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EVERY SATURDAY:

A JOURNAL OF CHOICE reading, PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY, 219 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON;

NEW YORK: HURD AND HOUGHTON;
Cambridge: The Riverside Press,

Single Numbers, 10 cts.; Monthly Parts, 50 cts.; Yearly Subscription, $5.00. N. B. THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY and EVERY SATURDAY sent to one address for $8.00.

INDEXING A NEWSPAPER.

To read a daily newspaper is perhaps the only duty outside of eating, drinking, and sleeping, upon which Americans are agreed. The newspaper itself is arranged to suit readers of different degrees of leisure. Regard is had for those who can devote only five minutes to this duty, by such an arrangement of head lines as will enable the running readers to seize at a glance the salient points in the world's history for the past twenty-four hours, and by such a disposition of contents as will permit the reader with one idea to fly at once to the square inch that represents it. The reading of the daily paper has this also in its favor, that no one is examined in it as one may be in the latest book, to show if it be worth one's trouble to read it. Each reads and forgets for himself. If by chance he misses the day's paper, he may count pretty surely on missing some important piece of news which is never repeated, and never told to him.

Every one thus depends upon it for his knowledge of contemporaneous events, and when there is serious work to be done in history or literature, it is to the paper that the student must have recourse for his information. Any

one who has had occasion to trace historic movements of recent date knows how almost impossible it is to get hold of books that answer needed questions. The books are not yet written, for the leading lines of thought and study cannot yet be disentangled from the web of current events. An illustration in point occurs to us in the case of the Italian patriot Mazzini. When he died, the inevitable obituary appeared with great promptness and considerable fulness of detail in the leading English and American periodicals, but there was a curious agreement in all the notices, by which the full account of Mazzini's life stopped at the narrative of his share in the Republic of 1848-49. The explanation is simple enough. Mazzini's writings, with their running autobiographic comments, had been brought down to that date, and were the source from which the various sketches were prepared. When the several writers had dispatched those volumes, they found themselves with twenty-two years before them in which to track Mazzini's progress. They entered upon a new country, not unexplored, but with no full and satisfactory chart laid down, so most of them hurried over that portion as rapidly as possible, in fact slurred it over in their biographical notices. To be sure it was not so full of material as the earlier years, yet Mazzini had played no mean part during the time. Now files of newspapers would have yielded not only Italian history, but letters from Mazzini and records of his movements, including his connection with the Orsini plot and other agitating affairs. But what a stupendous labor for a man to hunt through the London Times for those twenty-two years, knowing all the time that his article must go to press in twelve hours or his journal would be behind its contemporaries. It was impossible that he should undertake the task.

Newspapers are not histories, but they are chronicles

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of current events, and there is no question that they will afford more and more to the historian the source from which he draws his material. It becomes a matter of importance, then, that they should be made available. student who has laid before him a long and serious history will no doubt use a file, or more than one, with great patience, reading it, and classifying and shaping his material; but there are many students, of more modest aims, who cannot afford the time and labor required to find the few facts they require in so vast and unclassified an array of reading columns. They need to be preceded by some one of the great corps of dictionary and index makers, who shall make the path easy for them and their fellows. The one great student may index his own file of newspapers for his own use; the many minor students must have the work done for them all by some one outside of their class.

The practical suggestion which we would make as meeting this case is, that every great library should keep a person regularly employed to index some one first-class daily journal, and that this index should be as free to students as the catalogue of books in the library. Of how little value would a great library be without a thorough catalogue; of how little service is a complete file of a daily paper for lack of an index. With an index the file becomes at once an arsenal; without it, it is an undivided heap of curiosities. The libraries are every year showing that they understand their position as servants of the public, and we are sure that no lack of willingness to meet such a demand will be found in the foremost ones now. We have spoken of a single index of a single file of papers; but the principle may be applied to the great array of periodicals published weekly, monthly, and quarterly. They are sometimes indexed with more or less fulness, but it would be labor well spent to reckon the articles in the higher class of periodicals as distinct works, and to catalogue them as such. They are in many cases simply books in article form.

NOTES.

- Hurd and Houghton, New York; The Riverside Press, Cambridge, will issue shortly "The Daily Service : a Book of Offices for Daily Use through all the Seasons of the Christian Year." There has been much attention given of late in the Episcopal Church to the matter of special services, and to the use of forms of worship which shall bring into service the riches of ancient liturgies, and those portions of the Bible which are especially framed for devotional and congregational use. Many books have been made in England and have found their way into the churches, but this is the first considerable attempt which has been made in America to bring into one comprehensive volume, conveniently arranged, a full collection of devotional offices. It contains seven daily offices for the public worship of the church, a Morning and an Evening Service for each season, also special services for Christmas Eve, Passion Tide, and Easter Morn, and offices for the use of the clergy and visitation of the sick. The calendar contains a table of Lessons for Morning and Evening Services, according to each week of the Christian year. The Psalms are arranged under seventy-nine selections suited to the seasons. The book contains about fifty canticles from the Scriptures, seven Litanies, and about five hundred Prayers with Intercessions for various occasions. It is especially suited for use in schools, colleges, and seminaries.

-The many friends of Hans Christian Andersen will be glad to hear of his greatly improved health. A letter just received from him and dated the 24th of July, says: "I am again, God be praised, almost well, and in my old good spirits; every day I gain in strength. For eight long months I was, as you know, very sick, and it was doubtful if I could live, but now, I am quite another man. The fresh country life, the warm sunshine, and the kind care and sympathy given to me have been my best medicine." For half a year, he adds, he has not put pen to paper, but with his new strength and hope he looks forward eagerly to writing more stories.

-From the last monthly report of the Superintendent of the Boston Public Library, we glean the following: Efforts have been made to induce borrowers to read less fiction and more of other books, by giving them assistance through the catalogue notes printed in the new catalogue for books in the classes of History, Biography, and Travel. The satisfactory result is shown in a table. The relative use of books in Bates Hall, where the standard works are kept, and in Lower Hall, chiefly occupied by fiction, is shown by the fact that no books in the former were condemned as imperfect or worn out, during an entire year, while in the latter there were 1757. The cataloguing of the Ticknor library (largely devoted to works in Spanish history and literature) is completed, and the work of revision is proceeding, preparatory to going to press with the intended volume. The masons are now at work on the third story of the new addition to the central library building, to be used, we believe, for the Shakespeare library. The superintendent adds some notes on the Shakespeare Quartos before 1623, and invites the crit

icism of readers with reference to final use of his material in the form of notes to the Barton catalogue.

Mr. Richard A. Proctor, the astronomer, has a letter in the Academy of London, written after his return from America, upon the subject of American Professorships for European men of science. He makes three points in his letter: first, that when a European scientist (he uses the convenient but unauthorized word under protest) takes his place in an American college, he is at once received with most generous hospitality, and regarded with pride as adding to the honor of the college. Secondly, that outside of the college there is a disposition to look with some jealousy upon the introduction of a foreigner to an office which many feel competent to fill. "It is only among the less well-informed Americans," he says, "that the qualities of American leaders in scientific research - their energy, ingenuity, and originality—are undervalued, and this only because shortcomings are imagined which have no real existence. The Americans who are best able to judge, know that the elaborateness of European scientific training is less effective than their own more practical system; and they consider it unfair that the claims of their best men should be overlooked in favor of strangers." His third point is, that the possibility of their outbidding Europe in the offer of professorships, or the means of scientific research, is regarded by Americans as involving a deep disgrace to the Old World; but we think Mr. Proctor overstates the matter. Probably his own sensitiveness led him to interpret in this way the natural elation of Americans at getting first-class men. He remarks incidentally, that in one case he was invited to accept a professorship, and an offer was made to erect an observatory at a cost which would have permitted of the employment of a principal telescope as large as that at Washington (26 inches aperture).

– Dr. Woolsey, in a recent address before the Yale Law School, sketched an ideal school, possible on the basis of the Yale school. His sketch is well worth realization :"Let the school, then, be regarded no longer as simply the place for training men to plead causes, to give advice to clients, to defend criminals; but let it be regarded as the place of instruction in all sound learning relating to the foundations of justice, the history of law, the doctrine of government, to all those branches of knowledge which the most finished statesman and legislator ought to know. First of all I would have the training essential to the lawyer by profession as complete and thorough as possible. Let that be still the main thing, and let the examinations, together with appropriate theses, be a proof that every graduate has fairly earned his degree. But with this let there be ample opportunity for those who wish the aid of teachers in studying the Constitution and political history of our country, to pursue their studies in a special course by the side of or after the preparation for the bar. Let the law of nations, the doctrine of finance and taxation, the general doctrine of rights and the state, the relation of politics and morals, be within the reach of such as wish to prepare themselves for public life, and of those young men of wealth, of whom there is an increasing number, who wish to cultivate themselves and take their appropriate place of influence in society. Let there be the amplest opportunity for the study of English institutions, even far back into the Middle Ages, for that of Roman history and Roman law, for that of comparative legislation, and even for less immediately practical subjects, such as feudal and canon law. Let the plan of the library be expanded so that it shall furnish the best books on all branches and topics connected with law, legislation, and government."

The Centennial Commissioners at Philadelphia are hard at work arranging for the great exhibition. There are certain special exhibits which have no commercial value, for which dependence must be placed on the enthusiasm and interest of persons and organizations. Among these may be mentioned: An extensive and complete display of agricultural products, with full information concerning the culture, yield, etc., of each article: An exhibit of all branches of the iron industry, including specimens of ores, pig metal, bar and sheet iron, steel, etc.; models of mines, furnaces, and mills, statistical charts, etc.: A collection of native metallic ores of all kinds. The Smithsonian Institution could probably best furnish this: A Fisheries exhibit, comprising specimens of all the food fishes of the United States, the nets, tackle, boats, etc., used in their capture, and the processes of curing and packing: A Railway exhibit, including not only engines and cars, but all improvements in switches, signals, track constructions, and models or drawings of the finest stations and bridges in the country: An educational exhibit, furnished chiefly by the several States with the assistance and advice of the Bureau of Education in Washington: A collection of all the newspapers and periodicals in the country. Mr. Steiger will very likely furnish this: A model American farm - house, with barns and outbuildings, and a model city house, to display all the comforts, conveniences, and labor-saving appliances which the growing taste for luxury and ease has brought into our domestic life: Some kind of religious exhibit, showing the power and prosperity of church organizations and the spread of religion in a country where the government lets religion alone. Models of churches, religious papers and books, Sunday - school pictures, maps, books, etc., would be in place in this exhibit.

VOL. II.]

EVERY SATURDAY.

A ROSE IN JUNE.

CHAPTER XVIII.

A FOURNAL OF CHOICE READING.

CAPTAIN WODEHOUSE did not get admission to the White House that day until the afternoon. He was not to be discouraged, though the messages he got were of a depressing nature enough.

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Mrs. Damerel was engaged, and could not see him; would he come later?" "Mrs. Damerel was still engaged more engaged than ever.' And while Mary Jane held the door ajar, Edward heard a voice raised high, with an indignant tone, speaking continuously, which was the voice of Mr. Incledon, though he did not identify it. Later still, Mrs. Damerel was still engaged; but, as he turned despairing from the door, Agatha rushed out, with excited looks, and with a message that if he came back at three o'clock her mother would see him.

"Rose has come home, and oh! there has been such a business!" Agatha whispered into his ear before she rushed back again. She knew a lover, and especially a favored lover, by instinct, as some girls do; but Agatha had the advantage of always knowing her own mind, and never would be the centre of any imbroglio, like the unfortunate Rose.

"Are you going back to the White House again?" said Mrs. Wodehouse. "I wonder how you can be so servile, Edward. I would not go, hat in hand, to any girl, if I were you; and when you know that she is engaged to another man, and he a great deal better off than you are!

How can you show so little spirit? There are more Roses in the garden than one, and sweeter Roses, and richer, would be glad to have you. If I had thought you had so little proper pride, I should never have wished you to come here."

"I don't think I have any proper pride," said Edward, trying to make a feeble joke of it; "I have to come home now and then to know what it means."

"You were not always so poorspirited," said his mother; "it is that silly girl who has turned your head. And she is not even there; she has gone up to town to get her trousseau and choose her wedding silks, so they say; and you may be sure, if she is

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 1874.

engaged like that, she does not want to be reminded of you."

"I suppose not," said Edward, drearily but as I promised to go back, I think I must. I ought at least to bid them good-by."

"Oh! if that is all," said Mrs. Wodehouse, pacified, " go, my dear; and mind you put the very best face upon it. Don't look as if it were anything to you; congratulate them, and say you are glad to hear that any one so nice as Mr. Incledon is to be the gentleman. Oh! if I were in your place, I should know what to say! I should give Miss Rose something to remember. I should tell her I hoped she would be happy in her grand house, and was glad to bear that the settlements were everything they ought to be. She would feel that, you may be sure; for a girl that sets up for romance and poetry and all that don't like to be supposed mercenary. She should not soon forget her parting with

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Oh! you have no spirit," cried Mrs. Wodehouse; "I don't know how a son of mine can take it so easily. Rose, indeed! Her very name makes my blood boil!"

But Edward's blood was very far from boiling as he walked across the Green for the third time that day. The current of life ran cold and low in him. The fiery determination of the morning to "have it out" with Mrs. Damerel, and know his fate and Rose's fate, had fallen into a desparing resolution at least to see her for the last time, to bid her forget everything that had passed, and try himself to forget. If her fate was sealed, and no longer in her own power to alter, that was all a generous man could do; and he felt sure, from the voices he had heard, and from the air of agitation about the house, and from Agatha's hasty communication, that this day had been a crisis to more than himself. He met Mr. Incledon as he approached the house. His rival looked at him gravely without a smile, and passed him with an abrupt "good morning." Mr. Incledon had not the air of a triumphant

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lover, and there was something of impatience and partial offence in his look as his eyes lingered for a moment upon the young sailor; so it appeared to Edward, though I think it was rather regret, and a certain wistful envy that was in Mr. Incledon's eyes. This young fellow, not half so clever, or so cultivated, or so important as himself, had won the prize which he had tried for and failed. The baffled man was still disturbed by unusual emotion, but he was not ungenerous in his sentiments; but then the other believed that he himself was the failure, and that Mr. Incledon had succeeded, and interpreted his looks, as we all do, according to the commentary in our own minds. Edward went on more depressed than ever after this meeting. Just outside the White House he encountered Mr. Nolan, going out to walk with the children. Now that the gale is over, the little boats are going out for a row," said the curate, looking at him with a smile. It was not like Mr. Nolan's usual good nature, poor Edward thought. He was ushered in at once to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Damerel sat in a great chair, leaning back, with a look of weakness and exhaustion quite out of keeping with her usual energy. She held out her hand to him without rising. Her eyes were red, as if she had been shedding tears, and there was a flush upon her face. Altogether, her appearance bewildered him; no one in the world had ever seen Mrs. Damerel looking like this before.

"I am afraid you will think me importunate, coming back so often," he said, "but I felt that I must see you. Not that I come with much hope; but still it is better to know the very worst, if there is no good to hear."

"It depends on what you think worst or best," she said. "Mr. Wodehouse, you told me you were promoted

are captain now, and you have a ship?"

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"Stay a little," she said; "I have had a very exciting day, and I am much worn out. Must you go in ten days?"

"Alas!" said Wodehouse, "and even my poor fortnight got with such difficulty-though perhaps on the whole it is better, Mrs. Damerel."

"Yes," she said, "have patience a moment; things have turned out very differently from what I wished. I cannot pretend to be pleased, scarcely resigned to what you have all done between you. You have nothing to offer my daughter, nothing! and she has nothing to contribute on her side. It is all selfish inclination, what you liked, not what was best, that has swayed you. You had not self-denial enough to keep silent; she had not self-denial enough to consider that this is not a thing for a day but for life; and the consequences, I suppose, as usual, will fall upon me. All my life I have had nothing to do but toil to make up for the misfortunes caused by self-indulgence. Others have had their will and pleasure, and I have paid the penalty. I thought for once it might have been different, but I have been mistaken, as you see."

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"You forget that I have no clue to your meaning that you are speaking riddles," said Wodehouse, whose depressed heart had begun to rise and flutter and thump against his young

breast.

"Ah; that is true," said Mrs. Damerel, rising with a sigh. "Well, I wash my hands of it; and for the rest you will prefer to hear it from Rose rather than from me."

He stood in the middle of the room speechless when she closed the door behind her, and heard her soft steps going in regular measure through the still house, as Rose had heard them once. How still it was! the leaves fluttering at the open window, the birds singing, Mrs. Damerel's footsteps sounding fainter, his heart beating louder. But he had not very long to wait.

Mr. Nolan and the children went out on the river, and rowed up that long, lovely reach past Alfredsbury, skirting the bank, which was pink with branches of the wild rose and sweet with the feathery flowers of the Queen of the Meadows. Dick flattered himself that he pulled an excellent bow, and the curate, who loved the children's chatter, and themselves, humored the boy to the top of his bent. Agatha steered, and felt it an important duty, and Patty, who had nothing else to do, leaned her weight over the side of the boat, and did her best to capsize it, clutching at the wild roses and the meadow-queen. They shipped

their oars and floated down with the stream when they had gone as far as they cared to go, and went up the hill again to the White House in a perfect bower of wild flowers, though the delicate rose blossoms began to droop in the warm grasp of the children before they got home. When they rushed in, flooding the house all through and through with their voices and their joyous breath and their flowers, they found all the rooms empty, the drawing-room silent, in a green repose, and not a creature visible. But while Agatha rushed upstairs, calling upon her mother and Rose, Mr. Nolan saw a sight from the window which set his mind at rest. Two young figures together, one leaning on the other-two heads bent close, talking too low for any hearing but their own. The curate looked at them with a smile and a sigh. They had attained the height of blessedness. What better could the world give them? and yet the good curate's sigh was not all for the disappointed, nor his smile for their happiness alone.

The lovers were happy; but there are drawbacks to every mortal felicity. The fact that Edward had but nine days left, and that their fate must after that be left in obscurity, was, as may be supposed, a very serious drawback to their happiness. But their good fortune did not forsake them; or rather, to speak more truly, the disappointed lover did not forsake the girl who had appealed to him, who had mortified and tortured him, and promised with all the unconscious cruelty of candor to marry him if he told her to do so. Mr. Incledon went straight to town from the White House, intent on finishing the work he had begun. He had imposed on Mrs. Damerel as a duty to him, as a recompense for all that he had suffered at her hands, the task of receiving Wcdehouse, and sanctioning the love which her daughter had given; and he went up to town to the Admiralty, to his friend whose unfortunate leniency had permitted the young sailor to return home. Mr. Incledon treated the matter lightly, making a joke of it. "I told you he was not to come home, but to be sent off as far as possible," he said.

"Why, what harm could the poor young fellow do in a fortnight?" said my lord. “I find I knew his father - a fine fellow and a good officer. The son shall be kept in mind, both for his sake and yours."

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sequence was that Commander Wodehouse got his leave extended to three months, and was transferred from the China station to the Mediterranean. Mr. Incledon never told them who was the author of this benefit, though I think they had little difficulty in guessing. He sent Rose a parure of pearls and turquoises, simple enough for her youth and the position she had preferred to his, and sent the diamonds which had been reset for her back to his bankers; and then he went abroad. He did not go back to Whitton, even for necessary arrangements, but sent for all he wanted; and after that morning's work in the White House, returned to Dinglefield no more for years.

After this there was no possible reason for delay, and Rose was married to her sailor in the parish church by good Mr. Nolan, and instead of any other wedding tour went off to cruise with him in the Mediterranean. She had regained her bloom, and merited her old name again before the day of the simple wedding. Happiness brought back color and fragrance to the Rose in June; but traces of the storm that had almost crushed her never altogether disappeared, from her heart at least, if they did from her face. She cried over Mr. Incledon's letter the day before she became Edward Wodehouse's wife. She kissed the turquoises when she fastened them about her pretty neck. Love is the best, no doubt; but it would be hard if to other sentiments, less intense, even a bride might not spare a tear.

As for the mothers on either side, they were both indifferently satisfied. Mrs. Wodehouse would not unbend so much for months after as to say any thing but "Good morning" to Mrs. Damerel, who had done her best to make her boy unhappy; and as for the marriage, now that it was accomplished after so much fuss and bother, it was after all nothing of a match for Edward. Mrs. Damerel, on her side, was a great deal too proud to offer any explanations except such as were absolutely necessary to those few influential friends who must be taken into every one's confidence who desires to keep a place in society. She told those confidants frankly enough that Edward and Rose had met accident tally, and that a youthful love, supposed to be over long ago, had bursforth again so warmly that nothing could be done but to tell Mr. Incledon; and that he had behaved like a hero. The Green for a little while was very angry at Rose; the ladies shook their heads at her, and said how very, very hard it was on poor Mr. Incledon. But Mr. Incledon was Whitton shut up, while Rose still remained with all the excitement of a pretty wedding in prospect, and “a perfect romance in the shape of a love-story. Gradually, therefore, the girl was forgiven; the richer neighbors went up to town and bought their

gone, and

presents, the poorer ones looked over their stores to see what they could give, and the girls made pieces of lace for her, and pin-cushions, and antimacassars; and thus her offence was condoned by all the world. Though Mrs. Damerel asked but a few people to the breakfast, the church was crowded to see the wedding, and all the gardens in the parish cut their best roses for its decoration; for this event occurred in July, the end of the rose season. Dinglefield church overflowed with roses, and the bridesmaids' dresses were trimmed with them, and every man in the place had some sort of a rosebud in his coat. And thus it was, half smothered in roses, that the young people went

away.

Mr. Incledon was not heard of for years after; but quite lately he came back to Whitton married to a beautiful Italian lady, for whose sake it was originally, as Rumor whispered, that he had remained unmarried so long. This lady had married and forsaken him nearly twenty years before, and had become a widow about the time that he left England. I hope, therefore, that though Rose's sweet youth and freshness had attracted him to her, and though he had regarded her with deep tenderness, hoping perhaps for a new, subdued, yet happy life through her means, there had been little passion in him to make his wound bitter after the mortification of the moment. The contessa was a woman of his own age, who had been beautiful, and was magnificent, a regal kind of creature, at home amid all the luxuries which his wealth provided, and filling a very different position from anything that could have been attainable by Rose. They dazzle the people on the Green when they are at Whitton, and the contessa is as gracious and more inaccessible than any queen. She smiles at them all benignly, and thinks them an odd sort of gentle savages, talking over their heads in a voice which is louder and rounder than suits with English notions. And it is reported generally that Mr. Incledon and his foreign wife are "not happy." I cannot say anything about this, one way or another, but I am sure that the happiness he shares with the contessa must be something of a very different character from that which he would have had with Rose; higher, perhaps, as mere love (you all say) is the highest; but different and in some things, perhaps, scarcely so homely

sweet.

When Rose heard of this, which she did in the harbor of an Italian port, she was moved by interest so true and lively that her husband was almost jealous. She read her mother's letter over and over, and could not be done talking of it. Captain Wodehouse after a while had to go on shore, and his wife sat on the deck while the blue waves grew bluer and bluer with evening under the great ship, and the Italian sky lost its bloom of sunset, and the stars came out in the magical heavens. What a lovely scene it was, the lights in the houses twinkling and rising tier on tier, the little lamps quivering at the mastheads, the stars in the sky.

Rose shut her soft eyes, which were wet, was it with dew?- and saw before her not the superb, Genoa and the charmed Italian night but the little Green with its sunburnt grass and the houses standing round, in each one of which friendly eyes were shining. She saw the green old drawing-room of the White House, and the look he cast upon her as he turned and went away. That was the day when the great happiness of her life came upon her; and yet she had lost something, she could not tell what, when Mr. Incledon went away. And now he was married,

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ONE night at the end of August, when Bathsheba's experiences as a married woman were still new, and when the weather was yet dry and sultry, a man stood motionless in the stack-yard of Weatherbury Upper Farm, looking at the moon and sky.

The night had a sinister aspect. A heated breeze from the south slowly fanned the summits of lofty objects, and in the sky dashes of buoyant cloud were sailing in a course at right angles to that of another stratum, neither of them in the direction of the breeze below. The moon, as seen through these films, had a lurid, metallic look. The fields were sallow with the impure light, and all were tinged in monochrome, as if beheld through stained glass. The same evening the sheep had trailed homeward head to tail, the behavior of the rooks had been confused, and the horses had moved with timidity and caution.

Thunder was imminent, and, taking some secondary appearances into consideration, it was likely to be followed by one of the lengthened rains which mark the close of dry weather for the season. Before twelve hours had passed a harvest atmosphere would be a bygone thing.

Oak gazed with misgiving at eight naked and unprotected ricks, massive and heavy with the rich produce of one half the farm for that year. He went on to the barn.

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This was the night which had been selected by Sergeant Troy - ruling now in the room of his wife for giving the harvest-supper and dance. As Oak approached the building, the sound of violins and a tambourine, and the regular jigging of many feet, grew more distinct. He came close to the large doors, one of which stood slightly ajar, and looked in.

The central space, together with the recess at one end, was emptied of all encumbrances, and this area, covering about two thirds of the whole, was appropriated for the gathering, the remaining end, which was piled to the ceiling with oats, being screened off with sail-cloth. Tufts and garlands of green foliage decorated the walls, beams, and extemporized chandeliers, and immediately opposite to Oak a rostrum had been erected, bearing a table and chairs. Here sat three fiddlers, and beside them stood a frantic man with his hair on end, perspiration streaming down his cheeks, and a tambourine quivering in his hand. The dance ended, and on the black oak floor in the midst a new row of couples formed for another.

"Now, ma'am, and no offence I hope, I ask what dance you would like next?" said the first violin.

"Really, it makes no difference," said the clear voice of Bathsheba, who stood at the inner end of the building, observing the scene from behind a table covered with cups and viands. Troy was lolling beside her.

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"Then," said the fiddler, "I'll venture to name that the right and proper thing is The Soldier's Joy' -- there being a gallant soldier married into the farm-hey, my sonnies, and gentlemen all?"

"It shall be The Soldier's Joy,'" exclaimed a chorus. "Thanks for the compliment," said the sergeant gayly, taking Bathsheba by the hand and leading her to the top of the dance. "For though I have purchased my discharge from Her Most Gracious Majesty's regiment of cavalry, the 11th Dragoon Guards, to attend to the new duties await

and to his old love, some one who had gone before herself in his heart, and came after her, and was its true owner. Rose shed a few tears quite silently in the soft night, which did not betray her. Her heart contracted for a moment with a strange pang-was she jealous of this unknown woman?"God bless him!" she said to herself, with a little outburst of emotion. Did not she owe him all she had in the world? good right had Rose to bid "God bless him!" nevertheless there was an undisclosed shade of feeling me here, I shall continue a soldier in spirit and feeling ing which was not joy in his happiness, lingering in her heart.

"Do you think we could find out who this contessa is?"

as long as I live."

So the dance began. As to the merits of "The Soldier's Joy," there cannot be, and never were, two opinions. It

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