovered it to be Walter, Roland's cousin ; and his face shadowed somewhat as he passed by them with a not very cheerful greeting. "Could I but be certain," he thought, as he slowly passed up the graveled walk to the door-" could I but be certain how this will of the squire will turn out! I fear she likes this boy-as do I, for that matter; but, should the squire die before making a will in his favor, the match is not to be thought of. And should she refuse Roland"-the anxious lines again contracted about the doctor's brow and mouth-"I fear it will go hard with Poor child, she knows nothing about the mort us. gage!" At the same moment, Alice, standing at the garden gate, and looking wistfully after her father, was saying to Walter Thorpe : 66 I hope not. Only a little overworked, perhaps. With so large a practice, your father should allow himself to take some rest." And then their conversation turned again to themselves, and a little while after Alice was saying, blushingly : "It doesn't matter in the least, Walter, how poor you are. Neither papa nor mamma would ever wish me to marry for money, and papa has enough for us all." Ah, as the doctor had said, she knew nothing about the mortgage. A few hours thereafter it became known to Dr. Gray, and to every one in the surrounding neighborhood, that old Squire Thorpe was dead. He had been found by his faithful servant, Jarvis, seated in his chair, erect but stone dead. He still grasped a pen in his fingers, and on the desk before him lay a half-finished letter to his brother David, in which he made the assurance that "he meant to do something handsome for Walter." So Roland was now Squire Thorpe, of Thorpe Tower, and by the contents of the old existing will, made three years previous, heir to all his uncle's large property, besides being owner of the ertailed estate. "It is hard, Walter," said Dr. Gray, as he grasped the young man's hand, some days after the funeral—“ hard, because I know that your uncle intended to include you in a new will." "So he told me, sir." And he added, with a certain huskiness in his tone: "It is hard, doctor-harder than any but myself can know, not for the sake of the money, but because so much to me depended upon it." Dr. Gray moved uneasily in his study-chair, but Walter Thorpe, with frank, earnest eyes, looked full in his face. "Dr. Gray, I have heard you say that you would not give your daughter to a poor man.' "And I must stick to it, Walter, in justice to my daughter. I have known too well from experience the evils of marrying in poverty. I saw Alice's mother gradually sink under them, until health and spirits were gone, and I resolved, if possible, to shield our child from such a fate. I worked hard, and made enough to live on in tolerable comfort; but for their sakes I have lived up to my means-beyond my means—and should I die now, I have nothing to leave them-literally nothing." "But, doctor, if you would consent to Alice waiting? I have youth, health and strength. Other men have started in life as poor as I, with fewer natural advantages, and have found success. I may do the same.” 66 'May, or may not," was the reply. "It is chance, after all. I have known men to strive and wear their lives out with tail, and yet not win bread enough for their families, while to others, not half so industrious or deserving, wealth came easily. No, no, Walter. If only for your own sake, better not think of it. Let my girl remain free; and should she meet with some one else whom she can like, and who is able to support her in a style which I shall require "-here the doctor's glance unconsciously wandered away through the open window in the direction of Thorpe Tower-" then she will be free to marry him. Do not consider me unkind, Walter. Think well on the subject, and you will acknowledge me to be in the right.' Dr. Gray looked after the young man as he left the house. Alice was crossing the little lawn, and the two met and stood for a moment with clasped hands. The doctor almost groaned. He was not a mercenary man, "Walter, don't you think papa has changed of late? but did he not know what was at stake in regard to his daughter's marriage? And as he watched them he saw the little gate opened and Roland Thorpe come up the graveled walk toward the house. He was a tall, dark, handsome young man-some years older than Walter. He saluted Alice and his cousin with easy courtesy as they met; but Dr. Gray, watching him unseen, saw when he had passed them the hard, sinister expression which darkened his countenance; and for the first time his heart misgave him. He remembered the old squire's estimate of his nephew's character, and was conscious of a wish that Walter, and not Roland, had been the heir. Walter's frank face could never have worn that look. "Alice," said Walter, as the two strolled away amid the shrubbery, "I have come to tell you good-by." "Oh, Walter, must you really go ?" "I must, darling. I have the world before me and my own fortune to make. I will meet it bravely, Alice, but I feel that I cannot give you up." "Who says that you must give me up ?” "Your father." And then he told her of his interview with the doctor. The girl at first turned pale; but then she looked up bravely. "It will make no difference, Walter, whether or not we are engaged. You will succeed; I know you will; and I will wait for you.” "Oh, Alice, if you will, I shall feel strong enough for anything." And then for a while they talked together, half-sadly but hopefully; and when the young man finally bade her adieu he wore a brave, determined look, which augured well for the future. But, oh, the long weary years which must, perchance, pass before he could win his fortune and his wife! When young Squire Thorpe had also left, after an unusually lengthy visit, Alice was summoned to her father's study. She found him walking up and down in an agitated manner; but he calmed himself, and seating her opposite him, bade her listen to and consider well what he had to say. It was no unexpected news to her to learn that Roland Thorpe had proposed for her hand. She had known that he would do so, and had done all in her power to discourage him. But she was surprised when her father explained to her that Roland Thorpe had some time previ- | ous loaned to him, of his own means inherited from his father, a considerable sum, to which the doctor was still indebted to him, with no prospect of a speedy settlement; and that he had hinted, barely hinted, that he would make use of his power unless Alice became his wife. "I will not seek to force your inclination in this matter, my dear," the doctor continued; "but I wish you to consider the subject; and remember that, should you decide against Roland Thorpe, certain ruin stares us in the face. We shall be homeless, your mother and I. I am too old to think of retrieving the past, even should I succeed in keeping my practice with my failing health and the competition now in the field. Roland loves you"Papa, I hate Roland Thorpe. Nobody likes him!" "I don't see why you should dislike him. I know of nothing against him; he is clever and handsome-a gentleman-and one who can give you position and fortune. As to your fancy for Walter, you are both young-too young to know your own minds, perhaps, and in a few months may forget each other. Still, I will not seek to coerce you, Alice," continued the doctor, the old, careworn, anxious look returning to his face. "I only ask you to think it all over, my daughter, and to-morrow let me know your decision." To give up Walter, or to condemn her father and mother (her poor toil-worn father and feeble mother, whose idol she was) to poverty and misery-this was the choice presented to Alice. Never, in all her after life, did she lose the memory of that night of wretchedness. It was on the following day that Walter Thorpe, equipped for traveling, stood on the flagged terrace of the Manor house, waiting, as one of the servants brought round the carriage which was to take him to the nearest railway station. Roland he had not seen since the previous evening, and he was evidently avoiding him, having remained all night on his farm. The day had been still and sultry, and now, as Walter paced restlessly up and down the terrace, he became aware of a sudden darkening of the sky, while a mass of inky clouds, which had arisen in the west, rolled rapidly toward the zenith. "There's going to be a roaring storm, Master Walter," said old Jarvis, as he stood solemnly surveying the dark, threatening sky. "Take my advice and wait till it's over, even if you do miss the train. "Twould a'most seem as if Nature was agin your leaving the old place, and I wish in my heart it hadn't to be. There! it's upon us sure enough now." A flash of lightning and a heavy roll of thunder had interrupted him, and scarcely had they time to seek the shelter of the house when the storm broke in all its fury. Walter stood at the window watching the rage of the elements. The rain fell in torrents, hissing along the parched ground, and peal after peal of thunder broke, as it seemed, directly over their heads. At last camé a crash so loud and awful that Walter started. "What was that ?" he asked, hastily. thing more than thunder." "That was some "It's the tower, Master Walter! Heaven ha' mercy on us, but the tower's fallen down!" It was true. A flash of lightning had struck the old tower, and rent it fairly in twain. One half lay a heap of ruins, while the rest, remaining erect, displayed within its shattered walls the shelves laden with books which had formed the old squire's library. "How glad I am," said Walter, with almost a tremble in his tone, "that this did not occur while my uncle lived. It would have so distressed him." "Look, Master Walter ! see there, sir-that hollow in the wall, just where it is broken off. It looks like a closet or a fireplace, though there was ne'er a one there that I knowed of." A furious blast of wind, sweeping around the broken angle, hurled down a mass of stones, and with them the cavity in the thickness of the wall, to which Jarvis had called Walter's attention, disappeared. "It must have been a secret closet of some kind," Walter said. "I wonder whether my uncle knew of its existence ?" The storm subsided almost as suddenly as it had arisen ; and, as a glimmering rain bow appeared in the east, Walter and the servants stepped out to view the ruins of the old tower. "Here is something, sir!" called out one of the men. "An iron box, broken open under the stones, with papers in it. I knew it must be here, for I saw it when it fell with that hole in the wall." Walter carefully extracted the few papers which the box contained. "They are in my uncle's handwriting, I think. They |