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The New Era, 1884-07-11, Page 8••, my life 1 boxii determined to he happy, and to understand myself. I doubt I am an ill. tempered brute, and have hardly any right even to hope for your forgiveneee." But his manner has effectually checked •my bunt of eloquence, and we keepunbro. ken alleuila until we reach our deatination. Here we find Marmaduke and Lady Blanche anxiously on the lookout for us; the othem, tired of waiting, have wandered farther afield. Maxmaduke is lookbig rather white and worried, I fapoy. "What halo kept you till this hour ?" he asks, irritably, pulling out his watch. "Oh, how long You have been stipple- ments Blanche. "We were beginning to wonder—almost to fear an accident had occurred. It is quite a relief to see you in the flesh," "Von were very near not seeing us," explain. "The ponies behaved very bad y —ran away with us for half a mile or e and frightended rde eo much that I fainted." • 'How dietressing 1" says Blanche, appa- rently much concerned. "How terrified you must have been 1 And so unpletteant, too, without a lady near to help you 1 You were able to resuscitate Mrs. Carrington, at all events." (To Sig Mark.) "Well, I don't auppeee I would have been of much use without the brandy," replies h�, coolly. Si Io must have been quite it sensational men,e," remerke her ladyehip, with a little laugh. "It reminds one of something one would read; only to make it perfect, you should be levees. Now that you are safe it does not seem unkind to laugh, does it 7" Marmadnke by this time ie blacks') night. In spite of myself, I know I have blushed crimson; while Siillark, turning abruptly away, goes to explain some trivial break in the harness to one of the coachmen. "10 io a pity, Phyllis, you would not take my advice this morning," says 'Duke, in a voice that trenobles a little, either from suppressed anger or 1301220 other emotion. "If you had taken a groom, as I begged of you, all this Unpleasantness might have been saved." ' "I don't - see how a groom could have prevented it," I reply, coldly. "Without a second's warning • they were off; it was nobody's fault." "My dear 'Duke., we should be thankful they have escaped so well," murmurs Blanche, in her softest tones, laying a soothing touch upon' my husband's arm. Both touoh and -tone render me furtous. "1 dare Bey it was not very serious." "1• dare say not; but it might have been, And, whether or not, its has kept evbry one waiting for at least three-quarters of an hour.' " "It might have kept you still longer had I been killed," I return, 'quietly, moving away in secret indignation. , Marmaduke follows me, leaving Blanche and Bir. Mark to come after, ,and side by side, but apes:Allege; we proceed on our July 11. 1884. Peasant and Peer. 1. Dolly, the milkmaid, mune down the lane, And Harry, ilia shepheld, came over the grass And they met right there by tphe hawthorn° heuge, And that is the way that it 'came to pass. Their hands no over the hawthorn° hedge, Their lips met there in a true level; kiss - And the , 'promise that pasted between thew there Opened a lifetime of perfeat blisS. Sir George goes out on the palace lawn And sees on the terrace Mistress Clare, With her maid, and her pug, and her silken rubes, Languid sod feeble and proud and fair. In a careless way, with a courtly bo, . He asks my lady to be his wife— His title against her mores broad; And Mat is the first of a oheerlesS life. ' . . The robin is sin.ging by Harry's cot, Where Dolly yf cooking the evening meal; And their love is long, and their love is food, And their honest hearts are as true as steel. My lady weeps in her castle grand, "'" For Sir George is out with his horse and s hounds, And Love, the guest ofthe humble cot, Haa never yet crossed the castle bounds. Tis the same old story—not wealth nor fame, Nor rank all lowlier men above, Nora pedigree ong, nor is lordly air, Oan buy the blessing that comes with Love. PHYLLIS. BY THE DUOSESEI. Author of "Molly Hawn,' "The Baby," "Airy Fairy Lilian," eta ,eta. "Indeed, arriet, you shall not," ory I, impetuously. "We weilld all be -miserable without you." " Thetei it fact, Lady Hand000k," puts in Chips, heartily. "Chippendale, you almost make me relent," says Harriet, smiling. ."But"—in it piteous tone aside to vae—" do not compel me to go. It is twelve miles there, and twelve miles back, if it is it yard ;- just think of that. My poor back would not standlt. James shall go and represent me." . "Why not change the place, and name a spot nearer home 7" says Dora, quietly. Dora always does the correct thing. "Just so," exclaims Sir George, • who - would have thouglit Jericho it very conve- nient epot had Dora so•named it. • "We have another Wishing Well somewhere in the neighborhood'; eh, 'Duke ?" "The Deacon's Well," says Sir Mark, "is only seven miles from this. Would that be too far, Lady liandooOk?" • "1 shall be quite unhappy if you make me the disturber of the pee.oe," says Har- riet, in comio despair. "Let me stay it home; I shall do very_well ; and at present I feel ashamed of myself." - " Nonsenee," says 'Duke. "11 you don't come willingly we shell °Limey. you. • So you may as well make up your mind to visit the Deacon." •- " And it is really the prettier Well of the two," says Blanche, gracefully, aa. ehe'sees her muse fall to the ground. •• . "Then you and 'Blanche aan keel:owe:1h other cornpaby on the coach, Phyllis, and any one else that likes. Thornton shall have the born; it is about the one instru- ment on which he oan perform' with • marked success." • "1 shall take the pheeton and ponies," say I, quietly. "They have not been out for two days, and it will do them good.' Exeroiee is the only thing that keeps them in order." "Oh, nonsense, Phytlis 1 you will findit muoh pleasanter with Blanche and the rest of us.' ' "Without doubt ; but then I have set my heart on driving my ponies. They ate my hobby at present; so you must excuse my bad taste if I say I prefer being with them to even the geed oompany you mention.' That is, if I min get any one to come and take oare of me.' "1 shall be moat happy, -Mrs. Carrington, if you will accept me ab your esoort," says Sir Mark, inatantly, as though desirous of • being the first to offer his servioes Blanche Going raises • her head and regards him fixedly. In the velvet soft. IlOBB of her dark eyes shines for an instant an expression that is „half 'reproach, half passionate anger; only for an -instant ; then turning her glance on me, she meets my gaze full, and aneers unmietakably.. I feel radiant, triumphant. At• least I have it in my power to give her sting for Ming.. "Thank you," I my to Sir Mark, with it beaming smile. "1 shall feel quite safe and happy in my mind with you. NAt heart I believe I am a coward, eo feel it pleasant to know there will be help at hand if the ponies prove.refraotory." " You had better take a groom with you, Phyllis," says my husband, ehoctly.• "Oh, no thank you. ' It willbe quite unnecessary. Sir Mark, I know, is as good. as two or three grooms •in a ease °Lerner- genov." • " Nevertheless, I think you had better have a eroom. Those ponies are generally skittish efter an idiotism 1 shall tell Mark- ham to amompany you." • • •• Pray do not give yourself Ihe trouble,'" reply, obstinately; "1 shall not need him'. You do not think there is any muse for fear, do you, Sir Mark ?" "1 think not. I think I am a match for your ponies at any moment," returne he, "In my opinion grooms are a mietake in a small carriage," murmur% Lady Blanche, addressing the table generally. " There is something unpleasant in the foot that they are olose behind one's back ready to hear and repeat every idle word one may chance to utter." Her amile as ithe says this is innocence itself. "1 fully agree with you," answer I, equitably; though Sir Mark arid I are above uttering anything idle." Me.Imaduke frowns and the o'onversation ends. Meantime, the others have been eagerly dimming their plane. Sir George Ashurst has obtained it promise, from pots to take the Beef beeide him in hfs.dog,cart. Har- riet ham decided on the open carriage, and deolaree her intention of calling and taking up mamma. Lord Chandos alone had no hails in the dimession. Just then the door opens to ciamit Bebe, froth and gay so usuel. Poeitively we have all forgotten Bebe. ' "Late—late—so late 1" Heys she, laugh. hig. " Yes, Miarmadtake, I know 11 10 aobu ally shocking. Don't Say' a word, dear; your face Is a volume in itself. Glood.morning, verybody, Phyllis, yOu don't look formid. able. I ehall bete' my chair near you." The men rise and somebody getsher a neat. 1' Bebe, we forgot you," ory I, contritely, "Where shall we put you now ?" 4' Put me ?" sot Bebe, regarding her ohaire 'Why* hero I inippotie.' "No, no; about our drive to the Wishing Well, Lmean. We have been just stung - ng everything, and somehow yeti got left out." " I have still two seats at the bank of my my trap," sate' Aehiatet ; Will you accept) one, Miss • Beatoua ? And Mandell Can have the other," The faintest posaible tiuge of oolor rime to Bebe's cheek, "A back Beat 1 Oh, Sir George, ie that all yeu an viler me WWI nevem) .insulted in my life. Itris positively unkind. Marniaduke, why did not you look atter my intereets in my absence?" "1 don't know how it happened. First oome, Ant served, I euppose. " The unkindest out of ell. 'Duke, you are ungenerous, or else in a bad temper; which ? However, I forgive you." " I WOUld give you the front Beat," sap good-natured George, but 1 fair them very tiny little betide would never be able for the ribbons.; and .L have given the other to Miss Vernon." " Mies Beatoun, have my place," says Thornton, eagerly. "I dare eay Mist Hatt- ings will get on without me, even if she comes; and Powell can blow the horn." Dora comes forward gracefully. 04 Take mine," Abe Bays, in epite of is reproathful glance from Sir George. "I don't in the least mind where I sit," "Embarras des rieltessee I" *cries Bebe, laughing, putting up her hands to cover her earn. " Not for all the world, Mies Ver- non. Thank you very touch, all the eame. Did you think I was in earnest? If the truth be told, I like nothing better than the back Beat on anything, if the horses be feet. There is something delicious almost muss- tional, in finding oureelvee flying through the air without seeing what is taking one. I only hope I ehan'e fall off." " It will be Chanties' 'fault if you do," declares Sir George. "Do you hear Chan - doe 2You will have to keep your eyes open, and be careful every time we come to is corner." Bebe colors again, and glances at Lord Chandoe, who by a curious coincidence she finds glancing at her. • Their eyes meet, • " Will you find the task too arduous ?" the ask»' . mieohieveuely, for oboe loaing eight of her coldness. I will tell you that when We return," replies he, answering her eraile. Not uritil the others have well departed does Markham bring round the Ponies, and as he puts the reins into my hands he utters is gentle warning. . • "1 thought it safer to let the other horses get a bit of is start first, me'em," he says. " You might spare the whip to -day, I'm thinking ; they're that fresh as it will give you enough to do to hold 'era." " All right, Markhane". says my com- panion, gayly; "1 will seeeyour mistress dem not irritate them to madame." The prettyanimals in question toss their heads, knowingly, then tower them, and finally start away down the avenue, round the corner, pass the beeches, and out into the Open road. ' The air is fresh and soft, the speed, to say the least of it,enlieening, and for is mile or so 1 know thorough enjoyment; then my arms begin to drag. "How they do pull 1" I say, with a petu- lant sigh. "Let me have the reins," exelaims' Sir Mark, eagerly; "you will be exhausted if you try to held* those fretful oreaturee for ' the next six miles. ' You are hardly etrong enough for the task." And, with a gesture that is almost 'relief, I resign to him my seat.. "That would be the 'merest road to Car - sten, euppoeing we had started frorn Sum- merleas," I say presently, as we oome to one nartioular turn. "Oh, how often, long ago, I used to travel it! What years and. yore and yeare seem to have gone by since) last spring! What changes have deourred 1 and yet in reelity only a few short months 'have paseed." . "Happy ,changes, I hope, Mrs Carring- ton." • "For • me? Yes,. indeed, When first • you knew me I was the most insignificant person anteing us at home, and now I think I have all' ever wished for." Sir Mark smiles. "1 never heard any one say that before. Of what use will the ,Demon's Well be to you? Do you mean to tell me you have no wish' lett ungratified 2" "'Well, perbaps there are a few things .1 would willingly put out of my way," I .reply, With 14 faint recurrence ha my own naiad to Lady Blanche Going. • • " Only things? You are unfortunate. When I go in for that useless sort of wish- ing, it is for peoplenet would' have -removed. Were I yeti, Mrs. Carring- ton, I believe I should live in is - perpetual, state of terror, waiting for mine biow to °nub such exesseive happiness. You know one oannot be prosperous for ever." . "1 never anticipate evil," , return I, lightly. "Surely it is bad enough when it comes, without adding to it by being miser- able beforehand. Why, how doleful you look • 1 What is it? You remind me of some youthful swain in love for the first time uo his life." " Perhape I BM." " In love How amusing 1 With whom, then'? Bebe? Dora? • Or 'gime person or persons unknown? Come, surely you may confide with all safety in your hostess." "She is the last. person I would choose_ ap a confidante on this ocoserion. The sym- 'pathy she would accord me would be very. goanty.". "Oh, how unjuet 1 .Heve I proved myself so utterly heartless? And is sympathy so very needful in your ease—is it a hopeless one ?" . 4 Quite 130.2! Poor Sir Mark '11 ehebe not fair to me; what care 1 how faro she be V, is arvery- good'motto ; why not .adopt it, and—love again? I have heard there iir nothing easier." • "Would you find it easy ?" • "1 don't know, having never tried. But if the love is to be unhappy, I wonder people ever let thethaelves fall into the snare." . • , ' . " You speak as if you yourself were free from the gentle losesion; says Sir Mark, with a searching look, under which I color and feel somewhat confused. • • . "We were talking of emend lovers," I say„ hurriedly. One hears of them. I was advising you • to turn your attention that way. Surely it would be possible." • • "1 don't believe in it; at least to me it would be impoasible," replies Sir Mark, in • a low tone, and silence falls upon me. • Once again I am in the balhroom at Strangemore'hetening to is tale of early love. Is Sir Mark thinking of Marmaduke- now, I wonder', and the story he then told me, of his old infatuation for his cousin Blanche? Was iv more than infatuation, is paroling !alley? Was it an honest, lasting attachment? And have I scoured. but the tired, worn-out remnant of .a„onoe strong passion? My changeful spirits, no prone to rise, so easy to dash to earth, again forsake me. Discontented and Uneertaite I 'nit with lowered lid° and fretful, puokered brow. "Do you, then, think a man oan love but once in his life 2" I form myself to ask, though with open hesitation:. "But once? Li it not enough? Would you °tandem any one to suffer the restlees misery, the tuniatiefied longing, a second time ?" reepande he weedily: "No; but it is bad for thee') who cot= after," I reply with deep fiejeotion. "They must take their ehanoce• The suffering cannot be all en one side. We must accept our Ohara of mieery, so it oometi, with the beet grace WO can." "1 Will not," 1 ory, paseionately, '0 All I will 'mowed. Whatever happens, whet - ever comes of it, I refuse to he miserable." " What a child you *eel" nye he, almost pityingly, I am not. I am talking quite rationally. I firmly believe we all make half our own grievances." SS And what becomea of the other hall?" "Let to leave the eubjeot," I tory petu- lantly, ignoring my inability to calmer Mtn. "You are dull and 'molly. If you insist on being a martyr, be one,but do riot insist also on my followini g n your footstep. Because you °home to imagine yourself unhappy, is no reason why I ehould not be gay." "Certainly not," repliea he with Moms, ing gloorci, and Waage the whip down sharply aerobe the poniea' backs. 'intently, almost as the laeh touches their glossy skins, 'heyresent the Malin. The carriage reoeiveio a violent flock. They fling themselves backwards on their haunches, and in another moment are flying wildly on, regardless of bit or curb or rein. As I realize the Eituation, I grow mad with fright. Losing all sense of belf-control, I rise from my seat and prepare to throw myself out of the phaeton. elurely the hard and stony road must be preferable to thia reckless, deadly ilight. Seeing my intention, Sir Mark rises also. "Phyllis, are you mad ?" oriee he, flinging, his arms round me. • " Your only chance ie to remain quiet; Phyllis be sensible. Sit down when I &mire you." There is an almost eavage ring in hie tone. He holds me fast and forces me down in my seat. I struggle with all my strength for a moment or two to free fifyieilf •from hie strong grasp, and then a oolduese opvers rae, and I faint. s ,Wben my senses return to hae, I find I am still in the carriage. The ponies are also tc‘be men, motionless in their plasm, except for the trembling that convulses their frames while it fierce snort, every now and then, and tiny flecks of foam that fly hither and thither and mingle with those already, to be seen upon their backs and harness betray . their lath irritation. °But we are safe, apperently, quite safe. • 'Sir Mark's arm is supportieg we, while with his other hand he holds something to my lips. It is that detestable thing called brandy, and I turn nay head aside. . "Take it," urges he, in a low, trembling tone; "whether you like it or not, it will do you good. Try to swallow some." I do as I am bid, and presently, feeling better, raise myself • and look around for symptoms of a mash. "What have they done ?" I ask with a shudder. " Have they--" - 'Nothing," repliee he, with a laugh that is rather forced. "it was a mere bolt. If you bad not fainted you would have known it was all over in it few minutes," . " It was -the whip," I whisper, still nervous.••• - " Yea; it was all my fault. I quite for. got Whirkhane's °melon. I have to apolo- gize very sincerely for'my mistake." "Never mind apologies," I say, laughing' "as we are safe. I never remember being so terrified in ray life, not even whet my steed neatly deposited me in the middle of the High street in Carsten. And you," I cob- tinue, in a halhamueed tone, peering at him from under my hat—" you were frightened, too? Confese it." •• • "1 was," returned he, carefully evading my gaze. "But why, if, as you say, there was no danger?" ' • " There are worse things than runaway ,ponies—your faintieg, for instance. I • thought you.were never going to open your eyes again, •you looked ao horribly white and cold—Bo like death." '• • "What a lovely picture 1" laughing volun- tarily. e Well, console yourself ; you have seen what nobody else ever saw—Pnyllis Catringtori fainting. I had no idea I had it in me. I really think I must be growing delioate or weak-minded." •- 'a silence Sir Mark gathers up the reins, mad one() more the ponies start forward. " Now, Dora. can faint to perfection;" I goon, finding immenee enjoyment in my sub- ject. "11 she is vexed or troubled in any way, or hears thunder, she can go off grace- fully into the arms of whoever happens to be nearest to her at the time. She never • fails ; it is indeed wonderful how accurately she can Measure dietanoe, even at the last moment. While as for me,'I do believe if I were molded until nothing more was left to be said, or if it thundered and lightened from this to • to.morrow, it would not have the effect of removing my senses, At least up to this I have found it so. For the • future -I -shall be less certain. But how silent you are, and how cross you look 1 Still thinking of the obdurate fair one 2" "01 her—and many other things." "Well,.perhaps she too' is thinking of you.' • "1 can imagine nothing more probable," with a grim smile. "Neither oan I." My treachereue spirits are again ascending. "Let me describe her to you as at this moment I think I can almost see her. Seated in is bower, enshrined in roses and honeysucklee, with her hand folded lietlessly upon her lap, and her large dreamy black eye(I am sure her eyes are black) filled with repentant tears, she is now remeberieg with what cruel cold. 110813 ehe received your advances; while unmolested the pretty earwigs run ramie all over her 'Ample white dress—simple but elegant, you know." Han—yea." "And now remorse has proved too muob for her; she resolves on writing you •a letter expressing contrition for her past heartlessness. She draws towards her paper, pane and ink (in a three -volume novel the heroine has everything at her hand, even in the most unlikely pima ; therele never any fuss or aoramble), and indites you a perfumed and ooronetted note, which you' will receive—to-morrow. There 1 New, don't you feel better ?" • " Infinitely so." "What 1 still frowning? still in the lowest depths ? I begin to doubt my power to comfort you." • ' I don't feel any inclination to jest on the subject," returns Sir Mark, gruffly, making a vicious blow with the whip at an unoffend. ing and nearly lifetime fly. 44 Well, there," I gasp, in a midden access Of terror Lest he', might again incense the -ponies, "1 will jot no more. And don't despair.. Perhape—who know 7—ehe may grow fond of you in time." He laughs, a 'Alert, bitter laughthat yet hae something in it of dismal merriment. "11 I could only 'tell yak,. he ear* "if you only Anew, you would understand whet a double Mookery are such Words coining from your lips," . • • His =gem olose around the whip again. Again frightened, I hastily olutoh hie arm. "Don't do that," I entreat; please da not use that dreadful whip again; maim- ber the le.st time you did et) we were nearly killed." "1 wish we had been altogether so," mut- ters he, Savagely. I stare at lum in apeeobless surprise. Did that flask contain with brandy? What on earth has happenekto our oareleas debon. nair Sir Mark? • Even tte' I gaze' in Wonder he turns his head and looks with some degree of shame into my Widely -opened, aotoniehed eyes. 44 Pardon Me," be °aye, gently, "1 don't know what has oorne to me to -day. / fail At length, in a 'rather milder tone, Mar- maduke sari; "1 hope—otherwise-,your drive was enjoyable." • "Very Much so, thank you. Though I must my I don't care about feeling my life in danger. I hope you enjoyed yours." " No"— shortly—" I did not. I never enjoyed anything lees." " How unfortunate Was her ladyship thougntful,•or ill-tempered, or whet 2.' "She had nothing to do with it. i was thinking of yeti the entire time." " Of me ? How good of you! I am 130 sorry.' cermet return the compliment, but no one was farther from my thoughts than you. Concluding you were happy, I dis- missed you from my memory." "1 had is presentiment ,about those ponies:" • Ala! it was .the ponies occupied your mead—not their mistreee. That sounds far more natural." • "They are vialious, ; and not to be de- pended upon," continues 'Duke, declining to notice • my interruption. " I shall !lie - pose of them the very first opportunity." " Lideed you 'hall do nothing•of the kind. They are mine, and I will not have them aold.' . . • • , Well, keep them if.• you insist upon it; but certainly you 'ahall never drive them again." • . . • " Then I certainly shall and to -morrow, Most probably. I will not be ordered about as though I were a more baby." .• •• Marmaduke turns, and regards me so steadily and gravely, that at length, in spite of myself, -my eyes submit and drop. '"Phyllis, how. changed you are 1" says he, presently, in it low tone. " When first I knew` you—even two months ago -,-you were a soft, tender, gentle little girl; and' now you are always =just and bitter—to me, at least." Something rises . in my throat and pre - yenta my utterance. Large tears gather in my ego. • • "1 am chanted; I know it." I burst'out, suddenly.. Before I married you I was a .different person altogether. And how can I help being 'bitter' at times 2 Even now, when I told you how near death I had -been, you showed no feeling of regret— thought of nothing but the delay. I had occasioned you and your friends." - • " Oh, Phyllis," saye 'Duke, in a tone that implies that I have wrung his heart by my false acouestions, and before either can again.speak we have passed a hillock and are in f all view of our guests. • They are all scattered about in twos or threw, though none are eery far distant •from the , others; and the alienate more than =way picturesque. Certainly the old Deacon -knew what he was about when he placed hitt well in this (harming spot, It is a little fahrlike•nook, fresh and green, and lying forgotten among tbe hills. A few pieces of broken-down, ivy covered wall partially 'canoed the step leading to the Wishing Well. " 'Due°, let us wieh for dinner—and get it—before we wish for auything entreats Bebe. The drive has given me is horrible appetite. I ein generally a very num person—eh, Mr. Thornton ?—but just at preeent / am feeling it • downright unlady- like desire for food. Phyllis, darling, do say you are hungry." • " X am—starving," I reply, though eon, Selene at the moment that the ara'allest morsel would choke me. "Yea, by all means. Business first, pleasure afterwards,' " quotee Chips, blithely, who is stretched full-length by Miss Beatoun's side, with his hat off and a straw in hie mouth, looking extremely handsome and unspeakably , happy. Lord Chandoe is at her other side, though rather farther away. "What do you say, Phyllie ?" nye looking at me. "Do not take me into oonsiderationoat all," 1 return in a suppressed voice. "Dia. ner now, or in 11Ve•honrs•to aortae, would be quite the same thingto me." I mem° quiekly away from him towards mamma as I say this, and, shaking down on the turf very close tceher, slip my hand into hors; and as 1 feel her gentle fingers closing upon mine, a sense of safety and relief creeps elowly over me. Dinner progressee; and, though 1 will not acknowledge it, I begin to feel decidedly better. Fragments of conversation float here and there. "1 have a great mifid to set lily little dog at you," says Bebe, in reply to mime iia. grant oompliraiint bestowed ulatifi her 62 the devated Chips. A little bijou of it dog, with an elaborate collar 'auk beseeching eyes, that sits Open her knee anil takes ite dinner from her pretty white fineern, la the anima/ in qaestien. " Oh, Was') don't." tour:num Chips, pethetioally. "1 am so horribly afraid of your little dog. You would not like me to die 01 nervous excitement, would you?". " etri not iso sure. It would make room for it better Man." 0' Imposeible ! There isn't a bettor fellow gobag than I am. You ask my mamma when you see her." • (To be continued TO.D WITUOUT A To-aitotititoW. The Lethargy ot Llie In the Most. 0' Society among the inmates of the harem means sunpli Brooking cigarettes and pipee, and the moat trivial amusements. In of the aparklinee conversation and sant music with which the sexes re- rocally entertain each other among Western people, horrible eoreaming, the monotonous noiae of drums, and the clang of tamborines are here the solace, of woman in her hours or ease. The boasted luxury of the palacee offers in ite ideation no attraction to it refined nature. This life makes people prematurely old; it man of 50 ie Wrinkled and superannuated, and a woman of 30 has passed her meridiem No -one venire unless compelled to it, as tran- quillity of mind and persons best' pleases the Oriental taste, They ignore the passage of time, which never dieturbe them with the cry of harsh (to -morrow) ; yet people write of the fascinations of Eastern life. 11 may be the climate, with its sunny elly and the quickening air of the 'desert, or possibly stagnation tof existence which deludes them. It cannot be the effort of thinkingor of feeling that awakens pleasing impressions, for there re nothing here that does not clash with every senti- ment, habit and custom of intellectual life. " t3ooiety is the isolation of a prison, though the captives, are eurrounded by numbers ofe people. The philosopher residing in the East is forced to meditate bitterly -upon the waste of humanity around him. Only an anohorite whose religious duty consists in counting bee& could be charmed with suoh monotony and silence. The man of energy and • thought would think it &cruel puniehment to be forced to undergo the ordeal of intellectual stagna- tion amid a people Whobe ignorance and indolence fill -their minds with egotism, obstinacy and self-importance. It is a common thing for ,Egyptians win have been educated by order of the Governmen in the best 'colleges in Europe to come back to Eastern life and immediately throw Away their beaks, abandon intercourse° with intelligent foreigners, shut themselves in a harem .eariong ignorant' women and there end their existence. This is probably what they mean when' they say that 'in , thole education of mind they do not neglect the heart.' ' An Ettetern man will eit for hours inhalingthe perfume of a sweet .flower and enjoying the music of a fountain (murmur- ing at the time a chapter in the Koran, without Mopping to understand its mean- ing) and the beautiful objaots of nature which Allah has spread before him. He enjoys to.day, but never thinks of preierv. ing objects.' which please hina in sculpture Or painting, however clear to him, for the sake of the &mare they might give in the future. This their writers call a life rich in eensations."- Gen. Loring'd " Confederate Soldier in, 'Egypt!' Treatment tor SlinStrOliq! 4 A physician in the Chambers Street Hos- pital, New York, showed a reporter the other day how thee treat sunstrokes there. Leading the way to a bath -room in the basement-anelpoiriting to a man about 30 years of age, who lay naked in . the bath. with an iosomp on his head and a sheet over his lege, the dootor continued : " This -is an unknown man from the Church Street .Polioe •Station, -and the first regular case of sunstroke we have had this year." The man lay on his back, breathing; stentoriously, -with the tough° pulled forward to prevent choking, while an attendant played water all over him with a powerful sprinkler. " He fell (limn at fifteen minutes to 12 this morning, and we had, •him under treatment in twenty-two minutes. No two oases of sunstroke are exactly alike, and tho. treatment depends upon the symptoms. • Speaking generally, I may so that if the pulse is full and strong, with very high temperature, we &fit bleed the patient 2. from the arm. Although this man's temperature was 109,0 when he was brought in, which indicates an internal tenaperature of 110 0 , we did not bleed him, and he did not need if, but applied the ice cap to his bead and douched him continu- ouely with Croton water. After one and it half hour's treatment the patient's pulse stood at 103 0 As soon as the pulse is reduced to 98e-0 , the normal temperature, ewe lift him from the bath and lay him in a cool place, and if he is going to recover he will soon begin to do so. Moat - of the oases are only from heat exhituetion, in which lame we treat them with the ice cap, and perhaps ajittle bromide of potassium. It is not necessary to be in the sun 10get sunstroke. It is really is heat stroke. My experience, though, shows that long and ahort, stout and thin, are all liable to get it, but undoubtedly drinking strong drinks increases the danger." FINGER NAIESA 01.1.101111144 1111.0" kaiingleinTltutretrairea: thane Moobjeat. " Young man, let inc see your finge nail ti," rt quested an odd-looking individua of a reporter. "Emma we, sir," replied the reporter, glatleing with some eurprise at the stranger who had so abruptly disturbed his medita- tions. "I believe they home no peouliari. • ties paid thilt I am competent to run them." eTriee,00'responded the first apeaker," but 1 qneetion if you know how to Ina' them properly, 1 have made the care of the Au- ger nails a life study."t Atter a critical examination of the horny Etubetance that graces the extremitiee of the reporter's tapering fingere, 10 voluntemed the following: Our finger nails grow out about three times ayear. They ebould be trimmed with scissors once 'a week, leaving them long enough to proteot the ends of the fin- gers, as is designed by nature. If trimmed- - too close at the ocirneetethere is danger of their growing into the flesh, caneing run. aroma& and other dietressing abnormities. The • qUi04 of the finger is particularly sensitive, and will promptly resent any interference by throbbing, inflammation, eto., it disturbed from its natural growth; henoe great precaution should be observed in trimming the nails to avoid lagerating the quick. The secretion under the edde of the nails should not be removed by any- thing harder than a brush or a soft piece of wood, nor should the nails be ecraped with a. penknife, or anything metallic, as it destroys the delicacy of their 'drachm, and it Will give them an unnetural thichness. Most perfume are familiar with those annoy- ing bits of akin which loosen at the root of the finger nails • it is mused bytheir adher- ing to the nail; which, growing outward, drags the Ain along with it, stretching it, until eine end gives away. To prevent this the skin should be loosed from the nail once a week, not with arknife or scissors, but with something blunt, Buoh as the small end of it tooth brush or an ivory paper cutter. The best way to do this is to put the ends of the fingers in warm water for a tow moments, then push the skin back gently and slowly. The tiny white specks on the nails are made by scraping tho nail at the •;point where it rises from the skin. Biting off the finger nails is an odious practice. Adults who are given to this habit oan be broken off it by being reproved for its indulgence, and having pointed out to them -the bad effect it will have on the shape of their finger nails.- In the case of ohildren tho habit may be corrected by causing them to dip the endsof their fingers mayoral times a day in a bitter solution, ouch as wormwood. 11 -that is not effective . they should be obliged to wear a cap on eaoh finger . untie-tim—habit---is—overoome.— Brooklyn Union. nacrldeed-1114 Lite to nave a Oonapanion. The Pori Burwell correspondent of the Si. Themes Journal writes: A most heart- rending aeoident happened here last even.; Ing by whioh Mr. Thee. De Pley,,a young man of Tilsonburg, lot hie life while en- deavoring to save another from drowning in Ooter Creek. A number of young men had beenhere during the day fishing, and last evenieg one of the party, a young man by thee name of Taylor, from . Glenmire, while in a boat on the oreek„through some mieohance caused the boat to careen oviir, throwing him out. Being unable to swim, he was seen to be in a drowning condition, when De Ploy sprang into another boat which happened to be at hand, and gallantly went .to his assistance, and while endeavoring to pull him out of the creek drew his own boat under water, far enough so that it filled. Damming frightened at this stage he sprang from the boat and ,endeavored to get ashore, but, being unable to,ewina, Bank, and was seen but once afterward for an in- stant until hie bedy was taken out Mine three-quarters of an hour after he Bunk. Notwithstanding vigorous efforts Were Made by willing hands, it was found that life was extinct. Young Taylor clung to the boat after De May jumped and reached the shore in eafety. The coroner has been notified, hut has not yet arrived. The village is in a state of exoitementrover the sad affair. De ?ley was a single man, and leaves it brother, two sisters and it widowed mether. he laziest man ig on a Western paper, He Valle photograph " 4tograph." There have been only three worse than he. Ono lived out in llamas, and dated his letters liworth," another spelt Tennessee " 10etl," and the other Wrote Wyandotte Genius is Supposed to be it power of pro, awing excellencies which are out of the reiteh of art, it power which no precepts oan teeth and which no industry Can acquire.—Sir J °Mud .Ileynolds. • Gems ot English Prose. Tetnper ie sogood a thing that We ehould never 1050 10. .• • e The more we help others to leer their burdens, the lighter our own will be. 10 18 as great a point of wisdom' to hide ignorance as to discover knowledge. A Mel3 of the world may have enough of the world to sink him; but he can never have enough to satiefyhina. It is not work that kills men, it is worry. It le not the revolution that. destroys the machinery, bnt the friction. • It is more important lo discover a new Boutee of happiness en earth than a new planet in the shy.. • • Happiness is a fruit Whioh, if it grows not at our own homes, we need not expeot to gather in strangers' gardens. • The (Neel of all ambition should be to be happy at honae. If we are dote happy there we certainly cannot be happy else- where. •It is the beet proof pf the virtues of a family circle to see a happy fireside. We should take it prudent care tor the future, but so as to enjoy the present. It is no part of wisdom to be miserable to, day, beeause we may happen to be so to- morrow.' • ' A single enow.flake—who cares for it ? But it whole day of snow-flakee, obliterating • the laudmarks, drifting over tbe doors, gathering on the mouutain to crash in avalanches—who does not care for that? Private opinion is weak, but 'publics opinion is almost omnipotent. ' The Commons nasher." •One of the most 'Angular figures in the 'House of Lords is Lord Henry Lennox, Who was announced for some time in the sooiety •journele as affianced to Moe -Hicks Lord, ' and who has • recently married another • very wealthy widow. He hae been known as the Spider froth- as far baok as 1852, • when he was , private secretary to Disraeli on his first assumption of office, and acted as his cup bearer, supplying him with draughts of port wine to sustain him in his memorable speech in defence of his first budget. The Spider combines the itge of 63 with the vivacity, not to eay the vanity, • of 20. He reoeAle Mr. Dotril3ey's noble relative, Cousin Feenix ; he aloe moans Lord Yerisopht, and maker' a distinct ouggestion • of Dunclreary. His patent leather boots are the nattiest in the House; his clothes .are of.the out of the most accomplished masher •, his hadr,which ie of a lovely brown —what there is of it—is parted down Ales middle; his manners have the repose becoming the Deveees and people of that clam. In short, Lord Henry is at all times and under all oiroumetances an interesting objeoleapd an instructive study, deeerving the observatien of American vieitorteto the House: • Snake Worship in India. • As I walked on, men and women seemed to be frantic in the same degree that I led witneseed when they were pressing to the tetaple of Kali, at lialighat, only there was something more ominous in the faces of the people. They did riot clamor for "back - shush." , They all seemed to be pressing to it mall, gray, evidently =dent temple in the distance. Thither 1 f ollowed., To my surmise I found no obstetric to to pen°. trating as near as I wished to the altar of this temple. The image there stood alone —a huge lave•headed serpent., This mon- etre= cobra in atone, blackened by time, wail the Bele deity of the temple near Da- herwanga. A crowd, mainly women, was prostrate before this weird form. I0 was the first time I had seen serpent worship pure and simple. There was it horrible splash of blood on the pavemenr 'a front of •the entrance, What poor =Anal it wag that had there shed its blood as an offering to the Old Serpent I know not, but I know that there the human hearts had shed its pity and reason emik lomat than the brute it sacriiioed.—II. E. Conway in Philadelphia Times. Ace:lording to the Pharmaceutical Record, a New York patent medicine mamifao- tutor, being about to die, Wag asked by his friends hew he would like to be buried. Imert me," he said faintly, "at lop of oolianin, next to rea,diog matter, 52 times, eleotro by mail," Then he quietly expired. Mr. Samos Arthur, of Barshaw, intends to build it model ledging -house in Paisley, and present it as a gift to the town.