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STJRVEYING,
A WOMAN'S STORY.
•CHAPTER XIIL—Clormuunn.
Re Was decidedly handsorrie,and he had a
thrtain style -which le attractive amongst
a certain lass thougb it ie the very oppot
site of good style. Be was in evening
these, but there was a careleseness about
hie coseume, and an odor of tobacco,
which hinted that his evening had not been
spent in very (meeting sooiety.
" Well," he said at !net, lookiug first at
Doloree and then at her mother, " if you
will not go in with me, and pull off a for-
tune, perhaps you will help me by a loan.
I have pledged, myself to take a hundred
hares at five hundred franca per share,
and have paid a deposit of twenty per cent.,
whioh will be forfeited if I don't take them
up, to say nothing of the discredit. Will
you tend me twenty thousand frames for
three months ?"
"My dear Leon, you talk a$ if we were
Rothschilds, my poor girl and I."
"1 talk with a perfect knowledge of
who and what you are'," replied Duverdier,
in a, cold, hard voice, and with a cruel
emphasis upon every word. "1 talk with
the knowledge that Dolores bag but to lift
up her finger in order to get any money she
vvants out of that old money -bag, Perez,
whom you and she only tolerate bemuse he
is a money -bag. She has only to say to
him, 'I have a caprice whick will cost me
twenty or thirty thousand francs'—a gown,
a horse, an orchid, what you will—for the
check to be written end the cash placed
at her disposal, to fling out of the window
11 she likes."
"Whet if he were to guess that the
caprice was another name for a lover's
necessity ?" asked Mme. Quijada.
"He will not guess. He is blind and
helpless whore Dolores is concerned."
"Well, he is not goiug to be foolee this
time. Iforbid my daughter to lend you ano th-
er louts. Youhave bled us enough already -
enough for a life -time. You belong to au
insatieble race -the race of gamblers. Race.
course,Monte Carlo or Bourse, itiso.11the
same thing. Call the vice by what name
you like, it means ruin !"
"And yet if it had not been for one
venture of mine you would never have
been able to make a new start in life at
Madrid as a woman of good family," said
Duverdier, white with anger. "You owe
me everything, and yet refuse to help me
in my need 1"
"You tad better forget that old debt, for
fear I should remember it too often," said
the elder woman.
There was something in her tone, some-
thing in her look, that silenced him for a
time and when he spoke next all the
insolence was gone from his epeech.
"For pity's sake, help me with a few
hundred lotus!" be said. "If you refuse
I am a lost man; and I know you have
something in an old stocking—more
thousands than I am asking hundreds.
You are too clever a woman not to provide
for the hazards of the future."
"11 I have pat away something for my
old age you can't suppose I shell destroy
that provision in order to save you from a
peril which would be renewed in less than
six montes. If things are desperate in Paris
you had better get out of Paris while you
can, and try your fortunes somewhere else.
I never thought this a good place of resi-
dence for you."
"You have made up your mind ?" he
asked, with sudden fierceness.
"Irrevocably."
"So be it. Good -night, Doloree."
He took- her in his arms before she was
aware, kissed her passionately and walked
to the door." ,
"What are you going to do ?"
"You willknow all aboutthat to-mceewee
he answered, end banged the_doese behind I
him to give emphes4.the'0ris words. Dolores
would leoserret-lerfout of the room in pur-
os—r-----
si et of him, but her mother stopped her on
the threshold.
"He means to kill himself!" cried the girl,
wildly.
"Not he, child! Of a thousand men who
make that kind of threat, only one ever
realizes it. He belongs to the nine hundred
and ninety-nine."
CHAPTER XIV.
DAISY'S DIARY AT LAMEORD.
Home is sweet even atter Italy, even
after the bright and busy street ot Paris,
with their flower -shops end milliners and
bonbons and prettiness of all kinds and the
Bois and the carriages, and die smart
people, and the music, tend the life and
movement everywhere, and above all the
opera andthe theatres. Faris was very nice.
I had no ides. I could enjoy any city so
much after Venice. I thought that en
chanting labyrinth of marble lying upon
the breast of the waves, would take the
color out of every other city in the world.
But Paris was nice, all the same, and I was
sorry to leave it. Home is sweet always. I
have been reading my German Plato this
morning under the willows that shade my
father's grave,in the old spot thatb as been my
sanctuary ever shale I began to read serious
books,and to try tounderstand the thoughts
of great writers. Plato is so comforting
after Sohopenhauer a.nd Harmann. Plato
is full of hope ; they are the preachers of
despair.
l Mother seems happy to be at home
1 again, in the old rooms, among the books
and pictures, and in the gardens she loves
so dearly. She has imported a small for-
tune in the shape of specithen conifers and
azaleas and peonies and roses from a fam-
ous nurseymen near Paris; and she is
happily employed in superintending the
Planting of her treasures. It is rather
late for planting, our head-gardner says in
his broad Scotch ; and he even went so
far as to give us a saying quoted by the
great Sir Walter himself : Plaunt a tree
before Candlemae, and ye may command
it to grow ; plaunt one after Candlemas,
and ye may joost entreat it to grow." But,
in spite of Sir Walteret proverb, we must
trust in Providence and in our good old
Macpherson's skill,
Uncle Ambrose retains the cottage in
which be has lived so long, and in which
Gyring childhood was spent. There is no
room in our house for his b000ks which
Ell every available Wall in the coetage, so
he keeps them on theirold shelves, and
uses his old study when he is working on
any eubjeot whirs+ requires much reference
to autherities. Re is writing it new book,
I believe, though he has not oonfeesed as
much to either mother or Me. He is very
reticent about hie literary Work, and
a -seined eternrised and almoet, geared by the
success of gm lase ;WA, and by thei trem-
endous amoent of eritioisin and argumen-
tation that; was expended upon it.
"I could not live without literary work,"
Ihe' told me once ; "hub I do not derive
much pleasure front the publioation of a
book. Critics are an aggravating race,
They. FAO meanings that I never meant; they
overlook the better 'tart of my work."
Be is the most oelf-ciontairted man. this
World ever saw, I believe, He takes no
delight in the things that, please other peo-
ple ; but he is the best and kindest friend
FRED W. FARNO
-
iliu at Land Surveyor, aid NC
Office, Upstairs, Samwell's Block, Exeter.Ont
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TIUJ EXETER TI1VIES
I have, and he adores mother; go what can
I want more in hira to make up perfeetion 2
•Cyril is his opposite in moat things—all
energy, teatime, light-heartedness, e ;tome.
times wielt he were a little less light.
hearted. One may weary of perpetual
sunshine. If I am ever in a sad and medi-
tative mood I have a feeling that, however
kind Cyril is, he can't understated me, He
seems miles and miles away from me—as
far as England from America,
He has been away at Oxford since we
came home visiting some of his college
friends. 01 course I miss him sadly, but
there is a kind of relief in being alone after
continual companionship. Had Cyril been
here I should not have been able to spend a
morning by my father's grave. He would
have wanted me to go for a ride or a walk,
or to row down to Henley. I fall back in-
to my old ways and my sad, quiet life
naturally while he is away, and if it were
not that we write to each other every day
I might abnost forget that we are engaged.
Uncle .Ambrose is not fond of River
Lawn. Be does not say as much, but I
know him too well not to find oub his real
feelings. Children have a way of watch-
ing faces; and I used to watch his fame
years ago to see when he was pleased or
displeased with me, so that I came to
know every line in his countenance, and
what every line means.
No, he is not fond of River Lawn. All
the things I love—the quaint old cottage
rooms that father and mother found here
before they were married, the low ceilings,
the bow -windows, the great oak beams,
and diamond panes, and leaden. lattices—
have no charm for Uncle Ambrose. Nor
yeb the handsome rooms that father built,
so studiously arranged for mother's com-
fort: drawing -room and dining -room
below, bed -room, dressing -room and bou-
doir above. Nothing could be more.
picturesque than the old rooms, or more
comfortable and luxurious than the new ;
and yet Uncle Ambrose does not like the
house. I can see it in his face. He seems
to bear a grudge toward the place
father loved and cared about. Is it
jealousy, I wonder? Surely a philosopher,
a man who has studied the desper mean-
ings and mysteries of life, present and fu-
eure,as Socrates studied them—surely such
a man could not feel so petty and limited
a feeling of jealousy—jealousy of my dear
dead father's love and forethought for my
mother; a jealousy so trivial as to set him
against the room and the furniture my
faller provided forhis wife.
No; I os,n not believe him capable of
such pettiness. He is a man of large
mind and far reaching thoughts, and to be
jealous about chairs and tables—impos-
ible 1
But the fact still remedns. Uncle Am-
brose does not like River Lawn. He is
full of his plans for the house in Grosvenor
Square. He has been to London with my
mother twice already, to hurry on the
work. He wants to install us there at the
beginning of June, so that we can enjoy
all the gaity of the season when the people
almost live out-of-cloore. Mother was
presented on her marriage and I am to be
presented by mother. She has already begun
to talk of my court gown all white, like a
bride's. Cyril suggestecithat it would be
an economy for us to marry while the gown
is fresh ; but I told hitn that the idea of
matrimony in relation to him had not yet
entered my head.
"It has entered other people's heads
though, my dear Lady Disdain," said
"1 suppose you know that a certain ite
of rooms in Grosvenor Square is e ing fit.
ted with a view to teurd4oi coupation ? "
" With Et 'edeaee—means any time with
. • s •
in the next ten years," I told him.
Upon this he began to be disagreeably
persistent, and declared that nobody had
ever contemplated a long engagement
which is utterly untrue, since mother sug,
gested that we should wait two years be.
fore we marry. We had plenty of money
he said, and what was there to prevent our
being married before the summer was
over1" great many things," said 1. "But
first and chief among them the fact that
we are both much too feather -headed to
take such an awful step as matrimony."
And then I reminded him how nice it is
to be engaged ; how much nicer for young
people like us, than to be'married and tied
to each other in a sort:of domestic bondage.
"Marriage is a capital institution for
middle-aged and elderly people," said I.
"Tho very best and brightest examples we
have of married people are Baucis and
Philemon, and Darby and Joan. Now you
would not expect me to feel like Baucis. '
" BECUOIS was young once," said he
"Yes, and then no doubt she was engage
ed to Philemon, and he used to serenad-
her as you did me that night ae Venice.
Oh, it was lovely 1 You couldn't have
serenaded your wife. You would have
been in -doors grumbling at her, more like-
ly.
"Daisy, you are talking nonsense," said
he sternly ; and no doubt he spoke he
truth.
"uh,I am only pleading for youth and
liberty—for the morning hour a of life," I
explained. "While you are my fiance you
can go where you like, do what you like,
and there is no one to find fault with you.
If I were your wife I might feel offended
at your going up to London so often, and
cotning home so late at night, and being a
member of so many clubs. If I were your
wife I might grumble at. your accepting
that invitation to Oxford for next
week ?"
"Tell me to withdraw my acceptance
and it is done," he cried in his impulsive
way. "I give you all the authority of a
wife in advance. 'Being your slave, why
can I do but wait—' "
"Don't quote thatemenet," Isaid. "Ever -
body does, Quote something fresh."
He did not notice this impertinence. He
was peeing up and down the rooto in a
state of excitement.
"Your mother did not think like you,
Daisy," he said. "She was only nicleteen
when she married
" Ah, but then she adored my father,"
said 1 Without thinking what I was sayitig.
He stopped his impetuous perambula-
tions and walked over to me witha terrible
countenance. He laid his hands upon my
shoulders- and looked me in the face.
"Margaret Hedrell," he mad, "do you
mean what your words linply 2"
" Do X mean that my mother yeas deeper.
a tely in love with my father? Of course I
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"And that you are not in love with
me 2"
"Not desperately in love. Oh, Cyril,
don't look at me like that. You have no
right to look so angry ; you have no rights
to look so shocked and distressed. Did
ever tell you that 1 adored you 2 Did I
ever pretend to be desperately in love?
Never, never, never! I am not romantic or
poetieal, ad my mother was at my age. I
have been taught differently. Your father
trained my intnd, and he did not make me
melodic.. It isn't in my nature to love any
one As mother loved my father—At least I
think not."
A strange faltering otopped me an X Hata
this, a ottriouse dine feeling that there were
hidden possibilities in my heart ; dreams
that I might have dreamed, feelings that
would have brought ray naiad nearer akin
to my mother's mind if fate hadbeen differ-
ent.
The look of absolute distress in his face
made me unhappy, and I tried to make amend
for my foolish, Inconsiderate speech.
"Why should you be shucked because I
am noeromantio ?" I asked. "I don't think
you, are a very romantic person, either.
We have known eaoh other all our ayes,
and we ought to be very happy together,
by and by. Is not that enough, Cyril ?"
"Not quite," heanswered, graver than I
had ever seen him until that moment ; "but
I suppose it is all I shall get, so I must be
satisfied."
* * * * * * *
Yesterday afternoon I Amused myself
with an exploration. It was a lovely after-
noon, almost summer-like, though we are
still in the time of tulips and hyacinths,
and the beeches have not yet unfolded their
tender young leaves. , Mother had gone to
London with her husband to look at the
drawing -rooms, which are receiving their
finishing touches at the hands of the de-
corators, and I had all the day to myself. I
spent the whole morning at my studies, work
ing upon a, synopsis el Duray's historyof the
Greeks, which Uncle Ambrose advised me to
write; firstly, to impress historioal facts
upon my mind; secondly, to oultivate style;
and thirdly, to acquire the power of arrang-
ing and condensing a subject with neatness
and facility. It is rather dry work, but I
like it, and I adore the Greeks. I have
been reading Ebers' Egyptian story be-
tween whiles, and I think that has helped
me to realize the atmosphere of that by-
gone age when Pieistratus was ruling at
Athens, and Crcesus was preaching plati-
tudes upon hia fallen fortunes at the Court
of Amasis.
I finished my work before lunch, which
is an absurd meal when mother is away—a
mere scramble with the dogs, who come in
to keep me company, and clear my plate
under my nose. Directly after lunoh I
took up my hat to go out,wherenpon Sappho
and Phaon, my darling Irish setters, went
mad, and nearly knocked me down in their
delighted anticipation of ,a ramble with
me.
We had explored every lane, copse, and
common within four miles of River Lawn,
so I wanted, if I possibly could, to give the
dogs a change; and I thought I would yen -
lure to peep in at Fountainhead, where the
shrubberies are full of prinu•oses ab this
season.
The Fountainhead gardener and our
under -gardener are great friends, and I
have often talked to him when he has been
in oui grounds. I know the old housekeeper
too so I ha,d no compunction in opening a
little gate in the shrubbery whioh gives on
to the narrow lane that divides our property
from Mr. Elorestan's. There is a grand
entrance on the Henley Road, and high
iron gates, and a rustic lodge with a thatch-
ed roof and the dearest old chimney -stack.
The gardener's family live in this lodge;
but the big „gate is epened only when Mr.
Florestan is at home, and. that is very seldom
He told me he meant to be oftener at
Fountainhead in future. He feels himself
growing too old for a roving life. 1 auppose
he must be at least ninceand-tweneygevegea
is certainlydold genereeeted eieeitih"Cyril and
1
envy nice it is to be young—to feel one's,
If quite young! and hoW sad it must be
when vethrinessved agee begin th creep over
one! I am miserable sometimes when I
think that mother will grow old before I do
—that I shall see the shadows stealing
over that dear and lovely face—the shadows
that foretell the end. Ohl that is the bane
of life, that is what makes We not worth
living—the knowledge that death is waiting
somewhere on that road we know not—the
gray, mysterious highway ol the future—
waiting for those we love.
* * * *
The old shrubberies looked lovely in the
afternoon sun, such a wild wealth of rhodo-
dendron and arbutus, and so many fine
conifers half buried among the spreading
branches, a tangle of loveliness, periwinkle
and St. John's wort straggling over every
bit of unoccupied ground. Phaon and
Sappho rushed about like mad things, im-
agining all sorts of impossible vermin, and
scratching and digging whenever they got
out of reach of my whip. That dog -whip of
mine looks forrnide.ble, but I'm afraid those
two clever darlinga know that I would not
hurt them for worlds.
I had my pocket Dante with me,rneaning
to try and fancy myself in the pine forest
near Ravenna, where he used to meditate,
but the book was so far true to its name
that it never left my pocket. I seemed to
have so much to think about, and a spring
afternoon, with light cloudlets floating in a
pale blue sky, and the perfume of violets in
the air, seta all one's most fanciful fancies
roaming far and wide. I think my thoughts
were light as thistle-down,or vanity that
afternoon,or they would never have strayed
so far; and yet there was a touch of
sadness in them, for I could not help
thinking of Gilbert Florestan and his
melancholy position, quite alone in the
world, mother and father both lying still
end dumb—as my dear father lies in his
grave under the willows—no sister or
brother, no one to care for him or to lean
upon him.
No doubt he has cousins, as I have. I
have not quite made up my mind whether
cousins are a necessary evil of a modified
blessing. I'm afraid, if I stood alone in
the world as he does,Dora and Flora would
not fill a large gap in my life.
I rambled in the shrubberies and the
dear old-fashioned gardens till I was tired,
and then I began to fe ;I the keenest curi-
osity about the inside of the house.
II; is not a pretty house, but it Is old and
dignified. When one has come hue lately
from a, oity of palaces, one can hardly .be
altogether alive to the beauty of an old
English mansion with mose-grown walls
and deep-set windows, and a general gray-
ness and low tone of oolor which some
people dad disapiriting. Yet the house
touched me by a kind of mournful beauty
and a sense of quiet desolation, such as I
felt only a few weeks ago when I looked at
those old,neglected mansions upon them of
the smaller co,nals,so gloomy in their gran-
deur as of the dead, irrevocable put. I have
fete sometimes as if I would give worlds to
be able to buy one of those degraded,
dilapidated old palaces, and to clear away
all its parasite growth of petty, modern uses,
and to restore it to the splendor and the
beauty of three hundred years ago. And
yet I have shuddered at the thought of the
phantoms that might come cirowding round
me in those great, grand rooms ; of all the
dead peeple who might awake at the sound
of mud° and kualitet in the home where
they were once young and merry.
I 'walked up and down the broad gravel
terrace in front Of Mr. Pioreatan's house,
It stands only bloat thirty feet above the
level of the river bank, and a wide lawn
slopes gently from the house to the river,
eould see the boats going by, and hear the
voices of the rowers, which were a relief
after the uncanny feeling that had crept
over me while I was in the great, overgrown
garden on the other aide of the house. I
believe the gardener :inlet have given him-
self a holiday, for not a human oreature did
Togo in the grounds.
There is a glans door opening on to the
terrace, wait an old-fashioned hanging bell.
I ventured to ring that Antiquated bell,
trembling a little at the thought of ghosts,
and perhaps a little at the thought thab
the old housekeeper would wonder at my
wanting to explore her domain. The fancy
had never come into my foolish brain before
to -day ; but I suppose that was because I
had then so little of Mr. Florestan until we
xnet in Paris,and could not feel eller particular
interest in hishouse. Now that I know him,
the house theme like an old friend, and I
wonder that I can have looked so often at
the old Indian -red roof and the great gray
stone chimney -stacks without wanting to
see what the inside is like.
No one answered my summons, though I
heard the bell ringing with an awful dis-
tinctness. I rang again, but still there
was no answer, though I waited long for
the feeblest of old women to creep from
the remotest corner of the rambling old
house. I rang a third time, and still there
was no reply. And the more I couldn't geb
in the more keenly curious I became, So
at last, knowing old Mrs. Murclew would
never resent any liberty on the parb of my
mother's daughter, mother being a power
at Lamford, 1 Wei the door.
It opened easily and I went in, taking
care to shut the door after me, so as to
keep Pha,on and Sappho outside. They
were thempering about the shrubberies,and
I knew that they would find their way
home when they missed me. I went in,
feeling very much as Fatima must have
felt ; or; in other worde'just a, little
ashamed of my idle ouriosity.
The' house is a dear old house' very shabby
as to carpets and curtains butwith lovely
old furniture of Sir Charles Gro.ndisonr,
period, and with old china in every corner
china whioh I feel assured must be worth a,
fortune; but I will never breath a word
about its value to Mr. Florestan, or he may
pack it all off to Christie's. Men are such
teethe where Wedgwood tea-pots and
Worchester willow -pattern are in question.
Yes,it is a dear old house. It has an old,old
perfume of rose leaves and lavender, which
must have been hoarded over so long before
Mr. Florestanwas born, in all the old chrysan-
themum bowls and hawthorn jars which
stand about everywhere on the tops of
cabinets and in corner cupboards, and in
quaint little alcoves and recesses which one
meets with unawares in the corridors and
lobbies. Not all the wealth of the Indies
could create such a house. It is the slow
growth of time, like the golden•brown
lichens and cool gray mosses on the garden
waIlirso.amed and roamed about the rooms on
the ground floor, opening one into another,
quaintly inconvenient, with queer little
doors, half wainscot and half wall -paper;
rooms without the faintest pretention to
splendor or dignity ; rooms that sqggest
the world as Miss Edgeworth and f Miss
Austen knew it ; a world in which people
dined at five o'clock, and danced country
dances, and played on the spinet, and
painted on velyed,and talked . elmut the
ann the-Britska,.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
26 DROWNED AT HOLYHEAD.
The Osseo Driven Ashore in the Darkness—
All Efforts to Beach Her FaiL
A despatch from London says:—The
British barque Osseo was wreckedin a gale
et Holyhead early Sunday morning, and
with her perished her entire crew of 26
The Osseo was, driven ashore back of the
Holyhead breakwater. Her signals of dis-
tress were first heard by the coast guard
about 4 o'clock in the morning. At that
time it was pitch dark and great waves
were washing over the break crater. In
spite of the danger of being washed into the
sea, the guard proceeded along the breakwater
amble -axing rigged up the rocket apparatus,
began firing life lines in the direction of the
k.
faint light of .the rockets soon dis-
wc
l
ro
sche
d
e
Te
the fact that the veseel had broken
in two amidships a,nd that the mainmast
had fallen; crushing the lives out of several
of the crew. A few aurvivors could be seen
clinging to each half of the vessel,and their
piteous ories for help could, be heard above
the roar of the storm. After many failures
the coast guard succeeded in firing a line
over the wreck, but by that time all on
board had perished. A lifeboat vainly
tried againand again to approaoh the wreck.
Not a vestige of the barque could be seen
to -day, and there is no prospect of any sal-
vage.'
Something Subtle.
5
t: 4
1,11111t
"I've been pondering over a very singular
thing."
" What is it ?"
"How putting a ring on a woman's third
finger should place you under thee woman's
thumb."
The General •Impression..
Biemehe—The you think, Mr. Waters,
that hanging is a very pleasant death
Waters—Well, ladies, it is generally allow-
ed that there is nothing eo painful as
euspense.
"Hero's another one of those millionaire
plumber jokes in the paper," said ()Hams.
"Did you ever see a !doh plumber, Hicks 2"
"Never," said Make. "All the plumbers
I've seen have been Very poor plumbers.
Still, a fellow may be a poor plumber and
yet be a riell man." "
Children Cu for Pitche6 Castiorko
for Infante and Children.
rtrAIrtutg"a"Pilai
three r age Itrue atio 1
Wit=nilurious medication.
a.
recommend it as superior to an,v inwteription
kuown to me." It. A. Anomie
III So. Oxford St,, Brooldyn, N. Y.
"Tho use of 'Castor's is so Universal and
its merits so well/mown that it seems a werk
of supererogationtoendorr.a Few srethe
intelligent families who do not keep Oastoria
within easyreach.”
°Limos norrvir,
New York City.
Late Pastor Bloomingdale Reformed Church.
E4131111116,.
SIMON.
Wornue sivets sleela sad Prot 048 I
"For severae yse.. rs 1 haye recommender
your ' Caetoxia, a.egi shall always continue to
do so as ie leen invariably produced benenoiai
results."
EDWItT 1P. PADDEN. M. D.,
"The Winthrop," itleth Street and 7th AVea
New York Cam
CRINTAUX (IMPART, 77 11TUDTAY STERN% Nnw TOR&
NienitalffiggEMBEMWMOMM/2110
Poets' Corner.
A Dream.
ivIethought that in a dream mine eyes
Beheld the gates of Paradise,
There many knocked and were denied
The city of the sanctified,
Who in the world had held high place; -
While others, scorned of men, found grace,
And entered through the portals wide,
With forra and features glorified.
And one drew near, with head held high,
Of manner stem and flashing eye,
Who quick bad passed within the gate
Had,not the guardian bid him wait.
" What claim bast th,u to share the bliss
And peace that in this city is?"
Questioned the keeper of the keys,
Searching that soul's deep mysteries.
Calm and serene the answer came:
" On earth I earned the highest name
As a reformer, ever sure
To make the streams of life run pure.
Tireless 'toiled to make men good,
And live as I believed they should,
Sin fell before my shining sword,
And now I claim my just reward."
The seraph shookhis shining head:
"I dare not let you in," he said.
"You'd surely rind ere half a year
That such reform is needed hers:
Streets bad! Style bad I Yes, you would say,
'These angels are decolletes ;
The ancient stars are dim and dead,
Let's hoist electric lights Instead!"
Flood Time.
Across the vale the floods are out,
The floods are out with rush a.nd rout,
Across the world tho floods are out,
The land is in the sea.
And round the oak tree that displays
The bronze -bright head in wintry days,
The roaring current swings and sways,
Shouting his song of glee.
Flotsam and jetsam whirling by
The bridge whore lovers meet and sigh,
The whirling crows flap wings and cry,
And praise themselves that they
Have builttheir homes, one-story each,
In the tall masts of elm and beach
And them no swelling flood can reach
1111 all the world be gray.
The westward waters, cool, serene,
Mirror the sunset's gold and green,
A road of ilame and emerald. sheen,
Broken to million lights.
The eastwomd.waters take the moon;
Clad in the psarl from throat to sheen
Whiter than any lily in June
She scales the heavenward heights.
The Scarlet Tanager.
Witch of the Wood, to your sylvan dell
I have followed and found you not, -
Where brooklets glisten and hilltops swell
And the air seems a tinkling silver boll
Have I followed and found you not.
I've traced your steps where the delicate grass
In homage bows at you daintily pass,
And the rich rose blushes a deeper red
As it treasures the kisses you softly shed.
Coy in your secret, well bowered nest,
You are resting secure, I know;
With your velvety wings in graceful rest,
Oh, wildWood bird. that I love the beet,
And your singing is soft and low.
My ears are (loaf to the feathered throng
That vainly seek to rival your song;
And the forest to me seems only bright
With the rays you' flash in your rapid flight.
The Blind Man.
Over the way a blind man dwells,
Wbone all our little village knows,
At up and dowel the street he goes,
A nd sp roads his simple we.res,itnd sells,
And all the neighbors pity him.;
But, sometimes when ho conies to Me
To ask me of the things I see.
Unknown within his world so dim,
I almost with that I might go
With him into that darkened land,
Nor see, nor try to understand
The things that make mo sorrow so.
In the cemetery at Barnstable, Malat,, it
the following inseription "Here lyeth
interred ye body of Mrs. Hope Chipman,
ye wife of Elder John Chipman, aged 45
years, who changed this life for a beer ye 8
of
IfbantliRetlf#enl6s8eo32; the ridioulous le one
eicle of an impressible nature, it is very
well ; but if that is all there is in a man, he
had better have been an ape and stood af,
the head of his profession at once,
THE FIELD OF ORIDIEROE,
Some Items of Interest to the Busi-
ness Man.
Nearly 7,000 shares of Montreal Street
Railway sold in Montreal, last week.
The withdrawals from the Postoffith
Savings Bank exceeded the deposits during
the month of November by over $30,000.
The reserve of the Bank of England de-
creased £529,000 last week, and the pre -
portion of reserve to liability is 63.67 per
cent, as Compared with 63.28 a week ago.
Some grades of leather are more active
in the United States, but others less, and
it is noted that the menufacturers of shoes
do not believe in higher prices for leather.
Hemlock sole is active with sales exceeding
receipts, and there are large sales of union
crop, the heavy weights being in better
demands.
The deinand continues good for really
gilt edge securities with console at about
the highest quotations in their historyeand
Canadian bonds seveial points higher than
a year ago.
Wheat quotations are practically unchang-
ed, and the holiday dullness is being. felt.
Receipts are smaller than in preceding
weeks, but the accumulation of stock non-
tieues, and the visible suppler both here
and abroad is much larger. Some selling
for foreign account is reported, and it is
rumored that wet weather is delaying the
harvest in" Argentina:- Many traders
think that the American crop is nearly
marketed, and that a severe deoline in
arrivals will soon be noticed, but no con-
sequent advance in price has occurred.
The best news is the strength of French
markets, but continental marketa generally
do not respond.
It may not generally be known that the
feathers of wild fowl form such an impor-
tant factor in the feather and down busi-
DOS. The Alaska Feather &Down Co., of
Montreal, have recently completed ar-
rangements with ---the Hudson Bay 0o.,
whereby they have secured the entire,
amount colleoted annually on the cosset of
Hudson's Bay and Labrador amounting •th
the large aggregate of eix tons per year.
These feathers are gathered mainly by
Indians, and are from geese, ducks (incited -
lug the eider duck) gulls and partridge,and
are said to be of a very superior quality.
When it is considered the small weight �f
feathers contributed by a single bird a
faint idea may be conceived of the tremende
ous slaughter there must be to eecnre
twelve thousand pounds of feather4 These
feathers have been shipped to England by
the Hudson's Bay Co.,' for the past 200
years, end are rlold at auction. They eon -
thine to be gripped there OA usual, ond ere
reshipped to Montreal in unbroken pack-
agee, when they are taken in hand by the
above named company who have an exten-
sive plant, and are converted into pilloWs,
cushions, eider down bed covers, and in
fact everything in whioh feathers can be
utilized, The firet shipment of 3,000
pounds have just been received by this
company,
Ballads are the gypsy children of song,
born under the peon hedgerows in the leafy
lanes and bypathe of literature, in the gen,
ial summer time—Longfellow
0, eonspiraoy 1 shams't thou to show
thy dangerous brow by night, when evils
are moth free? 0, thou, by day, Where
Wilt tbou find a cavern dark epough to
mask thy Metietrons visage e—Shakeepearee
David Chrietio Marray prides himself
upon being able o write a three-vMume
novel in five*weekr.