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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Advocate, 1887-08-11, Page 2,siro IurI. poetic veil over -the escape of ,Slippery Peee.lee negariele.o Plileeee./ Dace there was a, boodler :lYhollieught he'd like to "ingest:, So h toid the Stateli attorney ' lid talked to others a good deal; Fut 'all he .ey-O told them They already hneW :shoat, For Doodler will fool yo; If ‘" 'Yoe Don't Wen* 010. And one eay he told the sheriff That belonged to take 'a wash,. And in his own home bath -tub Have a good old-fashioned plash. But when the aheriTsback Was tallied. He up and hooked it -out, For a bocaller wfllfeel ye If You Don't - Wet* Qut. Then the sheriff raised the neighborS, And Booked bim tip and down, In the barn, in tuba and boxes, And everywhere in town. 'But they couldn't find his shadow, Nor the hole that he went out, Por a, boodler loola ye mighty bad When You DOn't Watch Ont. but there's a dozen other boodlers Looking pale and far front gay, 'That come into court and sit there Nice and regular every day. But when the trial's nearer done A.nd conviction seems snore sure, They maytake to looking fondly At the open court -room door. And some day they'll turn up missing, They could do it, never doubt, For the boodler's mighty alippery When You Don't Watch Out, Nothin' to Say. Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothire at allato ay — Girls sthat's in Jove, I've noticed, ginerly has their way Yer mother did, afore you, when her folks ob- jected to me— Tit here I am, and here you. air 1 and per mother --where is she? .You took lots like your mother; purty ranch same in size; And about the same complected; and favor about the eyes. Like ber, too, about livin' here, because she couldn't stay; It'll 'most seem like you was dead like her I—but hain't got nothutto say! She lieft you her little Bible—writ per name aorost the page— And she left her ear -bobs ter you, et ever you come of age. I've allus kep"em and gyaurded 'cm, but it yer gout. away— tfothin4 to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say t You don't rikollect her, I reckon? No; you wean' t a year old then I And now yer—how old air you? Why, child, not "twenty!" When? And ger nex' birthday's in Aprile ? and you want to git married that day? . . I wisht yer mother was livin' 1—but —1 hain't got nothin' to say! Twenty yeart and as good a gyrl as parent ever found I There's a [draw ketched onto yer dross there— I'll brash it off—turn round. (ler mother was jest twenty when us two run away!) liothin' to say, my daughter 1 Nature at au to say; —.Tames Whitcomb Outside the Garden Gate. kwo little forms out side the gate', Who hour by hour in patience wait; Four wistful eyes 8.5 bright as stare Peeping with wonder through the bars; Four little bands that long to hold Bright dowers, or apples red and gold; Two shrill young voices that would say, '"Give us some flowers or fruit to -day!" Only—what little tongue could dare .Ask such a boon from lady fair? She comesl and down the velvet walk Moves gently, and with silver talk Beguiles the time; her comrades glide In pleasant converse by her side. They do not see the eager eyes Who watch them with glad surprise. To rustic judgment, they must seem Like white -robed angels in a dream. So fair, so graceful, and so blest In such sweet garden bowers to rest, And no doubt plucking many a, gem Which seem; so far away from them! Alas 1 how oft our mortal fate Keeps us outside the garden gate Almost we feel we might be there, Wandering amid those scenes so lair; Almost our Angers seem to clasp Bright dowers, that still elude our grasp; Some adverse fortune seems to say, "'Tis not for thee, so, go thy vrayl" —Chambers' 'mums/. SIR HUGH'S LOVES She wanted to feel his arms round her, and sob out all her strangeness; and now an ogre in the shape of the grey-haired butler had shut her up in a great, brilliantly- -lighted room, where the tiny, white woman saw herself reflected in the long mirrors. Fay, standing dejected and pale in the .centre of the room, felt like Beauty in the _Beast's palace, and was dreaming out the story in her old ehildish way, when the door was flung suddenly open, and the prince, in the person of Sir Hugh, made bis appearance. She ran towards him'Svith a little cry; but Something in his look checked her, and she etood hesitating &nil coloring ashe came up to her and offered his arm. "Ellerton has announced dinner," he said, quietly '• "draw your Scarf round youfor the Hall is cold. Yon look very nice, dear," he e,ontinned, kindly, looking at the dainty little bit of loveliness beside him with critically apprbving eyes ; you should always weer white in the evening, Faye" and then, at they entered the dining -retina, he placed her M the head of the table; Poor child, it seemed all very solemn and etstely, with Ellerton and two other foot. lawn to wait on them; to be devided from her husband by silver epergnes and choke sfloWers, td have to peep between the ferne .and floivers for a tight of the golden.hrown beatd. No wonder her little talk died limey, and she stet:meted in her replies and then blushed and felt diecoroposed. She thought she Was playing her part very tiwkWardly, and Was &Aimed of herself for Hugh's eake, never drestning (ht the very servants who Waited on her were wondering sit the radiant yeung oreatute. Everething COMB te an end in thie Weed, and so aid this ordeal ; for after what seethed to her endlessOutset', the door toted on the retiring detvants, and she erid. her htisbend were left alone together ; tied When Sir //ugh woke up from a brief ransieg fit he found Vity at his end bf the table watthing " Why 1 whit • brings you nem Wee With) ?" he &AO, endling ; "have you she surprised hire by making a Per19° finished Yelir granes—ern 1 keeping you little hiciteeS, and never seemned too snY t waiting ?" glint in her pretty. illeacet Ineliner to hi " Oh 1 I are in ..sshurrY." returiledi finest°. Ali Sir glighla nieeeeliee friond a lay was very grateful to them ger their tkhinedonwesue,abiulin, Ple ilia 4 hundred scourges ef amuoe, t iiked hekt to be aiene ment ; she woele follow Mrs.Hermit from room to room, listening to ,.her stories of many a dead Redmond; ccie, he; te show the old treasures of tapestry and le; or she would wander through the gardens said woode Viith her favoriteNero arid Sir Hughes noble $t. Bereard, Pierre. She made actreintence with every xnan, woman und child about the place, end all the animals besides ; when the spring came she knew all the calves and lambs by name, all the broods of chickens ene cluckliegs ; she visited the stables and the poultry yards till every helper and bey about the premises knew her bright face well, and were ready to vow that a sweeter-spolten creature never lived than the young Lady Redmond. And she would prettle to Hugh MI through the long dinner, beguiling him by her quaint bright stories; and when he went into the library—she never could coax him after that first evening into her" bluni e nestle "—she would follow Joand sit her. self at hie feet with her work or hook, perfectly content if he sometimes stroked her hair, or with a sudden feeling of com. panction stooped over her and kissed her brow, for he was alweys very gentle with her, and Fay adored him from the depths of her innocent heart, CHAPTER XIII. gall:illy. 4 I ens ring te enjoy grepee fell In ieve with her, et the ether end of the sna mule Xatleil of her. nd the 'iediee petted here ; it is ee dui table ; end she 40.4 merrily to him, while Thigh _drank his oeffee, and then Mixed him up into the Wee nestle." Hugh took either thanks very graciously. Ile was nieeeed that her innocent taste should be gratified ; he never imagined for a reoznent that slam thought be had chosen all the pretty nick-nacks round them. Ile hed said everything euitable to a lady's boudoir was to be provided, and the people had done it very well, He had given them eerie blanche, and it wite certainly very pretty little room ; and then he watched Fay presiding over her tea -table, and listened placidly to her ecstasy over the lovely old china cups, and the dear little antiquated silver cream jug, and the tiny apoons ; and for a little while her bright. ness infected him. Butpresently, when she came and nestled against hius una told him how happy she was, and how dearly the meant to love her new home, the old look of pain came back on his face; and telling her diet he knew his Wee Wifie was Credal:4 must go to bed, hekissed her twice, and then putting her hurriedly frorn him, went dewnstairs. And when he got into his library and saw the lomP lighted, and the fire burning brightly, he gave a sigh of relief at finding himself alone, and threw hineself down in his easy -chair. And that night, long after Fay had prayed that she might be worthy of Hugh's love, and make him happy, and heid fallen asleep in the old oak bed with a child's utter weariness, did' Hugh sit with his aching head buried on his arms, thinking how he should bear it, and what be would do with his life 1 ' And so the home life began, which was far more tolerable to Sir Hugh than his continental wanderings had been; when he rode over his estate and Fay's—the Wyngate lands adjoining,from morning until late afternoon, planning, building, re- storing, or went into Pierrepoint on Inagia- terial business; happy if at night he wits so weary with exercise that rest was splessure and hie little wife's resnipulatioris sweet. All the surrounding gentry for miles round came to call at the Hall, and were loud in their praises of the sweet-faced bride; but the Ferrero were not among them—all those winter montha Sir Hugh never saw Margaret. No, though the Grange and the Hall were but two miles apart, they never met; though many a time Sir Hugh had to turn his horse into some miry lane, or across some ploughed field, to escape her as she went to and fro among the way. side cottages. Neither did they meet at the various entertainments—dinner parties and dances that were given in honor of the bride. That winter Margaret declined all invitations; her brother needed her—and she had never cared much for gaiety—this was her only excuse, But Sir Hugh knew why he never met her—ber high sense of honorkept them apart—neither of them had lived down their pain; in the future it might be pos- sible for her to be his friend, and the friend °this wile; but now it could hardly be; and yet Margaret was longing, craving intensely to see the lovely young creature of whom every one was speaking, and whom already she loved by report. Strange to say, no one spoke about the Ferrers to Fay; people were too well ac- quainted with the story of Sir Hugh's engagement to Margaret to venture on a hint. Once Fay asked a lady with whom she was driving, who lived in that quaint old house on the Sandydiffe road? and was told briefly that the blind vicar, Mr. Ferrers, lived there with his sister. Fay would have put some more questions, but Mrs. Sinclair turned the subject rather quickly; but Fay recurred to it that even- ing. "Why have not the Ferrers called on us, Hugh ?' she asked, suddenly, when she was keeping him company in the library. wrinkled eyebrows and huddle -up figure, Sir Hugh started, and then jumped up like a little old witch in a fairy tale. to replenish the fire. "1 am that tired," observed the child, " Who told you about them ?" he asked, apparently apostrophising the kettle, "that not all the monkeys in the Zoological Gardens could make me laugh • no, not if they had the old father baboon at their head. I wish I were a jaguar 1" "Why, Fluff ?" exclaimed a pleasant voice from the rocking -chair. "Why, Fluff ?" " I wish I were a jaguar," repeated the child, defiantly " not a bison, because of its hunaps, nor &camel either. Why, those great spotted cats had their balls to amuse them, and polished ivory bones as well; and the brown bear climbed his pole, and ate buns; no one's mother left in the dark before the fire, with no one to tell its tale% end only a kettle to talk to & person ;" and Fluff curled herself up on her stool with an affronted air. The elder girl made no answer, but only stooped down anti smilingly lifted the child and kitten en her lap—she Wag very light for her ages—whereupon Pluff left off sigh- ing, and rubbed her curly bead against her sister's shoulder with a contented air. THAT 110011 or BM. WATKINS'. Soft hair on which light drops a diadem. • GERALD Mass= With hands so flower-like, soft and fair, She canght at life with words as sweet As first spring violets, No, it was not a bad room, that room of Mrs. Watkins', seen just now in theNovem. ber dusk, with its bright fire and neat hearth, with the kettle gossiping deliciously to itself ; there was at once something com. forteble and home -like &limit it ; especially as the red curtains Wera drawn across the two windows that looked down inks High street, and the great carts that had been rumbling underneath them since daybreak had given place te the jolting of lighter vehicles which wised and rapeseed at intervals. The room was large, though a little low, and was plainly but comfortably furnished; an old-fashioned crimson couch stood in one corner; Boum stained bookshelves con- tained a few well -bound books; and one or two simple engravings in cheap frames adorned the wall. In spite ef the simplicity of the whole there were evidences of refined taste—there were growing, ferne in tall baskets; some red leaves'. aiid auturnn berries arranged in old china vases; a beautiful head of Clyte, though it was only in plaster of Paris, on the mantelpiece. The pretty tea service on the round table was only white china, hand -painted; and some more red leaves with dark chry- santhemums were tastefully arranged in a low wicker basket in the centre. One glance would have convinced even a stranger that this room was inhabited by people of cultured taste and small means ; and it was clo pleasant, so home -like, eo warm with ruddy firelight, that grander rooms would have looked comfortless in comparison. There were only two people on this November evening—a girl lying back in a rocking -chair, with her eyes fixed thoughtfully on the dancing fisrnea, and a child of 10, though looking two or three years younger, sitting on a stool before the fire, with a black kitten asleep on her lap, and her arms clasped around her knew,. An odd, weird sort of child; with a head running over with little dark curls, and large wondering eyes—not an ordinary child, and certainly not a pretty one, and looking, at the present moment, with her as he tried to break a refractory coal. "Mrs. Sinclair. I was driving with her this afternoon, and I asked her who lived in that red brick house with the curious garbles, on the Sandycliffe road, and she said itsvas the blind vicar, Mr. Ferrers, and his sister; don't you like them, Hugh? every one else has called, and it seems rather strange that they should take no notice." " Well, you see, it is &little awkward," returned her husband, still wrestling with the coal, while Fay watched the process with interest "they used to be friends of mine, but we have had a misunderstanding, and now, of course, there is a coolness." "Ansi they are nice people." "Very nice people; he is a very clever nnext, but we do not agree—that is ell ;" and then Hugh disposed of the coal and took up his paper, and Fay did not like to disturb him with any more questions. It seemed a great pity, She thought, it was such a lovely house: and if Mr. Ferrets were a nice clever man—and then she The asters were certainly very unlike, wondered what his sister was like ; and as being very email and dark, while Fern she sat at Hugh's feet basking the fire- was tall and fair; without being exactly light She had no idea that Huglee forehead gifted with her rnother'a beauty, she had a was clouded and puckered with pain. Fay's charming face, soft grey eyes, and hair of innocent queatione had raised a storm an that golden -brown that one sees so often his breast. Would she speak of them in English girls. again? was there any danger thatpeople There were few people whb did not think would gossip to her? one day he might be Fern Tafford decidedly pretty; her features obliged to tell her himself, but not now, were not exactly regular, but her coloring she seemed so happy, so perfectly eon- WOO lovely, and there was 8. joyousneee and tented, and she was such a child. Yee, ilughis Wee Wifie was very happy. brightness about her that attraeted old and young ; evety one loved Fern, and At first, to be sure, her position was little difficult and irktonie. The number spoke well Of her, she was so simple, so un - of servants 'bewildered her; she Wished selfish:,1—HO altogether charming, at they Mrs. Heron would not Interlard her con. ""'d• Fern never csoMplained of the nerrow- versation with so many iny ladys," and , that Hugh would ride withnoes of her lifenever fretted because their , her oftener poverty excluded her from the pleseures instead of that titesome groord. girls of het age generally enjoyed. From But by and by she got tried to her her childhood she had known no other rite. dignity, and would dtive her gtey ponies where were times- wheie she reinernbered thrOugla the country reeds, stopping to — thet she too gone t� bed hungry, times wspeiadkatmootnitonidonynilileareiss°11:ththeeewhLerr stee when her mother's tate IOW pnehed and miserable—when her father was dying, thought Hugh Would he returning from Pierrepoint, and gallop throuand they thought Baby Florence Would die to the lanes too. Somehew Vern never cared to think to meet him tina reign tap at 11111 tide, start- Of those, days. ling him from his abstraction With that ringinlaugh of hersFern was devoted to her mother, she g , Clove to het with innocent love andleyolty. She was teldoni idle, and never dull. Percy's- defection had been the bitterest 'When Sir Hugh Woifld have shooting trouble of her -life. The girl nearly broke patties, she stwo_ye coned the luncheon ,to het heart when Percy left them. She grew the sportsmen, driving throrigh the wood in her pony.carrlsge When er hipband thin and pale and large -eyed, kris giati will ' 1, h began to retutri his neighboe'll heSpito1ity0 .471hel thq erefrettingansi grewing at thel SOWS able. Nees Motherly heart waS touched with epespessien for her ohiid, Sho VABY04/ if Pfiaiblie;#0 stiffer einne 0 it were in her Power ho would Pftwent the fairiteet shadow touching that bright young lite. So she SPoko to her in her ealtnt sensibbe way, for NO* was always gentle with her children ap.4 Vern woe very dear to her—, she had iter father's+ eyeet and Maurieele Plire upright native Seereed Arsnernitted to his young daughter, e Fere," she said, elle evening when they were sitting together in the twilight, " you must not add to my burthens ; it makes me still mom unhappy to see you fretting; I miss my little daughter's brightness that used to bo Pooh acousfort to Inc." " Ani I a comfort to you, mother ?" asked Fern, wistfully, and something in those earnest grey eyes thrilled thewidow's heart with freah pangs of 'memory. " You are my one bit of sunshine," ohe answered, fondly, taking the girl's face between her hands and kissing it almost passionately, "Keep bright for your poor mother's B010, Fern." Fern newt forgot this little speech. She underotood, then, that her mission was to be her mother's comforter; and with the utmost sweetness andunselfishness she ptit aside her own longings for her brother, and Aviv(' to make up for his loss. So Fern bloomed in her poor home like B01110 lovely flower in a cottage garden, growing up to womenhood in those rooms over Mre. Watkins'. Fern had long canoe finished ber educa- tion, and now gave morning lessons to the vicar's little daughters, In her leisure hours she made her sinsple gowns and Fluff's /rooks, and taught the child the little she could be pursuaded to learn, for Fluff was a spoilt thild and very backward for her age; and one or two people, Mrs. Watkins among them, had given it as their opinion that little Florence was net all there, rather odd and uncanny in fact. Fern was quite contented in her life. She was fond of teaching and very fond of her little pupils. Her pleasures were few and simple; a walk. with Crystal or Fluff to look at the chops, perhaps an omnibus journey and an hour or two's ramble in the Parkof Kensington Garden, a cosy that with her another an the evenings, some- times, oil grand occasions, a shilling seat at the Monday or Saturday Popular. Fern loved pretty things, but she seemed quite eatisfied to look at them through plate glass; a new dress, a few flowers, or a new book were events in her life. She would sing over her work as she at sewing by the window; the gay young voice made people look up, but they seldom caught a glimpse of the golden -brown lawn/behind the tandem. Fern had her dreams, like other. girls; sometimes, she hardly knew what would happen to her mama day. There was always a prince in the fairy stories that she told Fluff, but she never described him. "What is he like ?" Fluff would ask with childish impatience, but Fern would only blush and smile, and say she did not know. If, sometimes, a handsome boyish face, not dark like Percy, but with fair, budding moustache and laughing eyes, seemed to rise out of the mist and look at her with odd wistfulness, Fern never spoke of it; a sort of golden haze pervaded it. Some- times those eyes were eloquent, and seemed appealing to her; a strange meaning per- vaded the silence; in that poor room blossomed all sorts of sweet fancies and wonderful dreams as Fern's needle flew through the stuff. As Fluff rubbed her rough head confid- ingly against her shoulder, Fern gave musical little laugh that was delicious to hear. Yon absurd child," she said, in an amused tone, " I really must tell Mr. Erie not to take you again tp the Zoological Gardens; you talk of nothing but bears and jaguars. So you want a story, you are positively insatiable, Fluff; how am I to think of one with my wits all wool-gather- ing and gone &wandering like Bopeep's sheep? It mi must be an old one. Which s it to be? The Chodate House,' or 'Prin- cess Dove and the Palace of the Hundred Boys." "Humph," returned Fluff, musingly; "well, I hardly know. The Chocolate House ' is verynice, with its pathway paved with white and pink sugar plums, and its barley -sugar chairs; and don't you remem- ber that whesn Hans was hungry he broke a little brown bit off the roof; but after all, I think I like 'Princess Dove andthePalace of the Hundred Boys' best. Let us go on where you left off.' "Where we left off 2" repeated Fern in her clear voice. '4 Yes, I recollect. Well, when Prince Happy -Thought--" " Merrydew," corrected the child. Ah—true—well, when it came toPrince Merrydeves turn to throw the golden ball, it went right over the 1110012 and came down the other side, so Princess Dove prodarned hina victor, and gave him the sapphire crown; and the hundred boys—and—where was I, Fluff ?" "In the emerald meadow,where the ruby flowers grew," returned Fluff. "Go on, Fer'nEio" Princese Dove,, put on the crown, and it was ea heavy that poor Prince Merrydew's head began te ache, and the wicket oId fairy Do-nothing, who was look- ing on, hobbled on her golden crutches to the turquoise pavilion, and—hush hear footsteps. Jump off my lap, Fluffy, deer, and let me light the candles." And she had scarcely done so before there Was a quick tap at the door, and the next monsent two young men entered the room. Fluff ran to them at once with a pleased exclamation. Why, it is Petoy ancl Mr. Erle; oh dear, how glad I em." "How do you do, Toddlekins," observed her brother, stooping to kiss the ehild'd cheek, and patting her kindly on the head ; "how are you, you dark -eyed witch," but as he spoke, hit eyes glanced anxiously round the room. '4 We never expected to see you to -night, Pere', dear," observed Porn, as the greeted him affectionately, and then gave her hand With a slight blush to the young man who Was following hitn "Mother will be so sorry to rniee you ; she was obliged to ge Out again. One Of the girlsat Miss Aladin- gale's fe 111, and Mho" Theresa seems fidgety about her, so nother Bald she wottld sit with the invalid for an hour ot twO." " stippbse Mil's bavenport is outtoo walking to the fireplace to warm his kende. 4' Yes, deat t therm is a thildren's potty at the 'Orions' ; it it little Nora's birtk. day, area nothing woilld satisfy the child until Crystal 'itemised to go and play with thein. It Is only an early affair, atici the wilitbees btosrekbeiro.0,14.. Po Fluff 44a I aro wait- ing You leek Very snug here, Mise Teel - ford," observed the other young man, whom Fluff bad _called Mr. Erle. By Wit CCM" fitkatni 14114C's ,-h;eritnwe Wonisi ilearly entievee4r t- utteredp4 i tor „Mrs. Trafford to hear him addressed all Mr. Huntingdon. The young men were complete contresto to each other. Percy Trafford was tall and slight, he had his mother'e flue profile end regular lantana, and wase singularly hand- l:70e illY9toluntgh7ah4sr;dhl 4Y13 htiti7dewn9ublYd 1107: almost perfect, except for the weak, Irmo- moustathe and a somewhat heavily reoulded chin that expressed eullennese and perhaps ill -governed passions. The bright -faced boy, Nea's first-born and darling, had sadly deteriorated during the years that he had lived under his grend- lather's roof. His selfishness had taken deeper root; he had become idle and self- indulgent ; his one thought was how to amuse himself best. In his heart be had no love for the old man, who had given him the shelter of his roof, and loaded him with lsindnese' but all the same he was secretly jealous ofhis Cilusin Erie, who, as he told himself bittedy, had supplanted bin'. l'eroy's conscience reproached him at times for his desertion of his widowed mother. He knew that it was a shabby thing for him to be living in luxury, while she worked for her daily bread'but after all, he thought it was niore her fault then his. She would have none of his gifts; she would not bend her proud spirit to seek a reconciliation with her father, thoughPeroy felt sure that the old man had long ago re- pented hieharshness; and yet, when he bed hinted this to his mother,. she had abso- lutely refused to listen to him. " It is too late, Percy. I have no father now," she had returned in her firm sad voice, her face had looked marble as she Percy was rather in awe of hie grand- father. Mr. Huntingdon had grownharder and more tryannical as the years passed on. Neither of the young men ventured to oppose his iron will. He was fond of his grandson, proud of his good looks and aristocratic air, and not disposed to quarrel with him because he was a little wild. "Young men would be young men," was a favorite saying of his; he had used it before in the case of Lord Ronald Gower. But his nephew Erie was really dearer to the old man's heart. But then every one liked Erle Huntingdon'he was so sweet - tempered and full of life, so honest and frank, and so thoroughly unselfish. He was somewhat short, at least beside Percy, and his pleasant boyish face,had no claims to good looks. He had the ruddy youthful air of a young David, and there was something of an innocence of the sheep -fold about him. All women liked Erle Huntingdon. He was so gentle and chivalrous in his inanner to them ; he never seemed to think of him- self when he was talking to them; and his bonhomie and gay good humor made him a charming companion. Erle never understood himself how °tires - sing his manners could be at times. He liked all women, old and young, but only one had really touched his heart. It was strange, then, that more than one hoped. that she had found favor in hiseyes. Erie's sunshiny nature made him a universal favorite, but it may be doubted whether any of his friends really read him correotly. Now and then an older man told him he wanted ballast, and warned him not to carry that easy good nature too far or it might lead him into mischief; but the spoilt child of fortune only shook his head with a laugh. But in reality Erie Huntingdon's/charac- ter wantedblsokbone ; his will, not a strong one, was likely to be dominated by a stronger. With all his pleasantness and natural good qualities he was vacillating and weak; if any pressure or difficulty should come into hie, life, it would be likely for him to be weighed in the balance and found wanting. At present his life had been smooth and uneventful; he had yet to taste thehollow. nese of human happiness, to learn that the highest sort of life is not merely to be cradled in luxury and to fare sumptuously every day. The simple and fine linen are good enough in their wsy, and the myrrh and the aloes and the cassia, but what does the wise man say—" Rejoice, 0 young num, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes; but know thou, that for allthese things God will bring thee into judgment . . . for childhood and youth are vanity." Erle knew that a new interest had lately come into his life; that a certain shabby room, that was yet more home -like to him than any room in Balgrave House, was always before his ayes: that a girl in 6 brown dress, with sweet wistful eyes, was never absent from his memory. Neither Fern nor he owned the truth to themselves; they were ignorant as yet that they were commencing the first chapter of their life -idyll. Vern had a vague S8/180 that the room was brighter when Ede was there looking at het with those kindly glances. She never owned to herself that he was her prince, and that she had found favor in hie eyes. She Wile far too humble for that ; but she knew the days were some- how glorified and transfigured when she had seen him, and Brie knew that no face was so lovely to him as this girl's face, no Voice' half so sWeet in his ears, and yet people were beginning to connect his name 'with Mies Selby, Lady Maltravers' beauti- ful niece. He was thinking of Miss Selby now as he looked across at Vern. She had taken np her work again, and Peroy, had thrown hirneelf into the rookieg.chair beside her with a discontented expression on his face. He Was telling himself that Mies i3elby was heaulsenie, of mine strikingly handsome; but somehow she lacked this girl's sweet graciousness. Just then Path ridged her eyes, end a quick sensitive color came into her face as she encoentered his fixed glance. do you know, Miss Trafford," he said (ink*, te put her at her ease, " I have pronlised to speed (Thrietinas with my couelni. Sir Hugh RednXond. I am rather melons to see his tvife, sap' she it rather a pretty girl." "X at not know Sir Hugh Itedthend wasybut oousin," rettirned Fern, 'without raising het eyes from ber Work, (To be continued.) t