The Heiress' Ruse.

In the luxuriously furnished apartment of a fashionable club two young men were fin ishing a lengthy conversation. Edgar Pur cell, who was twenty-seven or-eight years of age. dressed in naval uniform, light-haired ' and blue-eyed, bore 1.0 resemblance to his younger companion, Harry Gervais, whose dark face and black beard proclaimed him of southern origin. Both men affected great indifference with regard to the subject they had discussed, yet the keenly scrutni sing looks which they occasionally cast upon each other -would have made an observer . think that perhaps they carried the affectation of indifference a little too far, and in the ! lounging ease of their attitude, and the cool j unconcern with which they puffed their cigars, displayed an over-anxiety to seem uncon cerned. Of course these two discussed the merits of a woman. 'They say, Purcell, that there's something about the portrait that's awe-inspiring, and that sort of thing, you know. Smith swears that one of the eyelids moved while he was looking at it. 5 'That's not to be wondered at, Gervais. The sidewalk often moves when Smith walks upon it, and they tell me that he insisted upon carrying off Billings and Toodels' mor tar instead of his hat.' ' But this was in the morning, and he was nearly sober and others besides Smith say that is the most wonderful likeness ever executed.' ' People always talk trash about such things. By^ the way, she invited me to go and see it tti—orrow morning. •Indeed! I thought I had been the only one favored with a downright invitation.' ' I am invited to meet her there at twelve o'clock.' * And so am I, or my name is not Henry . Gervais.' The two men again exchanged those light ning glances before carelessly disposing of their cigar ashes. While this conversation went on in the clubroom, another tete-a-tete was in progress in one of the mansions of a neighbouring avenue. Thi3 time it was a woman of un common beauty who ha?f reclined upon a small sofa opposite the chair in which sat an aged man. ' Grandpapa,' said the lady, ' how did you like my portrait ? You went to see it this morning.' ' Yes my dear; and I wish we could have one of them in every room in the house. I told Mr. Hubert that money could not reward him for his work.' ' Grandpa,' again began the lady, more slowly and with something like hesitation, ' what do you think of Mr. Hubert ?' ' He seems to be a fine young man, Natalie ; an artist of great promise; and he belongs to an excellent family.' 'Is he—is he— very poor?' c Why, no, my dear ; a man with his talent can never be said to be poor. He has his fortune at his fingers' ends.' 'Do you think, grandpapa, he would marry any woman for money alone ?' 'I cannot tell, Natalie. I should say de cidedly not; bu'c money is a great temptation, even to artists. You don't mean, Natalie, that—m ell be happy in your own way. But I had supposed it was young Gervais or Purcell. They both spoke to me, and I told them they both had my best wishes; excellent young men, both of them, and have sown their wild bats.' In Natalie Saltonstall's manner there was usually an air of mildness mingled with a certain impetuosity which, told of quick, generous feeling. Now, in the full splendor of her womanly beauty, she seemed almost a child, as she raised her daik eyes to the wrinkled face opposite, and said, in a tremu a lous voice: ' You like Mr. Hubert, grandpapa ? You do not object to him ?' Natalie had but asked the question when, pushing back his chair, the old gentleman * arose suddenly, and stood stiff and erect, like a soldier on parade. '■ Natalie,' he said, in a tone of deep feeling * I object to no one. I meau absolutely what I say.' Your" mother's fate was warning enough to me. To see you happy is the chief desire of my life.' At the mention of her mother's name the beautiful girl lowered her head a little. A vision of the home of her childhood flashed before her eyes. She saw herself, a timid and neglected girl of fourteen, leaning from the window of a wretched house in a lonely country place. Her mother had been dead one week, and her father was so worthless that his death would have been a relief rather than a loss. Natalie was the oldest of eight children. The last morsel of food had been . eaten, and starvation seemed imminent, when ..tfye arrival of Natalie's grandfather changed the fortunes of the family. The children were provided with pleasant homes among wealthy relatiyes, and Natalie became the pet of her grandfather, the very light of his eyes.. Natalie's mother had eloped with a scapegrace, and had suffered the fullest pun ishment for her folly. The tidings of her death reached her father too late for him to assure her of his forgiveness, and Natalie pushed a tear from her eye as she recalled "TT^^qath-bed scene. - . . . .:. j Ss^t Jq'^^c B^' aroUßins SMSr 0? 1 TfSUZwaA^Mi. Gtervau and Mr. Purcell ,h»nkfti]ly i Mi, Glin, Q lilllpi, Towtt

are both going to look at my portrait to-mor row. I hare agreed to meet them at Mr.- Hubert's rooms at twelve o'clock'* ' t think I will go too, my dear.' * Oh, no, no!' ' Why not ?' ' Because I am going to see if those gentle men care for me, or for your money,' 1 How, my child ?' 'I will tell you at dinner. Promise ma, grandpapa, you will not go.' ' Well, I promise. You,are perhaps right, Natalie. A woman's wit is seldom at fault. CHAPTER 11. In Mr. Hubert's studio Henry Gervais and Edgar Purcell discussed Natalie Saltonstall's portrait. They made the visual tour of the room, asked the usual questions, and offered the criticisms which people ordinarily offer on such occasions. Then Edgar Purcell said : ' Miss Saltonstall is late, Gervais. She was to have been here at twelve precisely.' ' Woman are never punctual Purcell.' ' But Miss Saltonßtall told me that she never kept any one waiting.' 'Thai's a woman's fib.' •Did she tell you she never kept any one waiting, Gervais ?' 'The question was asked in a constrained voice. The manner of the two men differed widely. Gervais' gay and careless indifference only made Purcell's anxiety and distrust more apparent. 'Look here, Hubert. The portrait ia in so dark a corner we can't see it. Let a little light in somewhere.' 'Miss Saltonstall particularly requested that you should at first see the picture in th>'s light, Mr. Gervais.' 'At first? Then we are to have othe r lights afterwards ? Something stagey, eh ? What creatures women are for effect!' ' The light was nay own selection, gentle men.' said the artist. ' The darkness, you mean. I say, Purcell, it's a good deal like her in her melting moods ?' ' Indeed !' replied the other ; ' when is she in what you call a melting mood ?' '0, when she wants me to stay a little longer.' 'Don't be an ass, Gervais !' ' No, I shall always remain a gentleman, Purcell, no matoer in what company I may find myself.' 'It almost seems as if the expression of the face changes as you look at it, Gervais. A mement ago it was wholly sweet. Now there is & sarcastic turn of the lips. Confound the darkness!' ' Turn on your colored lights, Mr. Hubert. We've had enough of thia.' ' I had orders from Miss Saltonstall not to change the picture till she came.' 'It is now fifteen minutes past twelve. She has forgotten the appointment, perhaps.' 'O, no, Purcell. She will stray in some where about one o'clock burdened with microscopic excuses. Let's see. The eyes are rather too large and too far apart, and there seems to be too much color in the face. The nose should be a little more retrousse, and there is something wrong about the j

neck." ' But the hand is her own beautiful hand, Gervais.' 1 Why don't you sigh and done with it, Purcell ?' ' A man might do a more foolish thing than to sigh over that hand. To tell you the truth, I do not see how this picture could be im proved. It is her own wonderful beauty in shadow.' ' The foreshortening of that arm is imper fect. The lips are too highly colored, the hair has unnatarally bright shades, and there are several minor points which are not satis factory, although taken as a whole, it is, as you say, a good likeness.' The critic was interrupted by the tramp of feet and the buzz of voices, and suddenly the door was flung open, and a small and inferior looking man hurried in. 'Where is Mr. David Saltonstall?' asked the new comer, who bore his Jewish nationa lity all over hia exterior. 'I am Isaac Jacobs, and I want the money that is due me,' 'He is not here,' replied the artist, court-. eously. ' But you will find Mr. Saltonstall at his office.' 'That is a lie. I haf been at bis fiffice. He has failed.. That great millionaire, Mr. David Saltonstall, has gone to smash, and I want the fifty thousand toilers he ows me. I heard he was here. I will haf my money — my fifty thousand dollers.' Mr. Henry Gervias and Mr. Bdger Purcell' gazed in silent wonderment at the Jew, and then at each other. They bore upon their countenances the expressions of men to whom the "tidings boded good or evil. Mr. Gervais immediately went forward and surveyed Mr. Isaac Jacobs through his eye-glass, critically, as he had before surveyed the portrait. i ' What was that you said about money ? he asked, in a business-like tone, quite differ ent from his customary drawl. • I want my money. I will haf my money,, if I shut him up in prison. Where is he ?' ---•You say, man, that Mr. Saltonstall has failed ?' asked Purcell, going to the mantje piece and leaning on it as if for support. ! ' Yes I say that. And if he is not here, jl will take the bortrait. They tell me you haf fainted the bortrait of his niece. That is it in the" corner I haf seen her. It is Mees Natalie. I will take that and sell it for barfc of my bay.'

As the Jew darted forward, Edgar Purcel/ quickly took him by the coat-collar, and flung him through the open door. Then withouf waiting to see whether the man was injured, he shut the door, and facing about to Gervaie, said: 'I am ruined. I leave the field open to you.' ' What field ?' asked Ger rais, whose coun tenance had undergone some rapid changes during the Jew's speech. 1 The Saltonstall pasture. I must graze in other meadows. My debts must be kept from my aunt. I don't mind telling you now, Gervais, I loved her, but my income does not support me, and my aunt would cut me off without a penny if I did anything rash. I'll hang myself—but I'll wait and see her first. If my aunt will consent, I'll take her yet, by George.' 'What will this young woman do now, with all her airs ?' asked Gervais, turning to the picture. ' She will accept you, probably.' There was a spice of malice in Purcell's tone. 'By no means. A handsome wife who brings on money is a very expensive article, and one with which the market is overstocked. Fortunately she did not keep her appointment at twelve. It is now half-past. I wish you good luck, Purcell. Take her and welcome. She is a decidedly fine woman. But I must be off, or she will find me here.' ' Tou're not afraid to see her ?' ' Of course not—but—there is—in fact, I was to call on her this afternoon, and now it wiJl not fee necessary.' ' Stop Gervais. I proposed to her yester day, and she was to give me her answer this afternoon.' 4 My case precisely, my dear fellow, and that's why I'm anxious to be off. The Jewish apparition has given me a most satisfactory answer.' I ' Well, Gervais, I shall wait for her. I can't marry her. I wish I could. I wonder where she is ?' ' Here genbleman,' and, with a light mockirig laugh. Natalie stepped from the frame in the shadowy corner. Gervais and Purcell retreated a few paces. Mr. Hubert opened a side door, and the light revealed the empty frame and the accessories to the supposed portrait. 'It was herself!' criecl Purcell. 'With her arm forshortened imperfectly, and her eyes too far apart,' retnrned Natalie, with a merry, ringing laugh. 'I am not in a melting mood now, Mr. Gervais! What creatures women are for effect!' The effect of Natalie's eudden appearance was so overpowering that by instinctive impulse the two young men retreated from the room. Probably within the whole range of human sensations, there is not one so perfect in its silencing influence as the burst of a great surprise. Gervais and Puroell parted with out a word at the street-door. After they had left the room, Natalie stood for a moment as if in a dream, and like a dream seemed that which followed. The artist advanced, and fixing his eyes beseech ingly upon her, said, in eager, tremulous tones: llf what I have just heard be true, I may advance my poor claims. While you were the great heiress I dared not presume to tell you that I loved yon. But now, O, Natalie, give me a little hope. No one can ever love you as I do.' How softly the cloud shadows moved over the sky to which Natalie had been looking. How pleasantly tke sunshine fell upon the earth. There was light and life and motion on every side, where but a moment before had been bhe chill of the world's cruelty Natalie felt all the intoxication of the transi tion &9 she plaoed her hand in that of her artist-lover and said : •George, my ruse has succeeded. In my poverty-pinched childhood, I learned lessons of wisdom which I have never forgotten.- I wished to be loved for myself alone, and I imitated the example of my favorite Peg Wofflngton. My uncle has not t failed. My position is the same that Mr. Gervais and Mr. Purcell supposed it to be when they entered this room, and the highest .value which I attach, to my fortune is that it'tnay be the means of increasing your future happiness.'

A reverend doctor of Georgia had a rather slow delivery, which was the occa sion of an amusing scene in the chapel of the lunatic asylum. He was preaching and illustrating the subject by the case of a man condemned to be hanged, and re prieved under the scaffold. He went on to describe the gathering of the crowd, the bringing out of the prisoner, bis re marks under the gallows, the appearance of the executioner the adjustment of the halter, the preparation to let fall the plat form, and just then the appearance in the distance of the dust-covered courier, the jaded horse, the waving handkerchief, the commotion in the crowd. At this thrilling point, when every one was listening in breathless silence, the doctor became a little prolix. One of the lunatics could hold out no longer,' but starting up from among, the congregation, he shouted • 1 Hurry, doctor! for mercy's sake, hurry! They'll hang the poor man before you get there!' The greatst feat in eating ever recorded is told ot a man who commenced by bolt ing a door, after which he threw up a window and swallowed a whole story. A Chicago paper says that a' young widow in that city, who writes well is training herself for an editor. We hope that we are not the editor she is training herself for.

Ivan the Terrible.

T^E MOST WICKED MAN TIIE WOBT/D

EVER SAW.

Precisely at what time—says George; Cary Eggleston in ' American Homes' for; [November—the faithful and affectionate subjects of His Majesty Ivan IV, Czar of> all the Russias, conferred upon him hisi pet name ' The Terrible,' history neglects; to inform us, but we are left in no uncer-; tainty as to the entire appropriateness ofl the title, which is now inseparably linked,l with his baptismal name. He inherited the throne at the age of three years, and: his early education was carefully attended to by his faithful guardians, who snubbed and scared him, in the hope that they might so far weaken his intellect as to secure a permanent control over him, and through him govern .Russia as they pleased. They made a footstool of him sometimes, and made a football at others, and, under their system of training, the; development of those qualities of mind and heart for which he is celebrated was. remarkably rapid. He was always Ivan the terrified, and he became Ivan the: terrible before he was old enough to have; played a resonably good game of marbles,' or to have become tolerably expert in the art of mumbling the peg. Indeed, it; would seem that the young Grand Prince was wholly insensible to the joys of these and other excellent sports in which ordi nary youth delight, and, being of an ingenious turn of mind, he invented others better suited to his tastes and character.

One of these pastimes, perhaps the first and simplest one devised by the youthful genius, consisted in the dropping of cats, dogs and other domestic animals from the top of the palace to the pavement below, and sentimental historians have construed these intersting experiments upon the law of gravitation into cruelty. Another of the young Czar's amusements was to turn half-famished pet bears loose upon passing pedestrians, and it is the part of charity to suppose that his purpose in this was to study the phsychological and physiog nomical phenomena of fear. A less profit able way he had of accomplishing the same thing was by throwing, or, as youth ful Americans phrase it, ' shying' stones at passers by concealingbiraself meanwhile behind a. screen. He cultivated his skill in horsemanship by riding over elderly people, cripples and children. In short, his boyish sports were all of an original anq highly interesting sort. Up to the age of thirteen Ivan was under the tutelage of a council, of which the Prince Shuisky was chief, and it was this chief who domineered over the boy and made a footstool and a football of his body. At that age Ivan asserted his independence in a very positive and em phatic way, which even the Prince Shuisky could not misapprehend. The yourg i Czar was out hunting, accompanied by Shuisky and other princes and boyards, among whom was Prince Gluisky, a rival of Shuisky's who was prejudiced against that excellent gentleman. At his suggestion, Ivan addressed his guardian, Shuisky, in language which the latter deemed insolent. Bhuisky replied angrily, and Ivan requested his dogs to remon strate with the prince, which they did by tearing him limb from limb. Having thus silenced the dictation of Shuisky, the young prince became the ward of the no less excellent Gluisky, and was carefully taught that the only way in which he could effectualy assert authority was by punishment. It was made clear to his budding intellect, too, that the shortest, simplest, and altogether the best way to get rid of disagreeable people was to put them to death, and throughout his life Ivan never forgot this lesson for a single moment. Power, he was told, was worthless unless it was used, and the only way in which it could be really used was by oppression. For three years no pains were spared to teach him this systeal of ethics and politics, and the young Prince, in his anxiety to perfect himslf in the art of governing, diligently practiced all these precepts. When he was seventeen years of age he was formally crowned Czar. The citizens ignorant of the truths of political economy and the principles of governmental science underlying the young Czar's system, be came alarmed and fired the city one night. .When Ivan awoke he was terrified, being of an abnormally nervous temperament, and the apparition of,a warning monkj to gether with the influence of Anastatia, the young Czarina, led the Czar to abandon the simple and straightforward methods of government in which he had been bred, and for thirteen years, under the dictation of Alexis Adascheff and the monk Sylves ter, Ivan devoted himself to the common place employments of developing Russia politically and socially. He dismissed his Ministers and put others in their places. He reorganized the army; revised the code in the interest of abstract justice:; equalized assessments ; subdued the Tar tar s ; established forts for the, protection of the frontiers;; laid the foundation ; fqr the future; greatness of his empire ; began the work which was completed, so. grandly under Peter the Great; introduced print ing into Russia ; added greatly to her .pos sessions'; checked the abuses of her clergy, brought artists from Western Europe, and in a hundred ways made hint, self famous by doing those things which historians love to chronicle. . > r ;; < , |

Meanwhile, his genius for governing upon the Gluiskan system lay dormant. It was not dead, but slept; and after ilis nap. of thirteen years it awoke one day., refreshed. Ahastatia, the beautiful qiieeij, whose influence had been supreme for so long a time, died, and Ivan was free again. He recalled an old Bishop who had been banished for his crimes, and consulted him as to his future course. I

'If you wish to be truly a sovereign'/ said this eminent prelate,'never seek a counsellor wiser than yourself; never rej |t;eive advice from_ any man. Command, but.never obey, and you will be a terrojr to the boyards. Remember that he whf> is permitted to begin by advising is cer tain to end by ruling his sovereign. Here was advice of a sort suited to Ivan Is I taste and education § and for the reply he kissed the, good Bishop's hand, saying^ 'My own father could not have spoken; more wisely.' ••..,. That the Czar spoke sincerely his faith fulness in following the Bishop's precepts abundantly attested. His ministers and advisers being manifestly-;wiser than hie. and therefore not at-all the proper kind of people to have about, he straightway

banished them. He then began a dili-; gent search for their partisans, some of, whom he put to death, condemning others to imrisonment and torture. He next turned his attention to his own household- j whicd he was resolved upon ruling abso ; lutely, at least, if not well. One of the princes made himself disagreeable by declining to participate freely in the plea- , sures of the palace, and for the sake o< domestic harmony, Ivan had him poin arded while at his prayers. Another so far overstepped the bounds of courtesy: and propriety as to remonstrate with one of the new favorites upon his improper conduct, and Ivan, in order that there might be no bickerings and hard feeling j in his family, slew the discourteous Prince with his own hand. He was in the habit of carrying an iron rod about him, and he had a playful way of striking his friends; with it now and then, merely for his amusement. His pleasantries of this and other like sorts were endless. One day Prince Boris.a boyard, came to pay his respects to the Czar, and as he bowed to the ground, according to custom, Ivan, seizing a knife, said, ' God bless thee, my dear Boris ; thou deservest a proof of my favour,' and. with that he kindly cut the nobleman's ear off.

When Prince Kurbsky whom he had threatened with death, fled to Poland and wrote him a letter from thence, telling him very plainly what he thought of him, the Czar playfully struck the bearer of the missive with his iron rod, as a pre liminary to the reading of the letter, and the blood flowed copiously from the man's wounds while Ivan pondered the words of his rebellious subject. He then became convinced that the boyards generally sympathized with Kurbsky, and to teach them better he put a good many of them , to death by torture, and deprived many others of their estates. His alarm was real, however, for he was a phenomenon of abject cowardice. He therefore fled to a fortified place in the midst of a dense forest, where he remained a month, writ ing letters to the people, telling them that he had abdicated and left them to their fate as a punishment for their disloyalty and their crimes. Singularly enough his flight terrified the people. He had taught them that he was their god as God was his, and his flight to Alexandrovsky. seemed to them a withdrawal of the pro tection of Providence itself. Business was suspended. The Courts ceased to sit. The people were in an agony of terror. A large deputation of boyards and priests journeyed to Alexandrovsky, and besought the sovereign to return and resume his holy functions as the head of the church, that the souls of so many millions might not perish. Exacting of clergy and nobles absolute right to do as he pleased, and a promise that they would in no way interefere with or resist his authority, he returned to Moscow. Here he surrounded himself with a body guard of desperadoes, 1,000 strong at first and afterward increased to 6,000, whose duty it was to discover the Czar's enemies and sweep them from the face of the earth. As emblems of these their functions, each member of the guard carried at hie saddle-bow a dog's head and a broom. As the punishment of the Czar's enemies included the confiscation of their property a large part of which was given to the guards themselves, these were always singularly successful in discovering the disaffection of wealthy nobles, discovering it oftentimes before the nobles themselves were aware of their own treasonable sen timents. Feeling unsafe still, Ivan built for himself a palace outside the walls of the. Kremlin, making it an impregnable castle. Then, finding that even this did not lull his shaken nerves to rest, he pro ceeded to put danger afar off by dis possessing the 12,000 rich nobles whose estates lay nearest the palace and giving their property to his personal followers, so that the head which wore the crown might lie easy in a conviction that there were no possible enemies near on the other side of the impregnable walls which shut him in. But even then he could not sleep easily, and so he repaired again to to his forest stronghold in Alexandrovsky, where he surrounded himself with guards and ramparts. Here he converted the palace into a monastery. Made himself abbot and his rascally followers monks. He rigorously enforced monastic obser vances of the severest sort, and no doubt became a saint in his own estimation. He spent most of bis time at prayers, allowing himself no recreation, except a daily sight of the torture of the prisoners who were confined in the dungeons of the fortress. a His guards were allowed a rather larger share of amusement, and they wandere,dfrom street to street during the day, punishing, with their hatchets, such disloyal people as they encountered. They were moderate in their, indulgences, how ever, in imitation of their sovereign, doubt less, and it is recorded to their credit that, at this time, they rarely ever killed more than twenty people in one day, while some times the number <iwas as low as five.

But a quiet life of : this ,kind could not always content the Czar. Naturally, he grew: r tired of individual killings,, and began to long for some more exciting sport. When one: xlay a quarrel arose between some of his guards and a few of the people of Torjek, Ivan saw at a glanc? that all the inhabitants of Torjek were mutinous rebels, and of course it became his duty to put them all to, death, which he straightway did.

Up to this time the genius of Ivan seems to have been cautiously feeling its way, and so the past of his history already sketched may be regarded as a preliminary to, his real career. His extraordinary capacity for ruling an Empire on the. principles taught him by the Prince Gluisky was now about to show itself in all its greatness. A criminal of Novo; ---gorod, feeling himself aggrieved by the authorities of that city, who had incar cerated him for a time, wrote a letter offering to place the city, under Polish protection. This letter he signed, not with his own name but that of the Arch bishop, and, instead of sending it to the. King of Poland, to whom it was addressed, he secreted it in to the Church of St. Sophia. Then going to Alexandrovsky, he told Ivan that treason was. coritem ;plated by the Nbvogorodians, t and that the treasonable letter 7 would ibe found, behind the statue of the Virgin in the, church. Ivan sent1 a-messenger to find the, letter, and upon. Jus, return the Czar began his march upon the doomed city. Happening to'jiaiss'thrarigh the,town pf Kuhron his way to NordgdrddJ he cput

all its inhabitants to death, with the pur pose, doubtless, of training his troops in the art of wholesale massacre before re quiring them to practice it upon the people of Novogorod. Finding this system of I rill nn agreeable pastime, he repeated it upon his arrival at the city of Twer, and then, in order that the other towns along his route might have no reason to com plain of partiality, he bestowed upon all if them a like manifestation of his impe rial regard. It is not my purpose to describe in de tail the elaborate and ingenious cruelty practiced in the massacre of the iSTovogor odians. The story is sickening* Ivan first heard mass, and then began the but chery, which lasted for many days, was conducted with the utmost deliberation and ingenious cruelty, and enced in the slaughter of 60,000 people. Ivan had selected certain prominent citizens, to the number of several hundred, whom he reserved for publick and particularly, cruel execution at Moscow. Summoning the small and wretched remnant of the population to his presence, he besought their prayers for the continuance and prosperity of his realm, and with gracious ■, words of farewell took his departure from! the murdered city. The execution in' Moscow of the reserved victims was a scene too horrible to be described in these pages. Indeed, the half of Ivan's enor mities,may not be told here at all, and even the historians content themselves, with the barest outlines of tnanv parts of his career.^ He thought himself in some sf nse. a eitj, and blasphemously asserted that his throne was surrounded by arch angels, precisely as God's is. Identifying himself w ith the Almighty, he claimed exempti on from the observance of G-od's iaw Sj an( i, ; n defiance of the fundamental principles of the Greek Church, of which .he was the hoad. he married seven wives.: Believing that he might with equal im punity insult the moral sense of other nations, he actually sought to add Eng land's Queen. Elizabeth, to the list of his spouses. And he waj so far right in his estimate of his power to do as he pleassd that the virgin Queen, head of the Eng lish Church, while she would not herself become , one of his wives, consented to assist him, and selected for his eighth nons^rt Mnrv Hastings, the daughter of the Earl of Huntingdon. She came near bringins' about a marriage between the two in the face of the fact that the two churches of which Ivan and she were respectively the hpad were agreed in condemningpolygamv as a heinous crime.

For one °nlj of all his heinous crimes! Ivan showed regret, if not remorse. His oldest and favourite son, when the city of, Pskof was besieged by the Poles, asked f-hat he might be intrusted with the com-: mand of a body of troops with which to assist the beleaguered place. Tvan was so great a coward that he dared not trust fhe affection and loyalty of even his own favourite child; and in a fit of mingled fear nnd rn.ee he beat ihe young man to death! with his iroc staff, saying: 'Rebel, you; are' leagued with the boyards in a eon spiracv to dethrone me' Remorse seized' upon him at once, and his sufferings and his fears of retribution were terrible; "Finally he 'determined to abandon the thrpnp, and seek peace in a convent, but the inffltWnted Russians entreated him not to desert them. TTe died at last, in 1580. and even on his deathbed attemptpd one of the moot infamous crimes of his life, and was balked only by the flight of. his victim and his own inability to follo**f her. She was a member of his familyi bein? the wife of his son, . . ■•;■ ~:) Pid Scheherezarle herselfever imagine a. stranger story than' this ? And yet it is? t>lain history, and is only a fragment of the truth.

Angel Bride.

I do not sect an angrel bride, I'd rather she were bum an. With foibles if yon; like, but still, ■■■ \ A fond true-hearted woman. An angel wife would be bo good, So high ar>d far above me, , ;': So little like me, don't you see, ~, She woald hardly deign to love me. Sae^'d be so.often wayup-Btairßj, „ --i ~; - She'd t: irii'my down-stairs gloomy, • And 'such a -sad' catastrophe I'rtt sure would quite upset mci- 9«a blUi •, I'd want to kiss her now and then, ■ To pet and may be tease her ; ...<-: . i But if I served'an angel so, i' ! ,L do not think t'would please her. r , <. i (I^d.be afraid to speak altnost, >.'. \.- j . Por fear, some sunny xiiorning She'd spreadher wings and fly away,"' ' i Withoat a word of warning. ;'-: •These angels are so good, you see . ! That once they pass a sentence, | rfi There's not the least occasion left; ' ;. For rowing a repentance., : ndii-.A I iO •

Plain Explanations of Obscure Proverbs.

' The more the merrier:' so ■•;..:■, . Multitudinous assemblages are the 'most provocative of caehinatory hilarity. ;> ;

' Birds of a feather flock together."'l i "■''■ j Habitants of ether, similarly plumed, gre gariouily assemble. /.*,,;

'Oatof the'fryihg pan into the fire.' ":■'.'■'■' 1 Emergence'from the culinary'uterißil into the devouring element. ' ' Too many cooks spoil the broth.' , ' ]' A superfluity of artists deteriorates the mock-turtle, ,' .' ' .'■!."■ i 'A stitch in time saves nine.? :,- . j A connecting coUoh lint, properly estab> lished, is niriefoldly economical.' ; ; , ; ' Itis albng lauethat has no turning. - ; That rustic pathway is indubitably longi tudinal that has no circumlocution. , ; ■' Love me,: love my dhg.fj , ( ~-. .. ~/ ! Evince an amatory disposition. toward, myj self; let ypur 7 deportment toward my canine: be also affectionate. '".'\ ■J. J f ' 'Thoße-vrho live in: glass*houses shouldn't throw stones.' ■'■lifi j i n ']>w"6Uers"in ,cryetelr palaces, should refrain« from the propulsion of irregular-§haped[> par ticles of granite formation. ; • . . 1 j "Tis an ill wind that blows nobod good. •The blast of -3501 us is,.indeed, malevolent that benefiteth' noti though hbmeodatMcally^, some portion of. humanity. - ; *Ar bird in the ha*l is /worth two in the busu:'-,.;..,,r sxid no le.c^ e^t'^uh i\[\h , A .natural production! ef; the feathered trioe properly secured, is/more'than" equivalent1 to a greater -number ,in: a 'comparative Btate of freedom,1 ? .r-os.uf!: j(, i:ur.n.■ iuid'UUJl' '•-

Ladies and their Veils.

Ruth Random thus explains the philo sophy of ladies' veils in the , Sunny South:' 'The question contained in the caption of this article was addressed to me by a gentleman, in that brown-study sort of tone which says/ Please help me to find, the solution.' Without thought or re flection, I answered mechanically, 'I do not know.' I looked up and discovered the person who suggested the question, and I replied, immediately, 'Conscious ness —unconsciousness,' The pretty wo man is conscious that>she:is pretty';.and she can afford to conceal in part ; the charms of a handsome face, while, a homely woman is invariably unconscious of her homeliness, and she can afford to go bare-face. A beautiful girl; on the meridian of her teens, with the self satisfied air of a canary hea after: her bath and adjustment of feathers, rested ik a studied position on her iron gate to talk with her beautiful young lady friend who paused in passing—both had been on the street shopping, perhaps.; both were veiled in the merest gossamer textures of black and white face-screens drawn closely about the mouth, nose and eyes.; On' the opposite side of the street an ugly, angular woman, well enough dressed otherwise, in a very small bonnet halfway on her head, revealing a broad expanse of sterile fore head, without relief to enormous, ears, and with veil unfurled by high gales from the rear of her head, exposing to great dis advantage a long, muscular 'neck, paced the pavement. with the serenest air of [ contentment, as unconscious of home• i liness as Diana of impurity.',

Napoleon and a Cat.

Napoleon's courage was undoubted £ His crossing of the bridge -at Lpdi and his coolness in many battles, where/ th& balls fell thickly about him, proved" his mastery over his fears no , less i than his strategy against an enemy. But the bravest of men may have their super stitions, or; hysterical terrors, which neither reason nor courage can control; and the great Napoleon had a mortal terror of cats. *, . so >o ; :: •• ■:

Soon after the terrible battla of Wa^ ram, when he occupied the imperial palace of Schonbrunn, an aide-de-camp in his suite was passing his tent one night when he heard a singular noise, and loud calls for help from the Emperor. Sup posing that some one was trying 'to assassinate him, the aide rusted into tKe room, aud could . hardly suppress his laughter when he saw the Emperor, half undressed, with protruding -eyes, Land forehead, beaded with perspiration making frequent' lunges witt "■. a . sword at;,.the tapestry round the room,. He was quiver ing from head to foot"'with eicitemeit and terror. On inquiring about;; ttie secret enemy, the aide was infbrmea* by the Emperor that a cat was behind the tapestry, and that he could not abide cats from his infancy.. If a great salflier can be frightened ; by cats, there !»r~fpine excuse for ladies.who are startled by.jfais or.snake^. ./ ; • <n zi

How to Pay the Piano.

It was a young> woman wito-as many white flounbes round her ias the planet Saturn has i ringa,v that ■ did it. She gave othe niusio-stool; a twirl')or two, and fluffed down on it like- a twitl of soapsuds ; in : a handrbasin. i) Then rshe pushed up her cuffs; as if;she was going to fight for! a champion's belt. Then she worked her wrists and bands to limber 'em, [ I suppose* i and i spread out her fingers till they looked as though they would;pretty mucbi cover the key-beard, from the growling to the little : squeaky one. I Then these two: hands of hers made arjiunp at the keys asif they were aicouplet of tigers coming down upon a flpefc of black and white shegp,, andfithe!rpiano gave a great howl as if its tailihad been trod , x pn./ r | I)ead stop-rrTSOttstiUiiyou-could ■ ypur : hair growing. * Then another howl, as ifthe pianohadtwo tails and you had trqd on. ; bothof f'em at once, ■and then a grand clatter and scramble , and string of jiimps, i upj s and down, ; .back and forward, one handi overothe other, like a stampede of, rats and mice jmore ; than,; anything I call music;— piiper, Wendell MolmeglA} i'-.■:■;', iifiav

The French Crown Jewels.

The Paris correspondent of. the London | Daily Telegraph' writesv; 'The crown jewels of France hare' returned to • v«. iAt the turnof thewar. they Wera'secVefly .dispatched to .England,; and. only.! last week was it judged,safe to reeal them. In number according to the inventory made for Louis XVli;i, they were al ready 64,812; weighing 18,751 carats, 1 of '^SSftOOOryalue. Since that time precious j stones i have' arisen enormously in 1! price, and the late Emperor added to/ his (treasures. ' The crqwri bfii Franc&^in ' which is set the .-'. Regent ,';Sdiamond and 5,360 other jewels, was valued at £310,000 half a century . ago.-The other famous diamond.the .* Sancy.'is ; setf in ihe.fest Emperor s sword, a hicknack priced at near £11,000. A < plaque.' in brilliants ot the Order of the Holy; Ghost is calculated ;at £16,000. LThe crown jewels of - France were, stolen; on. August i 16; j 1792?cby. a band of,forty theiyes, rwho climbedU'the lamp-posts, and, broke through a window :of.. th,e JT.em-hpuae.- A poor wretch u^ras guillotined for f the' offence^ whereof'he was perfectly iintiqceijt; ,Dut onegmttlesß head-more or less made'small difference in 1792, The jewels weres all fbund(Sia the attic of a house situatedi innthe Champs Elys&p, but,how they got .there, and, ,how the j police heard |of them is a mystery; to ithis day. ~',', '. '■ ',',',<, r .',

, :'She is a perfect Amazon;' said a pupil m one of oiir schools pf his teacher j^kiev ■dayytor a; companion. ' 'Ye^,«>fskid-'the dther who was1 better versed*, iti. ;feeo ?raphy than history; ' I noticed that iehe hadanawfolbig mouth"'c i $ih isto .Brother Jim—For, mer^y/ B ,,.jafce, -Clara, '"*##, W?: 3sfiF- paring ; those,'' ear-nnes, for ? They^weigh'half % pound!' tiori Sf the flitsli, !Jiin %<M^S^Bkvmm Jane Gray's are^hßlf'to:iittsh rilon|e*;i!i;)'jn

STJ^PL^SMENT TO THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAB.