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I suppose." When he was ushered in by one of the itation footmen, he took much the same view of our prodings as I took myself and began chaffing me in his free easy way: "Well, now, Miller, to think of you coming in such a swell fashion! What on earth possessed you begin giving state-parties, eh?" But Mrs. Miller, with it increase of dignity which the peach-colored satin alys gives her, cut his audacious levity short by asking rply," Well, and why should n't we give a party like one else, Mr. - - Mr. Wotherspoon ?" The asned forgetfulness of his name was a masterpiece, and bitally done, considering she had never practiced the art snubbing before. At all events, poor Dick seemed to ve the ground taken from under him at once, and he sided into a corner near Patty, where he seemed to be ter welcomed.

But hark! the roll of wheels "the brazen thunders of door" soon not intermittent, but continuous — and are presently in the thick of it. Kelly came about ten, little stiffer than usual; but not till half-past did the ners sweep into the room, Mrs. Vyner overwhelmingly arteous and patronizing in her black velvet dress. But soon contrived (without saying so) to make us underAnd that she wondered we could venture to invite her, d that she considered it no little condescension on her art to come.

There could be no doubt that my daughter Molly and len Vyner were the prettiest girls in the room. Yet it is amusing to note the difference in their style and aparance. Molly, whose good-natured rosy face above r light-blue dress seemed like a cherub's floating in the y, was radiant, full of life, and sweet as a new-blown se; but she was a little too eager to please, and tried too idently to make everything go off well. Miss Vyner, on e other hand- - pale, slight, and with finely-chiselled atures — moved through the rooms a very statue of digty and self-possession. Quiet, perfectly well-bred, and lite, she rather discouraged the advances of her admir8, including Kelly; but her very discouragement seemed ly to make them more attentive. If she had a fault, it as that she evidently knew her own value so well; she ight have been a duke's daughter instead of a brewer's, 1ough, indeed, I believe Vyner and many of his business ink a brewer or a banker nowadays a greater grandee an any nobleman.

I am glad to say the party itself, notwithstanding our isgivings, went off without any particular hitch. In fact, seemed very like thousands of similar affairs given by eople of the middle classes who know no better. There was the same stiffness and reserve at first, since in such a iscellaneous gathering very few of the guests were acuainted with each other; the same gradual thawing as we got up a little dance (which, with hypocrisy that deeived nobody, we pretended to extemporize); the same ntense heat in the rooms, the same jamming in the doorways, the same forlorn groups in the corners, groups that ooked as if they knew they ought to be enjoying themelves and were not.

And, when the novelty of the position wore off, I did ot find it very difficult to play the part of host. So I ried to say a pleasant word to any guest that seemed ull, arranged a couple of whist tables for the elderly peole, and in fact worked hard generally at amusing every ody. My wife, however, as the hours went on without nishap, grew prouder and prouder of her hired grandeur, and indeed, like old Weller's Shepherd, "swelled wisibly " n magnificence of deportment and manner. In my hear ng alone she told six different persons that "there were Forty-five invited; but unfortunately so many were enraged."

"I think you ought rather to say fortunately," replied chat disagreeable Mrs. Vyner, as my wife made this remark to her. "My dear Mrs. Miller, how could you get any more people into these rooms? And a crowd is so very unpleasant," she added, fanning herself vigorously. When I took Mrs. Vyner in to supper, she said blandly, "I did not know, Mr. Miller- - yes, champagne, please

I never knew before that you kept a footman; " looking hard at one of the upholsterer's mutes.

"Why, he is like Vyner's small ale-for very occasional use only," I replied, determined she should not have all the sarcasms to herself, and knowing she hated any reference to her husband's business.

She took her revenge, however, on my wife by saying to her soon afterwards across the table, "How very nice these whips are, Mrs. Miller! I must get you to give me the receipt." Of course, the odious woman knew very well that the creams, like everything else, were furnished by the upholsterer "who did for us; "but she succeeded in making my wife blush and feel very uncomfortable for the time. The dance was kept up with spirit till four or five o'clock, and the young people at any rate, especially my daughters Molly and Patty, enjoyed this part of the business most thoroughly. Towards the end, however, Molly became rather sulky because Fred danced so much with Miss Vyner; and my wife was highly indignant at Dick Wotherspoon's hanging about Patty. Indeed, she would almost have proceeded to open hostilities if I had not stopped her; and, as it was, Wotherspoon evidently guessed her motive in always disturbing his confabulations with Patty, and left early.

When our guests were gone we were soon in bed, from which we did not rise till noon. Even then Patty was very tired, and Molly had a headache-due to Miss Vyner, I suspected. I too was disgusted with the hypocritical pretences and bother of the whole thing. My wife alone was radiant, and thought the party a great success owing to her own admirable management. She was sure, too, that Kelly on leaving had thanked her, and pressed her hand with a cordiality most unusual with him; and on this ground she told Molly to take courage, and all would come right.

And her exultation was increased by several of our guests who called in the afternoon, and lisped the usual phrases on such occasion. "Delightful gathering." "Enjoyed ourselves so much." "Quite a success." When Mrs. Vyner called, however, she threw a little damp on my wife's ardor. She pretended to praise she was always more malicious when she did that. "How very good of you to take all this trouble - so unexpected, too!" she said. "And how very well you did manage, considering you were quite unaccustomed to this sort of thing! It must have been a most formidable undertaking, I'm sure. And I hope you, Mr. Miller, were not very much behind-hand with your work in consequence." Generally I could give Mrs. Vyner a Roland for her Oliver; but on the present occasion my conscience sided so much with her in her politely-veiled sarcasms - I mean, I thought them so just that I really could only mutter out some common-place answer. "I'm afraid you are a little tired with your exertions, Mrs. Miller; indeed, they must have been immense," continued the merciless virago, seeing that I was in no mood for reply. "But, I'm sure, it was very kind of you to try so hard to give us a pleasant evening. And as you are such very old friends, I think I may tell you a little secret, just to show you how much we are indebted to you. Ah, I dare say you know what it is. Fred Kelly proposed to Ellen last night, and it is all arranged - so kind of you, I'm sure, to give him the opportunity. And we think it will be a very nice match, don't you, Molly?"

-

Poor Molly held out till Mrs. Vyner was gone, when she made a rush to her own room, with a tear in each eye. She had scarcely left us when a double knock announced the postman.

"It is from Wotherspoon," I said opening the letter. "Do you know I think our new splendors, Jane, made you seem a little rude to him yesterday?"

"Ah well! if I am never rude to any one of more consequence than Mr. Wotherspoon, it will be no great matter," she replied, contemptuously. "But I am grieved and vexed beyond measure about this young Kelly. Ellen Vyner, indeed!"

"Dear me!" said I, as I glanced over Wotherspoon's letter, "you'll like to hear this, I think, Jane." So I read it to her.

"DEAR MILLER, -I am sorry to be obliged to leave without calling to bid you good-by, but have just met some friends who are going to Italy, and I have decided to accompany them. As we start to-morrow I am in an awful hurry, and I shall be away at least two years.''

"And a very good thing too," interrupted my wife. "Do you know I am quite sure he would have made Patty an offer last night, if I had not looked so well after her that I never gave him the chance? I have always wondered, James, you never would see the depth of that man. ever, we shall be safe from him for some time, it seems." "Quite safe," said I.

How

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"There, I told you, James!" broke in my wife again. "One of those things, you may depend on it, was a proposal, and I'm glad I stopped it."

"All right, only do let me finish: —

"and, to tell you the truth, I was a little nettled (you know I was always too sensitive) because I thought Mrs. Miller last night scarcely treated me with quite the kindness due to an old friend. So I ran away early and did not say what I intended. Perhaps it is as well. One bit of news about me, however, I am sure you will be glad to hear, and I feel that I ought not to go away without telling you. A few days ago, to my immense delight and astonishment, I received a lawyer's letter informing me that I was heir-at-law to a distant relative who had died in Jamaica: so that I have dropped all at once into five thousand a year. Rather jolly, isn't it? But I won't forget all your five-pound notes; and if ever you want a little cash, old fellow, just you ask your old and obliged friend

"

"But

"R. WOTHERSPOON.' "Five thousand a year!" groaned my wife now. how could I know, James? Why did n't Mr. Wotherspoon

tell us?"

"Well, probably, dear, because you stopped him so adroitly," said I, laughing maliciously, "and perhaps he first wished to see whether we cared for him without his money."

"Oh dear, oh dear! could n't I write a note of apology and bring him back?".

"No; if I know Wotherspoon, it is too late. As you said, Jane, he is too deep for that."

"Ah well," said she, quite piteously. "And this is all the reward one gets for putting one's self out of the way and going to all this expense to give one's friends a treat."

Our motives, I could not help thinking, had not been quite so disinterested as my wife now wished to make out. Few people do give parties, I fear, on the pure principles of Pickwickian benevolence. However, we had got a lesson, and I am happy to say our first evening party was our last.

FOREIGN NOTES.

PARIS is glad to know that M. Sardou is engaged on a new drama.

MR. RUSKIN has declined the Queen's gold medal of the Society of Architects.

THE scarcity of domestic servants is one of the trials of the English housewife of the present day.

MADAME ADELINA PATTI is engaged at the Italian Opera, Paris, for the ensuing season, at 250,000 francs ($50,000).

THE Emperor of Austria has directed a sum of 6000 florins to be expended in the erection of a monument to Beethoven at Vienna.

ROBERT BUCHANAN, the poet, has written a five-act comedy for a London theatre. The play is entitled "A Madcap Prince," and is written in blank verse.

Naer og Fjern for June 14 contains a little new po "Sangfuglen" (The Song Bird), by Ludvig Bödtcher, tha so fresh, delicate, and spirited that it is hardly possible believe that its author is the oldest of living Danish writ born as long ago as 1793. Bödtcher has been writing s lyrics as these, all equally exquisite and original, all life, but at such long intervals that his complete works contained in one modest volume. Perhaps in these da to write a little, but to write that little supremely well the only sure way to literary immortality.

A CURIOUS exhibition has lately been opened to t public in the lunatic asylum at Brünnfield, near Vien The objects exhibited are divided into three classes: t first, comprising 215 articles made entirely by the lunatic the second, articles destroyed by them in their moments frenzy; and the third, models, etc., showing how they a lodged and clothed. Among the articles in the first cla are delicately carved meerschaum pipes, lace, pictur frames, and a remarkable collection of paintings by Kratk who before he became insane was a celebrated artist Vienna. These paintings show no sign of insanity, an one of them is a wonderfully life-like representation of th lunatics hearing mass in the chapel attached to the asylum Next to these specimens of the constructive skill of th inmates, are placed huge iron bars bent double, spoons and iron plates broken to pieces, and doors split in half. Th favorite occupations of these unfortunate people are stated to be writing and drawing, in which some of them have be come singularly proficient.

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EDMOND ABOUT's career has been one of constant ups and downs since his eminence as a writer. While his fame has steadily grown, he has made and lost fortunes, and is believed at the present time to have few resources besides his magic pen, principally owing to the blindness with which he has persisted in mistaking his vocation, and has striven to excel in spheres from which his genius should shrink, while he has neglected that field for which he is - the novel. To this very day, noteminently destined withstanding his incessant failures as such, About believes that he is the newspaper writer of France par excellence. He devotes most of his time to the composition of editorials and magazine articles on political topics, and only in his leisure hours throws off every now and then one of those sparkling and often thrilling novelettes which are the delight of the most cultivated readers of French literature most of them gems of French belles-lettres, which, as soon as they appeared, have been translated into every language in Europe; and yet those whose admiration they excited by their pathos, their brilliant humor, their lucidity of style, have hardly an idea of the incredibly short space of time in which they were written.

AT a performance in the town of Lincoln, England, the other day, among other feats, a magician, or "wonderworker of modern miracles," as he was termed, was handcuffed, placed in a large canvas bag, and then lifted into a box, which was put into a cabinet. The orchestra then played an overture, and if all had gone well the captive in a few minutes would have extricated himself, or been extricated by spiritual agency, and have made his reappearance sitting on the top of the box. Fifteen minutes, however, elapsed without any signs of the magician, and the audience not unnaturally became anxious. Nor was their anxiety diminished by the sound of a voice from the cabinet faintly calling for assistance. The box was, of course, immediately opened, and a terrible sight disclosed to view. The unfortunate man, it is stated, was nearly dead, and blood was observed gushing out of his eyes and nose. medical gentleman, fortunately, was present, and the sufferer was conveyed to the ante-room and promptly attended to. The manager subsequently appeared on the platform, and announced that a most cowardly act had been committed by the man who secured the box, as he must have known something about the working of the feat, notwithstanding the challenge of £100 to any person who could secure the box and solve the mystery. The story should be a warning both to spectators and performers of tricks of this description.

A

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.

A SCHOOL FOR AUTHORS.

A FEW years ago there was considerable effort made to induce authors of repute to write specially for children. The rival magazines for the young aimed at securing contributions, and in the then flourishing condition of what is known as the juvenile book trade, it seemed as if the prizes for authorship lay in that department of literature. We see something of the kind still, and are gravely told that there is great cause for gratification when this or that author of note has been persuaded to write a story or poem expressly for young people. To be sure, juvenile literature, so called, is not in a very flourishing state, commercially, and there is less to tempt great authors to come down among the children; yet there is apt to be a murmur of satisfaction among some, when announcement is made that one of the magnates of the literary world has, so to speak, got down on all fours, and allowed himself to be driven round the room by the petty tyrants of the nursery and school-room.

The genuine interest taken by great writers in children is always charming, and every way a true note in literature; but where it is genuine, the spirit of condescension is absent, and it is this spirit that has been vulgarly appealed to. Besides, it is plain enough that the distinction between literature designed for children, and that written without such limitation is, in all true literature, a very trivial distinction. Children stray into the fields where their elders are enjoying themselves and find the grass as tender there as in their own little paddock. It has chanced that childhood has now and then given the suggestion to a great writer, and we are inclined to think, indeed, that the presence of children in literature is historically not far remote from the beginning of a distinct literature for children.

But we wish to make a single practical suggestion in connection with this subject, that the writing of stories, articles, or books for children is a most excellent practice before one ventures upon wider and higher flights. This is true whether we speak of literature which concerns itself with knowledge, or with literature which has for its end to please and move what is often fairly spoken of as literature par excellence. Take, for instance, the writing of history. If the writer has in mind an audience of children, especially if he is able to test his work by a real audience so composed, he will find that the limitations of his readers' minds will speedily affect his selection of facts and his style. He must not be dull, and he must seize upon the really significant facts. He is forced to make his narrative move rapidly and clearly. There is a necessity laid upon him to clear his subject of all entanglements of conjecture and mere possibility. It must be the story of history that he tells, and unless he can tell it simply and with straightforwardness he will lose his audi

ence.

Again, let the subject be one of science; it becomes necessary to state scientific facts not only with precision

but in untechnical terms. To be sure, this limits one as to the class of facts he may present, but it is remarkable how far one may go with an intelligent youth, even in quite abstruse subjects, if one understands the subject so well one's self as to be able to present it free from the convenient formulas which sometimes act as false bottoms to the understanding. The necessity of using simple, familiar terms, and of going back of the point from which one ordinarily starts in scientific conversation, acts upon the mind with a very clarifying power.

When one enters the field of pure literature, the gain to the writer is of another kind. He is able to speak more freely of spiritual things because he finds himself possessed of a sympathetic audience. He knows very well that his pretty fancies and shy imaginations if delivered, as Trench would have us in another matter,

"To the first man thou may'st meet
In lane, highway, or open street,"

would be very likely received with impatience and stony incredulity. He feels surer that what he says will find an unsuspecting welcome in the minds of the same sceptic's children, and the response which he receives from them acts as a confirmation of his timid purposes in literature. It is true that this ready sympathy of children is a snare to many, and stories and books are produced which are childish and not at all child-like; but the fact remains, that a writer for children is like an anonymous writer: he can make modest ventures, and grow bolder as his own wings get stronger by such short flights.

We have just hinted at some of the aspects of this subject, which invites a fuller treatment.

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To the Editor of The Tribune.

SIR: The letters called out by your article, "The Children's Debt," indicate a sympathetic interest in Hans Christian Andersen, and a desire on the part of some at least to contribute to the comfort of a writer who has given so much wholesome pleasure to three generations of children. In 1868, when we were publishing The Riverside Magazine for Young People, we wrote to Mr. Andersen, asking him to contribute, and proposing a uniform edition of his writings, on which we desired to pay copyright. He accepted both our propositions, and since that time we have had frequent correspondence with him. His new stories we published in The Riverside as long as it continued, and for such as came afterward we secured publication in other magazines and papers, in all cases paying him prices with which he expressed himself entirely satisfied. We issued the volumes of his writings from time to time, closing with "The Story of My Life," his autobiography, to which he added the portion covering the fourteen years following the last Danish edition of the same. Upon the ten volumes constituting thus the only uniform edition in English of his writings, we return regularly his copyright twice a year. The sum which he receives is not so large as it would be if all the various editions of Andersen's stories paid him copyright. himself, in the conversation reported in the Cologne Gazette, states that the copyright which we pay him is all that he receives from any source save his Danish publishers, and he has intimated in his autobiography that his income is not large. While, then, we cannot say from our own knowledge that this eminent writer is in want, we should be most happy to act, as his authorized pub

He

lishers here, as agents for the reception and transmission to him of any testimonial which his American friends may spontaneously offer. Your obedient servants, HURD AND HOUGHTON.

No. 13 Astor Place, New York, June 30, 1874.

Mr. Spofford, Librarian of Congress, proposes to index all the valuable public documents from the foundation of the government to the present time. We do not know in what condition the documents may now be; but Mr. Spofford's proposed task is just one of those which a great library should undertake, to render its treasures of real service to students. Many demands are made for a continuation of "Poole's Index," which stopped just at a time when periodical literature began to put forth special energy. It would be of great value to scholars if the Index could be revised and brought down to some fixed time, and then supplemented by annual volumes. Meanwhile every library ought to enter the titles of articles in such periodicals as it takes in, with as much care as it enters the titles of books. Much of the most important literature of the day is to be found only in this form.

-It is proposed to place a memorial window in the new memorial hall of Harvard University in remembrance of the Christian philosophers of Cambridge, England, who have taken the lead from the seventeenth century to the nineteenth in the Christian culture of England, and anticipated the generous and comprehensive church movements of our day - such men as Whichcote, Henry More, Cudworth, Coleridge, and Maurice. The noted men of this school in the seventeenth century were graduates of Emanuel College (to which John Harvard and his associates belonged).

The interest which seems to have suddenly sprung up in bronze statues, makes us regard with pleasure the excellent reputation which the Ames Manufactory at Chicopee, Mass., is attaining for its castings in bronze. It was in 1851 that the company turned out the first successful American bronze statue. The elaborately-worked Capitol doors at Washington show well the finer patterns of bronze work made by this company, while of the larger work they are the makers of the colossal statue of DeWitt Clinton in Greenwood Cemetery, New York; of the colossal equestrian statue of Washington, designed by H. K. Brown, in Union Square, New York; and of the similar statue, designed by Thomas Ball, in the Public Garden at Boston. The statue of Benjamin Franklin, before the Boston City Hall on School Street, is also theirs, as are the figures for most of the soldiers' monuments over the country. One of their first works also was Greenough's "Shepherd Boy;" while they have made many emblematic cemetery statues, with some two hundred small bronzes of Webster. The company has now begun on its greatest work, the statuary designed by Larkin G. Mead for the national Lincoln monument at Springfield, Ill.

- The death of Mr. Henry Grinnell, the eminent New York merchant, and founder of the firm of Grinnell, Minturn & Co., calls to mind his great contribution to science and humanity in the second Kane expedition in search of Sir John Franklin. Mr. Grinnell, with his younger brother, Moses H. Grinnell, was a liberal contributor to the first expedition, but in the second shared the honor only with George Peabody and the government, contributing, it is said, fifty thousand dollars toward the expenses of the expedition. His name is perpetuated in Grinnell Land, but Dr. Kane's lively narrative will keep it still more fresh in the heart of Americans.

The article in last number of EVERY SATURDAY 0 Hydrophobia, throws light upon a subject which has create much nervous apprehension. In the interest both of hu manity and of the dogs, we copy the rules furnished by D John C. Dalton to the New York Board of Health, whic ought to be widely circulated and intelligently read: 1. A dog that is sick, from any cause, should be watche and treated carefully until his recovery.

2. A dog that is sick and restless is an object of su picion. This is the earliest peculiar symptom of hydro phobia.

3. A dog that is sick and restless and has a depresse appetite, gnawing and swallowing bits of cloth, wood, coal brick, mortar, or his own dung, is a dangerous animal. H should be at once chained up and kept in confinemen until his condition be clearly ascertained.

4. If, in addition to any or all of the foregoing symp toms, the dog has delusion of the senses, appearing to see or hear imaginary sights or sounds, trying to pass through a closed door, catching at flies in the air when there are none, or searching for something which does not exist there is great probability that he is, or is becoming, hy drophobic. He should be secured and confined without delay.

5. In case any one is bitten by a dog whose condition is suspicious, the most effective and beneficial treatment is to cauterize the wound at once with a stick of silver nitrate, commonly called "lunar caustic." The stick of caustic should be sharpened to a pencil point, introduced quite to the bottom of the wound, and held in contact with every part of the wounded surface until it is thoroughly cauterized and insensible. This destroys the virus by which the disease would be communicated.

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- At the recent Commencement of Union College, notice was given that the gifts of Hon. Clarkson N. Potter and Howard Potter, Esq., of $40,000, for the erection of Memorial Hall, had been increased by them to $50,000. It was a pleasant, as it certainly was a unique spectacle, that four of the grandsons of that remarkable man, Eliphalet Nott, for nearly half a century president of the college, should have participated in the exercises of the recent Commencement four grandsons, each of whom has achieved high reputation: the eldest, Clarkson N. Potter, being Representative in Congress from the Westchester district, and an eminent lawyer; the second, Howard Potter, a member of Brown Brothers, one of the great banking houses of the world; the third, Henry C. Potter, rector of Grace Church, New York; and the fourth, the Rev. Eliphalet Nott Potter, now president of the college. There are other brothers, who have also distinguished themselves; General Robert B. Potter, who won his epaulets in the rebellion, and Edward T. Potter, the eminent architect. The only sister of these brothers is the wife of Mr. Launt Thompson, the sculptor, whose contributions to the Galaxy and other magazines have made her name familiar to readers. The Potters are children of the late Bishop Potter of Pennsylvania.

VOL. IL]

EVERY SATURDAY.

A ROSE IN JUNE.

CHAPTER XIII.

A FOURNAL OF CHOICE READING.

THERE is no such picturesque incident in life as the sudden changes of fortune which make a complete revolution in the fate of families or individuals without either action or merit of their own. That which we are most familiar with is the change from comfort to poverty, which so often takes place, as it had done with the Damerels, when the head of a house, either incautious or unfortunate, goes out of this world, leaving not only sorrow but misery behind him, and the bereavement is intensified by social downfall and all the trials that accom

pany loss of means. But for the prospect of Mr. Incledon's backing up, this would have implied a total change in the prospects and condition of the entire household, for all hope of higher education must have been given up for the boys; they must have dropped into any poor occupation which happened to be within their reach, with gratitude that they were able to maintain themselves; and as for the girls, what could they do, poor children, unless by some lucky chance of marriage? This poor hope would have given them one remaining chance not possible to their brothers; but, except that, what had they all to look forward to? This was Mrs. Damerel's excuse for urging Rose's unwilling consent to Mr. Incledon's proposal. But lo! all this was changed as by a magician's wand. The clouds rolled off the sky, the sunshine came out again, the family recovered its prospects, its hopes, its position, its freedom, and all this in a moment. Mrs. Damerel's old uncle Edward had been an original who had quarrelled with all his family. She had not seen him since she was a child, and none of her children had seen him at all—and she never knew exactly what it was that made him select her for his heir. Probably it was pity; probably admiration for the brave stand she was making against poverty- perhaps only caprice, or because she had never asked anything from him; but, whatever the cause was, there was the happy result. In the evening anxiety, care, discouragement, bitter humiliation, and pain; in the morning sudden ease, comfort, happiness - for, in the

SATURDAY, JULY 25, 1874.

absence of anything better, it is a great happiness to have money enough for all your needs, and to be able to give your children what they want, and pay your bills and owe no man anything. In the thought of being rich enough to do all this Mrs. Damerel's heart leapt up in her breast, like the heart of a child. Next moment she remembered, and with a pang of sudden anguish asked herself, oh, why- why had not this come sooner, when he, who would have enjoyed it so much, might have had the enjoyment? This feeling sprang up by instinct in her mind, notwithstanding her bitter consciousness of all she had suffered from her husband's carelessness and self-regard - for love is the strangest of all sentiments, and can indulge and condemn in a breath, without any sense of inconsistency. This was the pervading thought in Mrs. Damerel's mind as the news spread through the awakened house, making even the children giddy with hopes of they knew not what. How he would have enjoyed it all— the added luxury, the added consequence! far more than she would have enjoyed it, notwithstanding that it came to her like life to the dying. She had taken no notice of Rose's exclamation, nor of the flush of joy which the girl betrayed. I am not sure, indeed, that she observed them, being absorbed in her own feelings, which come first even in the most generous minds, at such a crisis and revolution of fate.

As for Rose, it was the very giddiness of delight that she felt, unreasoning and even unfeeling. Her sacrifice had become unnecessary - she was free! So she thought, poor child, with a total indifference to honor and her word which I do not attempt to excuse. She never once thought of her word, or of the engagement she had come under, or of the man who had been so kind to her, and loved her so faithfully. The children had holiday on that blessed morning, and Rose ran out with them into the garden, and ran wild with pure excess of joy. This was the first day that Mr. Nolan had visited them since he went to his new duties, and as the curate came into the garden, somewhat tired after a long walk, and expecting to find his friends something as he had left them — if not mourning, yet subdued as true mourners continue after the sharpness of their grief is ended he

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was struck with absolute dismay to meet Rose, flushed and joyous, with one of the children mounted on her shoulders, and pursued by the rest, in the highest of high romps, the spring air resounding with their shouts. Rose blushed a little when she saw him. She put down her little brother from her shoulder, and came forward beaming with happiness and kindness.

"Oh, how glad I am that you have come to-day," she said, and explained forthwith all the circumstances with the frank diffuse explanatoriness of youth. "Now we are rich again; and oh, Mr. Nolan, I am so happy!" she cried, her soft eyes glowing with an excess of light which dazzled the cu

rate.

People who have never been rich themselves, and never have any chance of being rich, find it difficult sometimes to understand how others are affected in these unwonted circumstances. He was confounded by her frank rapture, the joy which seemed to him so much more than was necessary.

"I'm glad to see you so happy," he said, bewildered; "no doubt money 's a blessing, and ye 've felt the pinch, my poor child, or ye would n't be so full of your joy."

"Oh, Mr. Nolan, how I have felt it!" she said, her eyes filling with tears. A cloud fell over her face for the space of a moment, and then she laughed and cried out joyously, "but thank Heaven that is all over now."

Mrs. Damerel was writing in the drawing-room, writing to her boys to tell them the wonderful news. Rose led the visitor in, pushing open the window which opened on the garden. "I have told him all about it, and how happy we are," she said, going up to her mother with all the confidence of happiness, and giving her, with unwonted demonstration, a kiss upon her forehead, before she danced out again to the sunny garden. Mrs. Damerel was a great deal more sober in her exultation, which relieved the curate. She told him how it had all come about, and what a deliverance it was; then cried a little, having full confidence in his sympathy, over that unremovable regret that it had not come sooner. "How happy it would have made him- and relieved all his anxiety about us," she said. Mr. Nolan made some inarticulate sound, which she took for assent; or, at least, which

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