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production ; especially is there lacking any spirit of enEVERY SATURDAY: thusiasm. A JOURNAL OF CHOICE READING,

Let there come at this juncture one or more books dePUBLISHED WEEKLY BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY, manding peculiar attention. One book, we will say, is to 219 WASHINGTON STREET, Boston;

be issued, a gift-book, a name implying, at any rate that NEW YORK :. HURD AND HOUGHTON;

it is not merely to be read or consulted, but is to be hanCambridge: The Riverside Press.

dled, looked at closely as a product of the fine arts of

| printing and binding. Here is something to be studied, Single Numbers, 10 cls.; Monthly Paris, 60 cts.; Yearly Subscription, $5.00.

N. B. THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY and EVERY SATURDAY sent to one address which may, indeed, become itself a standard, departing in for $8.00.

particulars from preceding books. At once every one feels

a new impulse. The page is carefully made up, the type TEN STRIKES.

selected with care, perhaps newly ordered, new initial let

ters or head-pieces designed ; all the refinements of comTRE virtues of commonplace are easily apprehended position work are considered; other books of the same and rarely undervalued. The people who move along general character are consulted, and ideas started by them. with their work in an even, methodical manner, doing The paper-maker is taken into confidence, and the order well what they attempt, by never attempting what they so given that the mill-hards get an extra fillip, and make have not, so to speak, already done, are always in de- this paper as a special example of what they can do when mand ; reliance is placed upon them; they can be left they do, not their level, but their very best. The ink, it alone, and the result of their work can be forecast and may be, undergoes trial until that is just right. The pressreckoned upon with confidence. They form the great man is given to understand that this is an unusual book ; body of work people throughout the world ; they are the he feels the stimulus of a special ambition ; the foreman middle class of brain-workers and muscle-workers, bav- | comes often to the press and watches to see if the impresing men under them and being themselves reminded sions are running evenly; the proprietor makes special sometimes that there is a class, if class it can be called visits, takes up a sheet, and examines it critically; so the when it is composed of members that value their inde pressnsan very likely learns something new of his busipendence, which outranks them by all the unwritten laws ness from this particular book. Then the dry press man of intellectual nature. It belongs to the man of average is cautioned, and wakes up to the importance of a thorexcellence sometimes to catch himself, as he stands be- ough airing and drying of the sheets. When it comes to fore a work of the same name as his own, saying to him- the bindery, a special artist is called in to design stamps self — “ Alas! I too am’ not a painter.'” There is for the back and sides, the cloth-maker is asked to proin a work which rises clear above average excellence, a duce his newest and most comely patterns, a council is spirit that extorts at once from the honest subordinate held over colors and designs, and by the time the book is worker the confession that if he tried ever so hard he fairly ready for the shelf, an impetus has been given all would never attain what this man has reached at a sin along the line, so that the whole establishment is a little gle easy bound.

more awake than it was before.. There is no quality of mind in a workman so encourag The illustration answers our purpose, in supporting our ing as a capacity to recognize work superior to his own, plea that in order to do well ordinary work, humdrum, and to acknowledge it. Given that spirit, one may not if you will, it is necessary that one should, now and then, be at all sure that the man may not suddenly disclose attempt and achieve extraordinary work; to raise the a power of surpassing himself, not before dreamed of. standard of one's average excellence, there is need occaWhence comes the power to do better things ? whence sionally of surpassing one's self. An occasional ten strike the power to lift one's average excellence ? The answer is wonderfully inspiriting. briefly is, From above. That is to say, the contemplation of lower, meaner works has no stimulus in it; the study

NOTES. of higher excellence, and the inspiration that comes not only from these higher works, but from the effort one – Mr. Cox, the editor of the American Law Times and makes to attain them, these carry a inan forward and Reports, comments as follows upon the recent revision of make his work to rise to a higher degree of general ex- the copyright act: “ This act has been construed by the cellence.

newspapers to be a measure of real importance, and one To recur to our favorite field of illustration, what is it conferring privileges which did not exist prior to its pasthat can make a manufacturer of books not only keep his sage. An examination of its provisions will, however, diswork even and maintaining an average excellence, but close that it has practically no force whatever, other than also raise that average? We have intimated before that to decrease the labors of the Librarian of Congress at the eternal vigilance is the price of liberty from failure, but expense of the Commissioner of Patents. Manufacturers we left out of account one remarkable means which he are permitted to file their labels, etc., in the Patent Office possesses of bettering his regular, ordinary work. That upon paying a duty of six dollars, but they do not thereby is, the occasional accomplishment of an extraordinary piece acquire a right of action, nor is the label clothed with of work. We will suppose him to be engaged in making new attributes of any kind. Numerous parties may deschool-books, professional works, and the ordinary books posit the same design, and, whatever the facts as to ownthat are classified as miscellaneous. All the parts of the ership, each design will be duly “registered' without let business are so well regulated and so keyed up that the or hindrance, or even examination, except to determine books run along smoothly, and come out bearing the whether or not it pertains to the fine arts and whether or customary marks of good workmanship. Now this may not it is a trade-mark. In short, substantially the only go on, and does frequently go on, for a long while very privilege conferred is that of paying six dollars. To prosatisfactorily, but the work does not bring into play all the nounce the act an anomaly is to cloak its almost ridiculous resources of the establishment; nor, indeed, call out all character. It is neither more nor less than an imposition the skill and taste and energy of those engaged in the upon the public. It provides for the payment of a duty without the semblance of a return. It appeals effectively upon the recent scandal, and containing representations to a class long accustomed to a misconstruction of the of the various persons concerned, would not be permitted, copyright laws, and its only success will consist in fleecing and it was withdrawn. The action of the Boston comthem, along with others, of six dollars for every label, in mittee was very widely approved, yet sharply criticised in stead of fifty cents as hitherto. A more arrant blunder is some quarters. We do not see why it is not the business not to be found in the history of American legislation.” of the city government to supprèss any public offense

against good morals, whether it be on the stage or in the - Mr. Eben P. Dorr has printed an interesting address

streets, and think that a little exercise of its power might read before the Buffalo Historical Society, on “ The First

have been a good thing before this. It is singular how Monitor and its Inventor," in which he traces in a lively

much more government people will stand than the governmanner the conception of the battery, Mr. Ericsson's con

ors usually think. nection with it, and the work done by the boat in the war. In explanation of the name “ Monitor," he quotes a letter

– Pierre Blot is dead. He will be remembered with from Ericsson to the Secretary of the Navy, who had asked

gratitude by many for the reforms which he set on foot in him to suggest a name. Ericsson thought his battery

the matter of cooking and the use of food material. Now would admonish the leaders of the Southern forces that

our chief cities have clubs of young ladies who pride the batteries on the banks of their rivers would no longer

themselves on their ability to make omelettes, but when present barriers to the entrance of the Union forces, and

he came to us in 1867, cooking was almost a lost art in in addition that it would admonish the English in a very

fashionable circles. M. Blot established classes in New becoming manner. Hence the name. Mr. Dorr mentions

York and neighborhood, similar to those he bad conducted one lit le fact which we believe is not generally known.

in Europe. He lectured to these classes in explanation Two hours after Lieutenant Worden had sailed from New

of his system, and accompanied bis remarks with practical York for Hampton Roads, as directed, new orders came

illustrations, some of the dishes discussed being prepared from Washington telling him to proceed to the Potomac,

on the stage and then handed around among his pupils where it was thought the Monitor 'was more needed, the

and audience. These lectures were fully reported in the large fleet of war vessels at Hampton Roads being thought

columns of the newspapers at the time. He also contribsufficient to protect that place. The Monitor was out of

uted papers to the Galaxy, and to Harper's Bazar. reach of the new orders, and a little bit of history was consequently made.

- President Woolsey, in bis historical address at the - The death of Mr. Marcus Spring has called out from

celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of the foundation of the papers reference to his business and social reputation.

the Yale Law School, said : " It is worthy of notice that He was born in 1810, and began business in New York

the first law school in the country, of any considerable as a dry goods commission merchant in 1831. “ Shortly

note, was founded in the town of Litchfield, next to Bethafter the beginning of his commercial career,” we are told,

lehem, where Dr. Bellamy lived. Bellamy's school was “bis brother died, leaving a badly complicated and heavily

begun at least twenty-five years before the Revolutionary indebted estate. Determined that no member of his fam

War. The law school at Litchfield owed its origin to ily should bring discredit on the name, either through mis

Tapping Reeve, a native of Long Island, a graduate at fortune or otherwise, he at once shouldered the debts of

Nassau Hall, a sou-in-law of President Burr, and so a his deceased brother and began paying them. After

brother-in-law of Aaron Burr, Vice-President of the thirty years of arduous toil he succeeded in accomplishing

United States, and was begun in 1784, just after the his purpose. At one period during this time the creditors |

Revolution was over. Some time before the end of the of the estate held a meeting at which it was proposed to

| century Judge Reeve invited James Gould, a lawyer in offer a compromise. This was done, but Mr. Spring de

Litchfield, a graduate of Yale College of 1791, to take clined any but the straightforward manner of paying his

| part in the instruction. They continued partners in the debis.” This he finally succeeded in doing, and after school until 1820, when, Judge Reeve having retired, ward accumulated considerable property, which was, bow

Judge Gould became the head of the school, and ere long ever, nearly all lost in consequence of the Chicago fire.

associated with himself for a time Jabez W. Huntington, He was well known in antislavery circles, having married

afterward Senator of the United States and Judge of the a daughter of Mr. Arnold Buffum, first president of the

Supreme Court of Connecticut. Down to 1833, when Antislavery Society. He built a large edifice at Eagles- / Judge Gould, about five years before his death, disconwood, in New Jersey, in practical exposition of his views | tinued his lectures, there'lad been educated at Litchfield, regarding communistic living, and afterward placed it in according to Mr. Hollister (History of Connecticut, vol. the hands of Mr. Theodore Weld, who had there a school

ii. p. 597), 1024 lawyers from all parts of the United which became famous under his charge. Mr. Spring trav States, of whom 183 were from the Southern States. In elled abroad with Margaret Fuller, and made many friends this number are included fifteen United States Senators, who retained their connection with him, so that his house five cabinet officers in the general government, ten Gore was often resorted to by travellers from abroad. Among ernors of States, fifty Members of Congress, forty judges these was Fredrika Bremer, who mentions him and his of the highest State courts, and two judges of the Supreme wife affectionately in her letters. Andersen also found Court of the United States." in him a warm friend.

– Miss Charlotte Cushman has been charged with - They have found a competent man in England to act sickness, under circumstantial evidence only. The rumor as censor of public plays, in Mr. Edward F. S. Pigott, but originated from the incident of Mr. John Gilbert being his friends shake their heads over the impossibility of his taken suddenly ill while on a visit to Miss Cusbman at exercising the functions of his office in a way to give gen- ber Newport villa, and several physicians being bastily eral satisfaction. It is not often that any attempt at cen- / summoned. The gigs in front of the door attracted the sorsbip is exercised in our cities, but in Boston, lately, the attention of correspondents, and alarming paragraphs were managers of a theatre were notified that a play founded the result.

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BY MARY CLEMMER AMES.

into unconsciousness. This must not be. She must HIS TWO WIVES."

live. She could not leave her child.

By the uncertain light of a lamp she discerned the

form of a man on watch, and knew he was Captain CHAPTER XXIII. THE REFUGE.

Ben. He would trust no eyes but his own to guard

the precious ones whom he believed to be sleeping And this was the end ? Apparently, her life had

| below. He neither heard nor saw her as she stole to held more varied objects of interest than usually oc

a sheltered spot beneath the shrouds of the vessel. A cupy the thought of a domestic woman. She loved pile of rope that had been carelessly thrown down her country with a deep personal patriotism. She

there broke somewhat the force of the wind sweeping loved knowledge for its own sake. She loved books,

over the deck. She involuntarily sank down and leaned pictures, flowers, children. She loved great Nature

against it for support. She looked out across an absothrough her every mood and manilestation, with a poet's į lute waste of waters. The tumbled rocks, the low fervor. She loved all pure and true ideals, and all her / hills of the coast, the coast itself, had long since faded life of aspiration and effort reached only after them to

from sight. How awful seemed the vast, solitary make them her own; to reëmbody and revitalize them

stretch of ocean around her ! Was the life before her in her own individual being. Yet these broad and

to be like that! varied tributaries of life had all flowed inward to one

Far up amid the spars and rigging pale lights were concentrated centre of interest, which seemed to take

shining, which now and then shot down long white in and to absorb every other - a single man, her hus rays to play athwart the mane of an upleaping wave. band.

Afar, at intervals, outflashed the warning light on some She had tried to educate herself through every

dangerous headland, or flamed the revolving planet phase of her being, that she might be able to meet the

of some tossing light-ship; all else was blackness. utmost demand of his Protean nature. He demanded

The clouds hung low and leaden. The wind smote 80 much, he needed so much, in order to be content.

shrouds and sails with a wail almost human. The Early she saw in how many opposite directions she

mounting ocean answered back with monotonous cry. must pursue culture if she were not to seem lacking to

But through winds and waves, straight, strong, and Cyril. She knew that he must find in her embodied

swift rode the sloop. It was as if Agnes held certain the gifts and graces of a hundred contrasting women,

rein on the tumultuous courser on which she sat, that if she were to hold supremely his allegiance to her

tossed and threw her, yet bore her unerringly onward. self. The pangs and toils of maternity, while borne, are | The eager rush of assaulting waves, their steady swash erough to tax the strongest soul God ever made, to its

as they slowly washed back into the deep, the creaking utmost; but with these upon her she had, in addition,

cordage, the crying wind before the advancing storm, pursued impossible and conflicting objects, incited by the blackness of the night, the desolation of the sea, all her idolatry for a single man; an idolatry which made

penetrated her senses, and with them somewhat of the him not only a god but a never-ceasing goad to her abounding energy surrounding her struck through her soul. Thus body, brain, and spirit had been over

still cold veins. taxed to meet the incessant and ever-accumulating de- It was fit that such a night and such a sea should mands of marriage, through the nature of such a man. bear her from the home that she had left, to the life

Was there anything that she would not sacrifice to before her of which she could yet foretell nothing. her love for him? Yes, one thing, — else why were

Crouching there in the darkness, an atom of humanity the here? - her wifehood, her honor. She had sur

only, her heart seemed to reach infinity, in its grati. rendered all, she believed, yet when the test came she tude that amid this wreck of life she yet held her could not yield these. She had been ready to sacrifice child, and was not friendless. her nature, if not her soul, to him. And this was the

“ Captain Ben and Mary,” she said, “ will show me end? She was fleeing from his face and from her home the way to the railway station in Boston. 'Tis but forever. And whither? She had left her friend and

one day's ride to the Lake; and then, Evelyn! She her child asleep in the little cabin below, and wrapped will be sure to meet me there if she is alive. I wrote in her waterproof cloak had crept upon deck for air. her to wait for me till I came, if she reached the Lake The rushing current from the sea, it seemed to her, | House before me. What if she is not alive! So much would quicken the low, slow beating of her heart; I can happen in seven years — so much has happened to would help her to breathe, for respiration was stifled, me; but I ca1.not make Evelyn dead, or changed, or and it seemed at times as if her life was ebbing out old. I feel as if I should fiod lier where I left her, the

same Evelyn. Yes, she will take me in and hide me Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by H. O. HOUGH. from the world.” TOX & Co., in the Omce of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

“ The same Evelyn.” There she was, standing wait- slowly toward the hotel, laden with pleasure-seekers. ing, watching as the train of cars pushed slowly up to | Its band in scarlet coats were playing airs from the Lake, just at the sunset of another day. Her “Martha,” which fainted in sweetness far out upon the calico dress looked not an inch longer, nor a moment waters, or were caught up in tender reverberations by older, nor her alpaca apron a thread less shining than the surrounding hills. The same window, the same they did seven years before. The broad-rimmed hat, picture of seven years ago. tied with brown ribbon, did service still, and the face | Vida clapped her hands and cried out with delight, which it shaded had changed in no essential. It bore while she was held back from going over the sash by a few added lines, perhaps, and a few threads of silver the strong hand of her new friend, Evelyn. Agnes gleamed in the brown curls; but the brown eyes danced | held back the crowding tears, but it was a blanched and laughed as of old, in the light of endless youth. face that she turned to view as she spoke.

“Dear suz me! jes' to think this is youi, Mis' King!” I “Evelyn," she said, “I wrote you that I was in she exclaimed, with a sound between a laugh and a trouble, and coming to you. I did not tell you that sob, as she snatched Agnes' hand and drew her out I was coming to stay. Can I stay with you, Evof the crowd struggling toward the Lake House from elyn? Except this child, I have nothing left in this the platform of the railway station.

world.” “ And you knew me, Evelyn?”

“ Mister Cyril! He ain't dead ?” “ Knew ye! I knowed ye the minnit I sot my eye “ Yes, Evelyn, dead to me. Dead, dead! More on ye! I don't say you haven't changed none, for you dead than if I had kissed his face in his coffin, and had have. You're paler an' thinner, an' awful worn-lookin'. seen it shut forever from my sight.” But my! I'd know them eyes of your'n in Jericho, “Dear suz me! But it ain't surprisin', not to me. if there warn't a smitch of nothin' else left to tell ye He never seemed stiddy-minded, not like you ; kinder by. An'do ye mean to say this little beauty is your feather-brained, blowin' this way an' that, fur all he baby?”

was so smart. Many's the time I've sot on my front "My baby, Evelyn; the last of three.”

door-steps, an' tried to study it out, jest what screw “I knowed she warn't nobody else's baby, and couldn't was loose ; an' I never could tell, till I bought a phrebe, with that hair and them eyes, -- your eyes ; the nology book of a pedler at the Corners. Now I know rest of her all father," with a sigh. “There ain't no jest what the trouble is, Mis' King. His conjugality goin' to the Pinnerkel to-night. John would go sure ain't more than two;' an'as for his conscientiousness, as a whip, straight through the woods, — an’ we've 'tain't nothin'. An' I'd mark you “ seven' in both. burned an' pulled the stumps up out of the road long | Yes, I would," seizing Agnes' head, " an' there ain't no ago, — but it's twenty mile to the Pinnerkel, an' I say | higher number or I'd mark you with that." that's too far for you an' this baby, after an all-day's “I don't think I understand you, Evelyn," said ride from Bostin. I know the clerk at the house here. Agnes, smiling in spite of herself as she felt her head Why, he's nobody but Nate Billings, from the Corners, held in the vice of Evelyn's strong fingers. “I know if he is a big hotel clerk. I told him I was expectin' a nothing whatever of phrenology.” lady an' child from Bostin, who'd be too tired, I knowed, “Of course you don't. If you had, you'd married a to go over to the Pinnerkel to-night, an' I wanted him minister, an' let Mister Cyril gone to his own kind. to pick out a tip-top room for 'em afore the crowd on Veneration ! Spirituality! big as eggs. Oh my!” the train come ; an' he did. Nate Billings know'd | Evelyn was making statements. She forbore to 'twasn't no sort o' use takin' on big airs to me, if he is a | ask questions. She was saying to herself, “ Poor little hotel clerk. Why! I've spanked him many's the time, cretur'! She may tell me jest what she has a mind tu, when he was a young un'. He jes' give me a room an’ no more. I shan't harrer her by askin' her nuthin'. lookin' spat out on the lake. I know you'll like it, Mis' If I can get her mind off on phrenology, so much the King."

better.” “I know I shall, you good Evelyn," said Agnes, But Agnes had “ a mind” to tell her friend everywithout telling her friend that she had intended to thing that was necessary to a perfect understanding bebrave the fatigue and dangers of the drive through the tween themselves. woods that night, for the sake of the slender little "I may have to depend upon you many times in the purse hidden in her bosom. But Evelyn was right. | future,” she said ; “ thus it is best that you should She would rest till morning, and trust the future with | know just how it is with me. All I can tell of my God a little further still. How she had personally trouble I will tell now. Then if we can help it we will dreaded to enter the great summer hotel, with its mem | never mention it again.” ories of happy days, she did not know till, following It was a brief statement of facts that she gave EveEvelyn, who carried Vida, she walked alone up to its | lyn. She did not dwell upon her own pain, and she thronged piazza. She was more severely tested still did not know how indelibly it had stamped itself upon when a few moments later she found herself in the her youthful face. She was tender of him still. She very room occupied by Cyril and herself seven years could not hide the cruel fact that he had been false to before.

her, that he had left her in heart, if not in name, for Seven years, which had winnowed her heart and left another ; “but he has been so sorely tempted, he is it desolate, had not stolen a tint of brightness from the infatuated, he is not himself, Evelyn,” she said pitefair world without.

ously, pleading his cause while trying to state her The previous day of wind and rain had swept every own. film from the vast amphitheatre of sky. The opaline “Oh yes, he is jest himself,” replied Evelyn, “an' mountains lifted their mighty shoulders into a sea of you are jest yourself; that's what's the matter. You, silver mingled with fire, while the lake, another with conjugality seven, makin' the whole world out of molten sea, gleamed at their feet. The daily steamer, him, feelin' that the sun rose and set in him, with no its flags and streamers gorgeous in the sunset, floated l eye nor ear fur no other man on earth, warn't goin' to

divide him with no other woman, of course not ; wild clematis, that ran in airy festoons from tree to 't'warn't in natur'.

tree. " I'm awful sorry for ye, child,” said Evelyn, break Through miles of warm shade and aromatic air they ing a silence, “ an' I might as well tell ye the truth. rode, before they emerged from the woods to behold Your room is ready an' waitin', an' has bin this long before them, resplendent in midday sunshine, the time. I felt it in my bones, you'd come back some green Pinnacle, the Tarn flashing beneath its fringing day. I didn't know when, but sooner or later, I was cedars, the log-house by its side. In a single glance sure. An' when I didn't hear nothin' from ye in so | Agnes saw with what added grace nature had touched long, I said to myself, · Ev., you're jest a fool, to think it in seven years. The mountain-ash, whose clustering the Honerabel Mis' King, a-livin' in Washington, is berries rested on the roof when she saw it last, held ever a-comin' ag’in to stop in a log-house.' But I kep' them up now high in the sunshine. The tiger lily your room ready jest the same. An' somehow, every reached far above the window. The clematis and chance I got, 'twas lots of comfort to fix it up. “She'll woodbine, which she herself planted, now ran in exquilike this or t’other,' I said, ' for I know she'll see the site tracery over all the rude walls. The little orchard old Pinnerkel ag'in afore she dies, she set such a store bore a richer fruitage, the garden was braver with by it ; an’ she never tuk on no airs, an' nobody can bright flowers, the fields were broader and more opumake me believe that bein' an honerabel has changed lent in ripening grain, the woods before the house had her a mite.' True as gospel, deary, your room is receded, but lifted a deeper frontage of foliage to the ready an’ waitin', little chair an' all.”

sky. There were the sheep pushing their noses No profuse thanks filled the air. A pair of arms through the pasture fence, the spring leaping by the were outstretched, and a still, white face went down grassy yard, the cosset lamb rubbing its rotund sides upon Evelyn's breast, and lay there as if it was a little against the corner of the house with all the old blissful child's, while tears slowly trickled down the thin content. cheeks; and Vida, with a positive intention of not Evelyn took Vida into her arms and led Agnes being left out, mounted into Evelyn's lap also and laid directly to her own little room ; the very same room her cherub face beside her mother's.

that she left with such loving regret seven years be“No trunk nor nothin'," said Evelyn ruefully, as fore; and yet how many touches of brightness as well Agnes with her little girl and small reticule ascended as of beauty a loving hand had added. Through the the ancient buggy behind the venerable John, the next parted curtains of sheer muslin on the windows were morning. “ It makes me madder'n all the rest to think revealed the Pinnacle and the Tarn on one side, the you left everything for her, the hussy."

woods and pasture on the other. The log walls were “You are mistaken, Evelyn; she had all I called neatly covered with white cotton cloth, and decorated mine that she wanted, before I left. She wants noth with prints and engravings in neat frames. A bright ing else. She is very rich.”

carpet covered the floor, and a lady's small sewing and “ Then I hate her all the more,” said Evelyn. writing table stood by the window opening upon the “ Charity for sech ain't to be thought on.”

Pinnacle. One must pass beyond the cry of the railway whistle “Look a' here !” exclaimed Evelyn, drawing back to enter solitude. Then and not till then is civiliza a white curtain above it, and showing a small set of tion at your back, and your face set toward nature. pine shelves packed close with books." These are my Evelyn bad breathed out her wonted sighs over the comforters, an' they shall be your’n. When I'm all Castle and the memory of her lost friend Isabella. tuckered out an' sort o' lonesome, I jes' come in here Dufferin Street was passed, and John's head was an' read my Phrenology, an' look over my scrap-book, turned toward the broad uplands and deep woods of an' paste in all I've saved up out of the old newspapers Tarnstone. With stiff joints and solemn visage he was I find at Dufferin an' at the Corners an' everywhere bearing back to nature's solitudes a child who loved else ; for I save my own newspapers. Ain't these nice her

scrap-books ?” taking down a set of ledgers whose acHow much she loved her, the all-healing mother, counts of cash and barter were almost covered over this child did not know, nor think; yet under all the with strips of poetry and prose. “ They're lots o' wounds which life had made upon her heart, she felt

comfort to me, I can tell ye. An' these books, libra'y the old delight quicken and thrill as they passed into editions every one. My, I'd never got 'em in my lifethe grateful shade of the primeval forest. The lofty time, only the Monteith Libra'y was sold at auction at maples and elms, taller, more stately than the southern last, an' the estate owed me for my work an' I took oak, wove an arcade far up in the air. Spruce, hem 'em toward the debt. It seemed kind o' hard at fust, lock, tamarack, and balsam trees ran their needles and | for they didn't half pay me for my scrubbin' an' bakin', fringes of darker green in and out amid the light but I'm glad now, deary. Jes' cum out an' see my emerald foliage of the maple, elm, and birch, while all little faces, an' then l'll go straight an' get you some were shot through and through with sunshine and rifts dinner.” of blue sky. Great wafts of warm fragrance swept | Agnes, with Vida pulling at her skirt, followed Eveover them from the depths of the wood. It was per-| lyn, and found her “ faces” to be a solid phalanx of vading and haunting in the suggestions of its odors. | pansies covering the southern embankment of the One instant it seemed all exuded from the ripe red | house. raspberries that held up their tantalizing bunches by | “Now, if them ain't faces,” exclaimed Evelyn, “huthe road, the next it seemed all to flow from the life- man faces, an' King Charles spaniel faces, then I giving balsam of the firs, and the clustering cones of | never see none. They're more company than the the spruce hanging overhead; then to sweep upward books; an' when I'm clean gone for a chat, I jes' come in the spicy breath of the ferns crowding close without an' talk to 'em, an' there's no end to the queer dipping plumes by the way, or to be wafted down-faces they make up at me.” ward in faint perfume from the snowy blossoms of the

(To be continued.)

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