MARION RIFLES.

. • so f the year 17S0 was a sad p. riod Taß closf" The British held the country iot to the upper Santee, and in frOlD incomplete their conqtnt hadeskab orde j in af ogtg throughout the state, 11 u^ which was strongly fortified and 11 Abv a good garrison. Organized defena fla British there *as none. On reSl American side the principal actors in the ""6 l were the men who composed the Btmggl6 (jj fa Brigade' of Geaeral Marion. famoes | ren dezvous of Marion waa at T Tsland This ia a piece of h;gh river SnOTe n lß aa °it is calle 1 in the Caroms, and 8 nrrounded oa tares sides by water, so "*Lhe almost impregnable. Here Marion ;ifcfa camp F'm thla fastn:s3 he issued 7 fi, at pleasure K> range the enemy's nines or capture a straggling party of his grananes^^! retrea!T) he had no fear 0f TPUthe lcity of Charleston the despotism of ii. Rritish was at its hight; the proud- Infrited people of that capital were held dosvn w a Krindii tyranny. Many of them were -•ii nnen ani uncompromising in their Jlift 'be English, while oShe... think • fthev could bes.t aerve the cause in that «t »ff«ctei a hsftrty sxxh. mis*io?r. tO thl nnneroi*. and were seemingly the most ISSTM King <&*&• «**«*•; ** hile the English saw tbia and congratulated tbem^lves upon the good effect it would have on the Colonists, these very 'loyalists' L n fc the American commander informed of all that passed within the British lines, and nay a "disaster of the English was in this way dinctly attributed to them. One of these persons was a lady of fine social position and great wealth. Indeed, there were few persons m all Charleston over whooe submission to the crown the British were more elated than they were over that of Mrs Anne Garden. She was a young and beautiful widow, just twenty-five, aud for sere al years had been the standing toast of tha beaux of fcho Carclinas. When the British took the city she was one of the first to submit to the King, find since then her house had been the favorite gatheriag-place of the red-coat gentry. Many of Mrs. Gar den's friends, who weiQ staunch patriots to the last, quietly cut her acquaintance, and shook their hea^e in silent indignation when her n&me w&s laenuene^, and whea they dared speak at all, it was only to condemn the widow's treachery. Ia the camp of Marion, however, there v. as ote cheek that kindled with pride find v:ot with shame when the la-'iy'd name was mentioned ; and a3 for Gaueral Marion himself, te could have teW tales that would have staril-.d the widow's Charleston friends, had it bean safe to do so. While Marion was creating so great an excitemenb beyand the gates of Charleston, Mrs. Garden resolved to give a ball. Pre parations were made en an exteasive scale, and the loyal element of the city was in high feather. The splendid mansion of the young widow was dressed in flowers from cellar 3to garret, and bbzsd with lights on the evening appoiated for the assembly, and the baad of the garrison discoursed sweet music to assembled crowds. The eafertain ment was at its hei£i.t, when the crowd near the door suddenly p^risd and a young man came forward hurriedly. He wr.s tall and f,,jlet?di^.ly forts* d, and carried himself erect, with proud, martial air. Ha was dressed in the uniform of an officer of the Tory legion, and his general appearance was that of a man who had ridden far and hsid daring the day. As tuo yoang widow saw him her face flushed and then grew deathly pale, and sh« sprang forward with a cry of alarm. 'What are you doiag here,' she asked, hurriedly. . 'You will see,' he answered quickly, in a low tone, ' Only for Heaven's sake, swear black and blue to what I may say 1' Then he.added calmly, and in a louder tone : ' You see my dear Gousin, I have come back to my allegiance.' ' I am'delighted to hear it,' she replied, warmly, taksng the hiat at once. ' I never thougllt your hearb would cling to the rebel cause.'

'Faith,'he said, laughing, 'if my heart had clung to it, my stomach would have driven me from it. I'm not fen lof starving my fair comiD, aid King Geo-ge lives well, you know. Herafte.-, Thomas WiLon lives and dies a loyal man,'

Colonel Watson had been ttmding by during this conver; avion, watching the couple closely. Now he stepped forward to the lady's Bide. ' Who's this gentleman'? he asked some what sharply. 'He seems wonderfully familiar.'

'Ob,' replied the lady, laughing, 'he is my cousin, Lieutenant Thomas Wilson, and as y«u will perceive, is in his Majesty's ser vice '

'You seem rather careless of your dress considering the occasion, sir,' said the col onel tartly. He wa3 annoyed at the great interest which the lady showed in the new comer. 1 My business must be my excuse, colonel,' said the young man respecfully. 'I am the bearer of a letter from Major Gainey, and my orders are to lose no time in delivering it. I have ridden hard all da^y, sir,' and upon reaching your headquarters learned of your presence here. This lady being my cousin I had no hesitation in coming here at once, trusting for pardon to the urgency of my mission.' Aa he spoke he handed to the colonel a sealed letter. Watson took it hastily and broke the seal. As he read it a smile of sat isfaction overspread his features.

'Th's is very good,' he said, gleefully. 'Gaiiiey is pickup up recruits by the hun dreds. Wants 490 rifles, 50 sabers and some ammunition at occs. Will I send them ? To be sure,. I will, - Have you wagons, lieutenant ?'

' JS!o, sir,' replied the young men. ' Major Gainey.was afraid to send thorn d®wn. There's no knowing whan or where one may niet-t that Swamp Fox and his sneaking cut throats.'

' Very good,' said the colonel. ' 111 fur nish you with four wa^oas and a guard of fifty mounted msn.. You will start ai Baa rise in the.. moniu>g, lieutenant. Call at ray quarters hi niidbljht aS3 you- shall have the necessary orde.-s. "Mow, sir, you hr.d bebtsr take, rest, as -you will neiad it.' ' First Ist me offer him some refreshments.' said the widow, qaieiiy. - * He is lired and hungry, I kno'", and no guest must leave my house in such a ssate.'

! Return quickly, then,' said the colonel ' I sliall ha oiißorißlij while you a.r<? gono.'

The young man offered his arm £0 the lady, and they kfs'Yae ballroom ; but-, instead of going to ihecsinln £-:oom, she led him straight to her chamber, aud then, looking the door, said anxiously : , ' For heaven's sake, Charles, what is the massing of this ?' The young raau did not answer verbally, bu^, catching her to hi 3 breast, kissed her passionately, and, to _be fraak, the young widow did uoi resist him.

' It means,' he said at last, in reply to hsr repeated questions; • that we want arrng, and 1 -have come for them.'

What eke they said matters not now ; but before they separated Mrs. Ohir^en seemed very well ssti&fied with the young ciiu's explanation. They then repaired to the supper-reom, where the lieutenant found mple refreshments, and the lady returned t the ball-room, where Colonel Watson was impatiently awaiting her.

At midnight the lieutenant called at head quaters, and, faithful to his promise, Colonel Watson was there. The necessary orders for the delivery of the arms and ammunition and wagons to Lieutenant Thomoa Wi'son, of the * l#yal legion,' were made out, and the colonel also placad is the youug man's baud a sealed letter ef instructions to Major Gainey. The rest of the night was spent in procaring tha desired articles, and at sun rise the next morning Lieutenant Wilson, with his wagons and their contents, escorted by a guard of 50 men, set out for the ' High Hills of Santee,' where the Tory major's headquarters were located.

_ The wagons and their escort made good time, and by sunset were forty mile 3 from Charleston. The sun was scarce half an hour high when Lieutenant Wilson ordered a halt

The mounted men faHtene'd their horses to tie trees, and removing their saddles, pre pared to cook their evening meal. The teams wars unhitched from the wagons and the com mand busied themselves ia preparations for a comfortable night. Everyone was busy, and no one noticed that while these arrangements were in progress, Lieutenani Wilson had drawn off from the party, and disaappeared in the woods that bordered the road. Sud denly there was a crackling in the brushwood which caused the British troopers to spring to their feet in alaraa. As they did bo, a voieejnob unlike that of the young lieuten ant, shouted Oidly :

'Surrender or you are all dead men !'

General Marion secured his prisoners, to gether with the arms,, ammunition, wagons, and horses, and set oat, after a rest of a few hours, for '3now Island.' At the request of the bogus Lieutenant Wilson, ho sent back one of the redcoats to Ch&rkstoa with a note to Col >nel Wat«oa, informing him of the trick thafcfhad been played on him by the yoang officer—who, so far from beinga lieutenont in the Tory legion, jwas none other than the famous Charles Hampton, a capta'n in Marion's Bri gade, who planned and carried oat the affair successfuly—thanking the eoloael for the ex cellent weapons, and othsr materials he had seat him, and promising to do good service with them.

The British commander was furiou3 when he read the note, and^sa* tke hoax of which he had been made victim. He want In haste to Mra Garden bat the fair widow had sailed for England He was compelled to swallow his mortification in sileaco, and, a few years later, when the war was ever, his chagrin wa3 not a little increased by th* hidings which reached hicn that Mrs Garden had married the young officer who had fericied him out of his rifles.

RITTER'S HUSBAND.

It wa3 no light thing, you may be sure, when Mis 3 Hitter resolved to be married. When Miss Ritter "made up her mind" the process was not spfc io sad ia that windy sort of meatul exercise which some women go through tweaty times a day, dignifying each change th»t by title.

Though by no means ona of those self dovoted aad self abnegating souls we some times hear about, Miss Bitter's resolutions had co3t her somsthiog ia her time, and she had certain set notions of her own which many people thought would have been noue the worse for a iitsle pruning, if the knife had b«en applied when she was younger.

Why, bless your life, there she had lived ysar after year, shut up with that crabbed aud rheumatic old step-mother of hers, aid let.ing her own youag life go by as a thing of no account, while she answered the beck aad nod of a wearisome old womsn who would long ago have been in a better world if a vinegadsh temper hadn t preserved her in this. So gossip said, and whispeiel that in her younger days Miga Bitter hadn't led the easiest of lives witn the o!d beldame. Year after year, year after year, this old woman clung to life, holding it, as she did whatever beloaged to her, in a tenacious grip. Miss Hitter hal fallon into her hands among other bsquests of fate, and she clung to this useful and conscientious step daughter with a tenacity which could not- be named affVctioa. Elizabeth had grown used to the situaiion ; long years ago she had put off her wedding day to please this querulous and cx-tciing invalid, whose sick days bade fair to outuru the sum of ordinary well people's lives. The lover had grown weary of waiting, find had gone off and married anothar woman. She was well rid of him, people said ; bub she said nothing. She was noli naturally a marfcre, an-3 did nob, by any means desire to enact that role for tha gratification of on-lookers. Probably she had her thoughts about it. In the years that followed she had gabun danfc time far regret, if she felt any. The old step-dame lived yafc, feeble and acrid as ever. Miss Hitter was no longer young. She had grown positive, and a little abrupt, perhap3, in her ways. She took thrifty c»re of her farm and 'garden, was stately and self-posseesed, asking no one's sympathy, and owning allegiance to the old mother &3 dutifoUy as ever. There had been no change in her life ; the arrangement of ib and the system of it wore as orderly as clook-work, and the old woman went on living as if she were a regular part of the machinery, wound up every morning to have her cap straightened, her coffee brought, aud her tongue sharpened to scold for the rest of the day. Ore morning Miss Bitter woke np. The duties had vanished; there was an empty chair, a vacant room in the house, aud no rasping voice demanding irritably her im mediate attention. The sod had been planted over that rigorous duiiy, if duty it were, the funeral was over, and Miss Hitter's life was empty of a purpose.

'I must have 'change,' said Miss Ritfcer, looking at hersalf in the glass. ' I shall bo an old woman myself if I wait much longer. Wait! Ah I there I caught myself. I shall begin to fancy I was only waiting for the old woman's death; that would just be no better than downright murder. I've baen getting morbid all these years. I'll get out of this for a little —take a trip somewhere and get some new ideas in my head.' ItWdS a summer morning, blithe and beautiful, with odour of clover blossoms and wild r039 scsating the air. Miss Eitter threw np h«r sash aod took a long look out at tlie spreading .fieldg. The gras* waved, the corn fields shook their long leaves in the breeze, birds twittered and trilled in hedge and tree, and beyond, a hazy gleam of the river showed a white sail here and there turning out to the early sunlight. Every thing was" doing something or going eooae where, even, the clouds were drifting ' I rm't have a change,' said Miss JLtifcier. f Why, here I've bsea talking jiboul; it th"i 3 ten years, till the talk ifcaelf ha 3 grown gray, and the change hssn't cone yet. We 1, 11! make the ch&iigs tbis time ray.-e'f I might go to—to Florida, or to Europe, it I clioso.' But here there was a pause—r, long and thoughtful oiie. She h;>,d be^n so lorg shut up from the world, so reajote, so daiasy, so cleanly, apart from contact with ii'ao com mon herd, ho»r was ehe likaly fcp endure being'elbowed and ohrv.Su aside and .'pusher! to and fro among the crowd of uncle;-brad, thoughtless people, who c,«ed no more for, the personality o? Miss Elizabeth Rifctcr than they would for the aaino oa li3r baggago. This subject required reflection. B-.ggage: yes, that was to bo thought of, Iv her own domsia Miss Ritfeer was queen, but how if she had to inquire har way, to keep oa the look-out against imposition, and to shriek after the pori:er making off with her luggage to the wrong hotel ?

Should siie, or couid she, got someoae fc:> ro wish her ? That might do, perhaps. A respectable, well-to-do maa m>ghj make things easier for her. Thore was Farmer Brundage, a bustling and thrifty paraoaage, who had seen a good deal of life ; she might ask him, if hs was not too busy looking after his crops. And then thore was young Mr. Pink, the village apothecary, as neat and dapper as need be, with not too much on his mind. Would ho look after ths bsg gsge ? Or there was Parson Cramroey, a well-bred man, *ho had no objection to take journeys, acting as delegate to innumerable conventions, and honarary member of uncounted commifctesa ; he would do very well, if —if—ah ! if he did not bore her to death with theological disquisitions on subjects that ought long since to have bean settled by school-men had who given their whole time to such thirg3. Miss Bitter wanted recreation, not information. She shook her head and sighed as the long list of eligible candidates dwindled away.

' There's no one—»o one else,' she said ; 'unless it was Dea»an Uhland. pior man, A trip might really do him good ; but then he'a so dreamy he'd never look after the baggage.'

Miss Hitter rose abruptly, a sudden thought growing up to full stature thai^ needed rocm for its development. ' There's only one way out of is. I must get a hus band !' M siKitier went over .that afternoon ti

had a little cottage oh the groauds, "i»nd •ked out a living as general nurse, aasistani, arid village newspaper. 'You see,' Raid Miss Ritter, after a long and neighbourly chaS—• jou ace, I wan I yon to come over and look after things, and kesp [ au eye to the place after I leave.'

'Leave I' echoed Mrs. Granger. ' Sure yo beanfc going to leava ?'

' And why aoi V queried Miss Rifcter, curtly. Tq« ohvn^e h»ving feeen ressolretl upon, she had an objection to being regarded as a fixture, like tha elm near tho courk hoase or th» village mile atone. ' And why aot ?'

Mrs. Granger was iaken all aback, as she afterward declared, by the sudden sharp ness of the qusstioa. Miss Ritter, whom she had known for ' nigh forty year,' living in the same place &nd going the same reund —Mis 3 Rittar seemed getting transieat and vision-lik o. What w»s the world coming to ? Mrs. Granger took out hsr snuff-bax, tapped the lid, and refreshed herself with a pinch.

'Ye beaut getting married, be ye ?* Mra. Granger paused, startled at ths audacity of this idea, which had come up unwarily out of the snuff-box. SWe smoothed he apron and settled her cap strings, 11 talk of i*,' was the quiet answ»r. ' L<»ws !' cried Mrs. Granger, quite cen fouaded, and glaacing up at tha flashed face of her visitor. ' That is —no —excuse mo, ma'am—we'd mostly settled there's none in these parts good enough for ye ' 'I'm going abroad, yea know.'

Ah, then it was probably some prince in disguise whj was wooing this woman, wio, thougii no longer younp*, was so bright aad handsome as she stood smiling and dashing in the doorway. There w^3 nobody in tho« parts good enough for hsr, to bo sure.

' I thought it might be Farmer Bruadaga,' s*id Mother Granger, wa-ily. 'Bat, bhwa my hear% miss, ye've got along so far without 'em, I'd advise ye to have naught to do with no mala criifcer, whoe'er thsy b«. Why, ma'arr, whan my old man was alira —Heaven rest his soul !—I hadn't a minute's peace 'twixt cleauiag up and cleaning c!o.-tq and picking up aft*r him right and loffc. I'd ne'er a chance to tdj myaalf. what with the buking anl brewing, and ne'er a ckasse of saving an hoaest peany, what with tha pipa3 ;*nd beer, year in aud year out.'

Moihc-r Granger wiped her spectacle* aad resumed, compassionately,

'Of course, miss, I know they can't do without the like o' them tra h, and whatever they'll do ia heaven without '«m pasde3 an, but doubtless thereVi be a way provided. They're a poor sort o' helpless jritfcer3, men

'Well' interrupted Mi«s Ri&fcer, 'if I take a trip, you kao^, I'll need somasne to look after the luggage.'

' There's ne'er a one in the placa good enough for yo,' said the old vromau, glancing wiih approval at the tall, supple form and bright eyes of her visitor, as tho latter took hor departure. ' May ha hi the right one, whos'er ho bj, taat ye fatoh into it.'

Ne'er a oue good cuough for her ! Thab was what Miss Ritter pondered as she won* her way over the sunny fields with a thoughtful and lingering step. Her black dress was very nex% aud trim, her cheaks had a colour in thsm yob, and she wore a orioason rose ia her Uair. Tho elected prince, whosver he might bo, nyo4 not bs ashamed of his priuuasa.

There was Farmer Brandage, the wealthy widower ; he came up again pamstautly, as a well-to-do taaa had a right to do. He might leave bis crop 3 just for once, after all, wiih the prospeci of joining his thrifty acres with he:s. A respectable man, witb a good figure aud a pair of bright blue eyes. Miss Ritter did not like blue eyos.

' But than you cAn't have everything,' said Miss Ritter. I must have a presentable man, and a man of affairß, of course.'

Passing through her garden gate, Miss Hitter paused and looked about among her flower beds, well kept and blooming like herself. The weedlesß and pebbled walks, the tiny borders, were pleasant to look upoa for the mistress of this garden tolerated no defect, no overhanging stems, no ovorgrow ing bushes, no careleaa, chance sown snatch of greenness and blossom. Only her rare yellow roses flowered oub in glittering abun dance this year without hslp or hindrance of the pmaing-knife. As she stood there breathing in their odour and lifting a lustrous flower here and there with careful hand, she saw Deacon Uhland wandering down the road, as was his custom of an afternoon, with a group of barefoot children hovering about him. They stood still near the gate, looking in at the gay garden, the shining rojes, tha tall and stately lady with the crimson flower in her hair.

The sight was no new one to Miss Hitter. Til 3 good deacon was known in the neigh bourhood as being no one's enemy but his own. All the poor folk had found this out, and all the poor folk's children ; they helped to straiten his scanty income, to divida hi 3 scanty dinner, and to keep him in that aeedy suit that was almost out at elbows.

A queer little smile came over Miss Rittar's face aa she glanced at this figure leaning over her gate, shabby, thrifcles*, never having seen better days, and never it appeared, likely toase any. ' Busy as ever, eh, deacon ?' Bha said, nodding to him over her garden splendours, ' I thought,' said the deacon, humbly, , I'd just.give my little friands a glimpse of your beautiful flowers.' ' All right,' said Miss Ritter, cheerfully, trimming her rose bushes, 'so long as they dou'c touch anything.'

'Of such i 3 the kingdom of heaven,' said i.hede..o)n, rather irrelevantly, looking about at his rajged litble friends. (What a sfcoop he had iv his ehoulders !) Mis* RiStar laughed ani shrugged he's deprecatiagly Of such was the kingdom of heaven ! The idea struck her in a comical lighis. She hoped for a cle&nar and m jre orderly heaven altogether. Ttia brown litble elfins looked up at her shyly from under their ragged sbraw hats, hanging back and clinging to the "skirts of the deacon's old coat.

• This little olc,' said the deacon, tnruing cp ilie sallow face of a HfcfcLo gip'-sy whose saag'e o! curls had no covering whatever— ' this little thing basn'fc had a breach of air bafore tor a tnoush,. And they're dying off up there ab the Ply 21 pi on Fouh U:sg« by the doz;n. I've made arrangements £0 taiio 'eta out—such of 'em. as are abo to

*,valk—-jWO days in n, week, and mayhap I'll pick up a waggoa somewhere assd tak=> tha rest of them oat for a driva.'

' Well, 3 said Misa Ritter, gaocl naturally, •doa'fc bring too many of them ovsr this way, far. Mother Granger 'il show them no merely when I'm "-gone. And speaking of that, they . may as well have soraa of tha flowera, after all,'

She stretched forth her hand and gathered a great cluster of her superb, her priceless roses, and gracionsly passad shem ovor the gate to ..the astonished Utile oiie3, whose eager arms were outstretched to receive this uuexpaefced guerdon. Sach generosity had nerar bean linoivn from the owner of this abounding garden before. It se^tnad to mark with a goldeu period this fsc';, tha* she was going away.

The deacon stood bewildered and silenS. He had heard Miss Bitter talk of leaving often enough before, but this—this unpre cedented acb of generosity seemed like an illustration to a page of doubtful m-aanmg. She had disposed of she old place, likely ; she was weary of old associations ; she was raally going away. That was Ife. He took off hia hab and wipad his forehead with his old red silk handkerchief. Miss Hitter looked very bright asti positive as sh3 atood in the shadow if the great gateway elm, ripples of light aud shade flitting over her shining hair, her crimson rose, and her bright eyes. There was notLiag visionary or intaagible or changeful about her.

' When she's oacc soS her to a thing. my word fort, nothing oa ai:th can band her,' wa3 Mother Granger's brief sumtaing up of the charastsr of her neigh bour.

Perhaps it; wa3 the contrast with his own weakness, .iadecision, arid aapsn-liko eentle iiczs that made the deacon sigh as he put up his faded bandana.

'Do I understand you fro cay that yea're about leaving the place V be said slowly. 'Yes, temporarily. I've a little journey on hand.'

The deacon breftth«4 more freely. Like other wind-blown aad trifling people, he liked to fiad no change in established land marks.

•I reckon,' said he, with a shy amile, a slight rising of cotd«r e« his high cheek-boaes —'That is, Ih&trd—' 1 Heard what f

' Well, I heard farmer B-undage say—'

'What do«s Farmer Brundage know about it ?' interupked tho lady ooquet ishly.'

' I Beckon he ought *o know everything' was the humble rejoinder. 'Well, well, d««e«m,' said Miss Ritter, onoouragingly, ' I'ro n«eded a little change this long tim«, y«u kao w, and I'm going to have it now, th«t'a all.' 'To be sure, i« be sure,' said the deacon. ' I should like to go abroad myself, I some times thiuk—nhotiU lik« so examine the hospital system of Europe, aad compare it with—'

Miss Ritter interupted him with a gay burst! of laughter. Ilia idea of recreation was certainly amusing. She w&s still smiling, as, leaning over her gardea gate, eh« looked after kiia as he passed dowa the road with the children at his heels-a tall m*a, with a shabby ooat and a stoop in his shoulders ; a man who ha 4 ne?er got ahead in the world, and whe aevar tried to; a m*ny-sided, indefinite sort of maa, in sharp contrast with her own positive and clear-cat nature ; a man who had proved himself in all the active oon oera« of life a visionary and impractical fellow, iliso Kitker shook her head as Bhe wafcehed.

Of all things in the world, she loved to see peopl* *rd*rly, well fco-do, aad taking some oomforfc of life. Sk« h&^ad to have other people's shorte«ming« aad mishaps thrust under her v«-ry eje«. Whose fault was it if th»39 paupcrg and their chileren wero miserable and Uzj »nd nuclean ? Why, jaet saok folk« as ihe de-icoa, with j their mist*ken sytapathios and plailanthropy. She turwed to her roces R«i carnations again as the BhnSjWUg figars die&ppeared from si^ht —roses and carnations, at leAst, fulfilled their part ia life, «ni did it in a most unobjectionable manner. Ten summers' inhaling of tkeir fragreuce, when the invalid within was moai unbearable, had convinced her of this.

The next d*y Misa Ritter saw the deacon drive past wha a waggon load of children ; he nodded hiaheadto her a3 he passed, and whipped np the old faoree with a nourish. 1 Ther® he is, carrying Bickness about the whole country,' said Mis* Ritter, savagely, actually snipping a braadih of the travelling dress she was busily miking..

Tiic week pftES-j^, aud sha t-al nearly completed the preparations for her journey, arranged aboat the furin, instructed Mother Graager in her duties, and put the last stitch in her eowin;. There was a lit le packing to bo doae that w*a all. Toward evening she wandered out among her flower-beds to do a little thinking ; this had been her only place of refuge during the old lady's life, as I have intimated, and the habit of doing her planning and thiakiag there had grown upon her. The gard«n was full of twilight and odour, and seemed to send forth a greeting *s sho cam*. A tear stood ia fcha lady'a eye. 'lam so used to this place,' she said. ' I wonder if I nhall find any prettier place anywhere ?" Pacing thonghtfally to and fro, bho glanced afc tim«s out upon the winding road. She was so used to h*re the deacon stop at this hoar for a c'a»t over the gate, that she quite missed him when the hour parsed and he did not n,ppear. ' Bat,' said Miss Hitter to hersolf, shyly, ' perhaps my husband mightn't like ifc. Woll well I I wonder how it will be to have some one always alongside of me -and jea!oas, too maybe ?' Would if; be Farmer Brundage ? She shook her head. 'My husband's abroad,' she said, smiling. 'Of course he will return with me 1' She had grown so to the society of her ideal husband by this time that she quite knew all his ta3tes, and had great pleasure in mak ing preparations for bis advent. A great writiag-desk in a sunny room off the hall tras dusted up for his especial use—he was a man of affairs, and would need a place for his papers. A comfortable arm-chair and a foot stool had been covered afresh by her own skilful hands—ha would need a good plac3 to rest In after his bnsine3S was over. There was a shelf for his bookts, a rack for his fish ing rod«, and an old gaa belonging to Miss Ritter's father graced the far corner—he might be something of a sportsman. It was all very cozy. ' I '11 just show that to the deacon when he comes along,' said Miss Rilter.

Bat the deacon did not oome along. Day after day passed, and no shabby coat or ragged group of children dimmed the splen dour of her front gata. • He's bo " taken np with his own ideas, he can't give a tuought to anyone else,' said the lady. Tilventara he's got the small-pox down among those scalawag children.' ~ Farmer Brnndage stoppel one day on hi 3 way from market. Ho was full of news and politics, as was ma»l with him on market day. Hia eyes were blithely blue, as they generally were when he had been turning an honest penny ; and he was fill«d to the brim with the hard times, specie payment, and the coming b*akrnptoy of the nation. We were impoverishing ourselves through an inefficient government and a pauper popula tion. A man of affairs, a man of weight in the community, hia opinions mu3t be listened to respectfully. Miss Sitter listened respectfully. 'Astarring, thriftless, pauper set.' said the farmer, Drinsjing^lown his own substan tial fiat to clinch the argument, ' good for nothing but to squander charity fundg, and bviag dissfises into the country for better folks—or at least them that ought to be b*tt«r folks—bo die of. There's that poor Deacon "Ohland, now ; he might have turned oat something if it hadn't iweafor that; hobby of his'n, and now he's—' • Where ?' queried Miss Eitfcer. r • Where is he ?' echoei the farmer.

4 Where, to b3 sure, bat down with the f-aver ab tho Flympton j and there's an end, I take it, of his helping vagranta aad pau pers'. Not, a cent left tc> blesa himself. Every - thing in his hands wasted on those idle beg gars, aud ending by dying a pauper him eelf!1

The farmer was full of hia subject ;he Btraigbfcenad hiaiseif up, adjusted his cravat/ and snapped his limg whip ia a way that made his horsea prick up fchoir ears ; tharo was evidently more of the same sort coming. Miss Rioter listened ; the red rose ia her hair glittered. 'A maa of so little sense,' she observed, .gravely, .' oagkt to ba looked afcor by his oeighbonrs, psrhaps.'

Thers was a monotony of sickaess about the Plyrnpton Hospital; sickness had beea so systematise:!, latwlled, analysed, and made market of < that Piympton would not hava been taken by surprise if tho plague had looked in. People, died and. were baried in pretty much tha same sort of way every day j it cost so much a head to look afwr them, and so much a head to buy them a coffin. The nurses hsd grown monotonously used to their labours, aad the dootois monotonously uaed to losiug their patisnt3.

It was quits a variation in the usual routine of things to see a lady enter the place ; for Plympton was too old an establishment, too much a part of the changeless older of thing 3, to be ia the line of fashionable charity.

And so it was uo wonder that, as Miss flitter walked the length of the long, bare-looking room and approached the deacoa's bad (one of a row of hard-looking beds^, the nurse (one of a iow of hard-looking nnrsee) looked up and grimly smiled.

'Ha don't know nothing, ma'am,' she said, graciously, ; nor nobody. 1

' Oh, yes. I do,' said the deacon, opening hi 3 eye 3. He stretched out his hand feebly to greet his visitor, but on seoond thoughts drew it back.

' Ye'd batter be careful, ma'am,' was the narae's caution, ' if ye baant used to it.'

' It's not a bit catching,' said iKaa Ritfcer —'nob oae bit. Aud Tjp coins to take you away.'

' Awsj; ?' . choecTthe invalid dreamily. * I chought jou was going airay, my friend.' • I am,' was the prompt repty, 'but not to-dsy ; not till I've taken you up to my house first and cured you,' The sick nixti lay back on his pillows, silent- ; be seeinad exhausted, too much so to feel givttitucitJ.

• Will HE be willing?' wa3 at length his faint qu^ry. Mtes Rittar laughed and blushed, fHe hasn't come yet And meantime you can have his place, you knew ; it's all ready.'

So one sunshiny day the poor deacon, watched timorously afar off by half a dozen children, wondering what had befallen their old friend wa3 wheeled through tho trim gravel-walks of Miss Ritter's garden, and actually deposited in her best bed beneath her mo3fciadianfc patchwork quilt.

• L»wa, ma'am,' 3aid Mother Granger, who superintended the removal, ' who'd 'a thought of the Lord's looking out so well for one who looked out for hiataelf so badly!'

I A fortnight passed. Tae deacon began to sit up and look about him. He was propped j in the great arm-chair ia the sunny window, with the gieai writing-desk bende him and the gay footstool under his feat. Emaciated, shadow-like, but qnifce free from his fever, the deacon resigned himself to the luxury of convalescence. ' How cozy and pleasant it is hero !' he said, sipping his tea und tasting his buttered toast. He looked out of the window at the honey suckle shading the piaZZt, at the pebbled walk, the quiet, o iorous garden. 'Poor little things ! I wonder how thiy get on,' he thought, ranieasberiag his little friends, whom n« luxuries surrounded. Ah, well, how plea^aut all this would be for tho comfortable, well-to-do man who was comiug to reign there presently ! The good things of this world drifted naturally to those whose coffers were full. He wa3 but a poor waif himself —a poor, useless, lonely waif, and a failure even i« that c-.pioity. He couldn't dig ; he couldn't beg -a pauper more impov erished than the poorest on wflom ha had wasted his heritage. A great tear stole down the deacon's cheeky the rare tribute of self piety and weakness He never en vied anyone, this good man; but did he deaarre so much less than other men —than this man. for insiauce, who w<is com ing So marry Mies Hitter ? Mia* Hitter looked up froai the ground table where she was taking supper. 'Are yon comfortable ?' she asked. 'Do you fiad the chair easy ?' 'Very,' was tae honest reply, ht3 eya glancing with approval over tho brightdaoiask which oorored his luxmious rcating-plaoe. Re smoothed it down -with his thin fingers. It was plea3ant aai soft to the touch. ' I was thinking/ he svli, hesitatingly -'I was just—ju'at thinking how grateful all this would be to the —the—the—'

'The who?' The—parson that's' aoniing,' stammered tke deacon, taken off hia guard. 'I got it ready for my husband,' was the quiet reply. 'It's beat to have everything ready, you know, ao that things can go on without any fuss. At ray time of life people havo a little caniraon eonse, I trust.'

'But,' said the invalid, uaeasily, a linger ing tinge of his late fjver flashing the high cheek-bones of his thin and ha^flf&ro1 f-ice, 'I have no w>rds to speak my gratitude for your kindness to me, no, not one word ; but it

strikes me- -it is quite possible hi might not like it. I should L>3 sorry to bo the means of—'

' Like whit?' asked Misa Rifcter, sternly, taking no note of the apologetic clause of the sentence.

•Like it that I should occupy this place,' thed>ac3a answered, humbly.

'He h-*an't yet begun to rule my house hold, or to stipulate in regard to my friends,' was the quick reply, as Miss Ritter's eyes flashed out upon the ideal husband in a way to make him shiver in his shoes.

Then she smiled, blushed, and the qaarrel between herself and the comiug man was over.

A group of children came wanderin down tha road, their little bare feet twink ling in the sunset. They hovered a moment outside the gate, looking in at their old friend sitting there at the windew. Then the elde3t, doubtfully, timorously as a cherub might enter paradise, bf tod the latch of the garden gate and came up the patb. In his hands he held a basket of strawberries covered with frash green leaves. Timidly he approached and deposited the offering on the window-3ill, then, a3 if scared at his own temerity, fled down the walk and joined the group awaiting him outside. The deacon smiled and nodded to them, his faoo lighting up radiantly. The children at least were his frienda.

Qait3 proudly ho handed over the bright berries to Miss Ritter, who sat silently ob servant ©f the scene. He looked at her as he did so. Her face was very serene aad quiet just now. How pleasant she was to look upon in this [mood ! What a luxury it would be for hor husband to sit in this arm chair and contemplate her, her shining hair, her shapely hands, the criiASOa rose in her braids ! Only to see her of rare evenings at her garden gate had bean a joy to him for so many years. It would be so no more. 'When he cames,' said the doacon, inad vertently continuing his theught aloud. ' Make yourself easy till he does coma,' said the lady, turning the strawberries into a glass dish. 1 Nay, n»y, Elizabeth,' said the deacon, all that had baen manly in him, all that had been youth and selfhood in him, flaming np for ono brief moment, as he rose to his feet and stretched his hand out tremblingly for his old stick, which, sbood in the corner— 1 nay, Elizabeth, it seems to me that;- I had better go. Ob, I am nob fib to. bb in your presence, co poor, ao weak, so weather rrorn ! I thaok you, I bless yon— but;, oh, my friend, could I snb3ist on his bounty ?'

Miss Bitter's eyes gleamed with i strange rare li^ht at that moonnfc. She pub out her hand with a gentle authority, pressing the invalid back into his chair.

' You cannot walk a step, you know,'' paid she, emphatically, ' aad yon are driving. yourself ill wish a sh=jsow. J : 'Whose shadow?' Hid he nob had to do wita shadows ;tli his life lorig ? Hs s-snk back subdued among the Inxarioiis cushions. Ah, .he was very weak—very ill. Bat presently he should be granger ; presently he should go his way, blessing her from hia lisari of hearba, but fcroabling hsr no more. Yes, presently ha would be w.ilida^ down that; pebbled path and inhaling the odour of her blossoming gard-?n for the I.aafc tittle. And in the coming years, when ho 'should se3 hor face iao more, he would pray all paaco and gladaesg and .love might be hers, though nuvar to bo for him. His oye aioveel, as ho thought this, to the garden, gate, over which he had so ottian chattel SfltH her of an even ing. There at the jgifce stood Farmer Brand age, with his sleek team ;', he had brought a great basket of fresh vegetablsq for Misa Hitter. The farmer did not woo r.ibh an empty hand ; the be3fc products of his fertile fields wore laid at the feet of his divinity. He was looking hia bs2t this afsernooa— tall and strong and ' self-confiden!;. He sprang from the weggon, shaking his long whip at the children still hovering in the road. Though he had no special dislike for children, he objee'ted to these on principle, as beiag the product of a disordered aud mistaken state of things altogether, And the deacon rendered him tribute as he looked. Only such a man, lordly, and lord of abundance — a man to whom the world gave place—only such a man was fit to mate with Miss Rittsr.

It saemed te him a picture iv a dream, as ho lay baok and looked without So weakj ao poor, ia th:.3 hour of renunciation, be felt himself of another clay than fchaa hale and prosperous wooer. Mow naked his life had been ! how poor and flavourless aud empty of result ! Perhaps there w&,s work for him yeb iv the world ; perhaps seine poorer and sadder than he might ye& bs helped by hi 3 sacrifice and sorrow. He prayed so. Bub as he looked oat dreamily, yielding up all things, ha said, or rather these words seernel to wander from his lips unwarily, ai in a dream, ' I too have loved you, Elizabeth.'

Then the scene faded. The farmer sraniaiiedi Faiufe, yet listening, the deacon hoard, the ramble of waggon wheels dying in the disr tance. He heard a bird trill a sweeb sonj somewhere among the roses ; ha saw Miss

Eitter standu p at >iis< t-i c in u.e twilight E'er face like the fi tV"6f' t'i.e v i •, *bts hsrl s revelation. H>r covJ, soft bai <i irarjoa his shoa'der ; hur nspirngvoict ■'■as i^. is, ear. The hour of U-.ewell was o'-er. And thus is wiis that the deacon aceep:ed his fate, aad bacams what the chil.lroa ever afterward Oiilad him, 'Miss iiitirr'^ hua baad.'

' Law !' said Mother Grander, when she heard the n«wj, 'I always siid there w:i'n'c nobody in '-ha place goal emm^a fjr Ker, aad I wa'a't far wrong, for tha deacjn's just nobody at all. Aad- now she'il have to look arter her own baggage for fcver--atid his'n into the bargain.'

HOW HE PROPOSED.

Dr. Gibsw, having mideannaprofes3ioaal visit to Mrs. Kallioott, walked dowa to the gate with her daughter Matty, Matfcy was tweacy years old. and the Doctor was thirty. Her eyes were brown, and his were gray. She had oa a pink cal ico dress and a white muslin aproa ; he wore clean, cool-looking linen clothe 3, aai a wide PaaacQ-i hat.

Ha said the very last thing she would have expected to kear. ' Matty, I love you, and want you to marry me !' The very look in the bright, brown eyes would have told him, without a single spoisen word, how thoroughly unlooked-for such a proposal had been. She had nsv^r, in all the years she had known Dr. Gibson, '.houghs for ft moment of the possibility of his ic;v:n 9C S\e vA'i vary sorry, she told him. bag he dida'c love him one bib, at least ia tbuß way. Bat the teirs catna into her eyes as she caw the. quie^ face grow a tnili pa'.e. 'I hardly believed you did c >re for me,' he went oa, after a paiue. 'Bat I hoped you might yet leara to do it.' ' Bus—bat —'said Malty, with embarrass ment;, ' I thoaght every one kuaw I wa3 engaged to tuy cousin Tern.' 1 Yoac cousin Tom !' ichoed the Ooj:or. I*; w*s impossible to mistake tha expression which passed over his face. It w»3 not matelv personal r«grat at the fac1: she announ ced, bat aa itnpAriLd disapproval cf the matah

Ho made no comaieat, hosvorer, but di rejtlv said :

'Matty, I sfcall never get ovar this -1 mean thal; 1 Khali always love you, and; if you need a, friend or protector, or— or anyone, yoa'il come to me, woa't you V Sd<? promised and held out her hind to him. Ha sb/sok is wirmly, said ' Goi b'.esa you !' aad left her hurriedly. Matty, still leamug on tn?, woodaa g*te, watchedVae retiring ftgnre cub of EighS. She was very quiet all diy, aud in tbe evening propounded tais absurd qusatioo : ' Tom, what would you do if I should jilt

you ?' " Torn stroked his do»vny upper lip, and locked penaiva. ' Couldn't »ay,' he replied, after some moownta of reflection. ' You niighj try and see,' ' Porhapa I will,' she replied more sjberly than the occasion saetnsd t3 warrant. Toai stared very hard at her, bub Lninsdiately forgot the incident. Ne.irly * year pissed. Oae day Mrs. Kcliicott'is ' help' rashed franticilly into D,'. Gibson's house, aud breathlessly aaaouaoed to tkab gentleman that ' Mr. Tstn would be deader'a * door nail long before he goi there if he didn't jump.' For twoseconds, tkir.k iag of him us his rival in Matty's affections, the Doctor had half a mind to consign hion to the teader mercies of good, stupid old. Dr. Wells ; bat hi 3 bstber natu:e prevailed, and ha started fjr Mra. KelliooSti's at the very heela of the serran^-girl. When he arrived he found Tom in high fever and delirious. He pronounced is a severe cisc of typhoid fever, and privately added «. doubt that he would recover. He sent to his own houss for changes of cloth ing, prepared to devote himself to :hz sick man. Matty, too, was unweiriei ia her work, aad, being neoe33arily maeii in Tom s room, consequently saw the doctor constantly. He aud his patient pre3en ed a marked con trast to each other. The latter was captious and peevish to an unhenred-of degree, and talked a'mosfe incessantly of some unknown being named Kate. On the other bane*, Dr. Gibßoa wa3 so patient and gentle, so strong and helpful, doing so much for Tom, and yet not forgetting one ef his accustomed dut'.es, that Matty opened her eyes in admiring astonishment. ■ One morning, aa the Doctor prepared a sleeping draught for somebody else, she said with real solicitude : 'Dr. Gib3on, you will certainly ki4 your- Belf, if you keep on at this rate ; and 'tis my belief .that you are overworked, and you onzht to take rest.' 'Do I appear to be at death's door ? he inquired straightening up and squaring his shoulders as if p?oud of his proportions. 'No, Mitiy,' he continued solemnly, though with" » marry twinkle in hi 3 hone3t eyes, ' work, a3 Mrs. Bowers frequently re marks, in a panaaky.' Matty understood him and colored crimson. t At last Tom wa3 pronounce I out of danger, and noT the Doitor felt that he must remove himself and ki3 belongings from Mrs. Kelli cott's house to his own Malty, hidden by the honey-suckle vinasover the pa:zza, wa'.ehed him go and cried a little. The morning after, Tom an i Matty sat on the piazzi, he reading, or pretendiug to read, while she sawed diligently. Neither uttered a word for more than naif an hour.

Presently Matty shook out the nmsiin cap she was making, and laid ib oa her workbox, put liar silver thimbla as'de, and dropped her hands, one over the other, into her lap. Then she looked up. _ • _ Tom was stating strsight at her. Shp colored violently, - and so,"for that matter, did he. ""

' To:n,' aha bejgftn; ' don't ba aagry. Oia, do fon?ive me !' She paused, trying to think ho> slta could fcell iiira Safely ; biit she %renh on blafl'tly, ' I waut to-ead our augagepisnt.' • 'So do I,' -rejoined- he, wi >-h--difiicuUy wliisifo.;' Thaa both b-arsi iutr •a ht-arty iaus;h. ' You sea.. Mat,' said -Tom, wheii he couid speafc ' llw3 some ooeeke.' - ' Ma^ty a'^jJ&ared sobs t^ksn quite by sur prise au *hi 3 declaration. : ' But I coulda'S help it-, indeed I conUla'b g' aCi { a ' ■ " ■ : : . ,j ' ' -he is a yoang-lady whose name is Kate,; and ber byes are the blaak.-st. and her cheeks tho reddest, and she aings ' tToder* \the-SW»'! with guitir accoraoaniinea;/ rattled Matty all in a breath.

B wae Tom's turn to stare. 'Where did you find all shia oui ?' he asked. ' My dear little bird,. etc. I think I'll go and write to my future oousia ;" and off she ran, gla&.to" escape the qaeationa -.vhich she feared lie might; -propound. 'But you havea't told me—' he called after her.

1 And never shall,' she returned, whisking into her own room.

Ia less than an hoar she had reconciled her inottier to fate's decree, and written to Miss Kate Spencer, and persuaded Torn to write also, and had dnne much toward in forming tha whola village of her altered prospects. . In dv? time Tom was married, Matty officiating-as firsb bridesmaid.

Matty, after tha excitement of Tora's wed ding, Bethp'agtit herself what she should do. Tne:e were her summer dreases to be made up, her music scholars to attend to, the sew ing-circla ani the flowers, but these occupied neither all her time no? thoughts. Taere ought to have been D<.\ Gib3on, so, she could not help thinking ; bafc that gentleman, instead of falliug at her feet as soon as she was freo, paid her no more attention than before She waited for him, ia growing wonder and worry, an eternity—two weeks —and then took measures to bring him to his sensed.

Sho employed only recognized and ladylike n:ean3, however. She began by flirting a little with d.fferont gentlemen ! TLe.-o was Will Ellis. This young gsntle man had offered himself to cur. heroine, on an avarage, feui1 times a year, ever since she was fif cesn. She had invariably •refused him, dsoideiiy and emphatically; but they were

I "ha beat < f fiiends in the "world. She now ) old hints."i*rso many words^- that sh©-w«Q:ld;j- ' >.ccept ai. the attention he would offer her ,' 'luring the nexfc week, taking oare to remem b r this ibis singa h,t de-dnratfon proceeded qoS from aay special regard for him, but was made ia pursuance of coma occult do3i'gn on her pipfS, Forthwith the pair t-mba^ked upon what seemed to be tha stormiest flirta tion Skinners ville ever caw. In the long morning they drove or rowed together ; they dined a.t Mrs. Kellicott's and immediately after sallied forth on soro1; other excursion. Bosh were excellent equestrians, and Matty gloried in galloping over hill aud dale on one of WiU'a haacaome horse 3. (Will, by the by, was the soa of a rich man). Taeu they drank an early tea on the var&sdah and speub the evening at the piano or ia reading. At tte hour of nice Matty always soni Will home, tvithoul; a particle of ceremony or regret his departure. In short, whut appeared Skianersville as a serious cou;t«feip was, realit;}*, a pure business realtsr, anl so uudei stood beStieen the parties to i«.

Tins 3tiv3 of affairs contiou^d for a we^l or so, da'ing which time the Djc;or iguored Matty's exia'euoe, exespfe as she was the daughter o? hia clear friend, Mrs. iCe'Hcott. And all the time the girl wa? raging in wardly at her quondam suicor.

'Why don't; he ask me at once, again?' she eiueried mentally ; ' I am sure he loves me, n.ni any oac might sea tha1? I love him ; but I can's, and I suppose I shall bi aa old maid '

But the Doctor was no", to blame, A. man of the world would baves-3en through Matty's strr.tagera, but he did not ; ha imsgined that she was either trying to droivn her dis appo'mt'ne:;*; at lpaing Tom, or had really decided to marry the enatnored Will.

The truth occured to Matt}' at last. She ooalii hird'y believe such stupid icy existed iv th 3 mind of ra-sn ; bat sha dotermiaed to try what modest and re irin^ behaviour would effeci:. So she dismissed Will, and became to all outward npp3armce3, a little nun. Still no adva-.ice oa the Dosfcor's part. He

ciais aad v?ent cosstsutly to the'house, how ever. Matty gave up ai;|!iope, finally of ever coming to a batter understanding with him, when something; happened.

D:\ Gibson 'dropped in' one morning, when Mrs. Kellicott sat se -visg oath 6 pleasant ver andah in the cool refreshing breeze.

'You mustn't come he;e,' she called as he tied his horse '.o the hitching post. 'My work require* my uudiviieel attention ; be sides ,yoii'il step ou the ruf333. Yon may go and help Matty, if yon like.' That young .ven:aa wag making pies in the kischen. She saw the D_>etor coming round the coraer of thahonse, gave a hurried glance at the bottom of a tin pin she was holding, fousd herself preseniabie. a-nd greeted him composedly. She wasyary glad to see him she slid. Wouldn't he come in ? 'No, ha would not otne ia, the day was so beautiful, He would just stand on the little brick pavement under She window and lean over the sill.?

So there he stood na'i.-r the grape-vine trellis, with a little golden suushina falling over his hair and shoulders. Matfcj' observed that; ha looked thoroughly ualoverlike, and concluded that he dida'ts iatsud to propose. Sq^ also noticed a rip in his ooajb, »nl won dti-ed who would mead is for him.

Some way the talk veered rouad from the weather to vtosis's righ's. Matey, on this, spoke up. Sic didn't at all believe ia the secondhand influence which . reached the ballot-box through the agency of husbands and brothers. 'When I vote/ shj said, '1 want to march.to the poll and pu; in mv own vote, my own self.' 'Whit a pretty sps-ctscle you'd make, with that rolling-pin ia year haul, Matty, and—' 'I'm not at all sure thai I want to vote,' she interupted, '.But I just would like to mske some laws, that's all.'

' Well, yea mighS petitioa the legislature,' suggested the Doctor, gravely.

'Ob, they're not legal laws ; only social customs and usage?. I'll tell you just what I mean.' She laid the rolling-pin aside, with an emphatic bant;, placed her floury arms akimbo, looked very earnest and de termined, and quite regardless of the fact that she and Dr. Gibson were in love with each other.

'Now at a party, when a lady sits alo-ne in a stuff-chair all tha evening, nob dancing, simply because she hasn't any partner, and caa'u ask anyone, oL, you know, Dr. Gibson, you know—' 'How it is myseif,' interpolated he. 'How it was at Mrs. Campbell's the other bight. It I'd have. b?en Anna Eadcliffe, or Dora Collard. I'd have asked aomeof you men to dance with me,'

'Then ycu think women should have the privelege of asking for whatever they wish?" ha retorted with half a smile., She answered that she moanfc jnal that. • 'Well, Matty, I quite agree with you 1 not only think they should have this right ia such a case as you mention, but alsoia more ser ious affairs. For instance, women might with, perfect piopriety make proposals.of marriage.', JS Tow, such an idea had never entered MatSy'a foolish, little head, and she seized the sugar-bos with great embarrassment. The Doctor went on with much gravity :

■ 'I am aware that it would be a very uncon ventional proceeding, and I am afraid that no woman will ever be wise enough to take the initiative ; aad yet I am persuaded that in many cases it would bs the mosi; natural and bblntiful thing he could do.'

He wa3 looking uacooseioualy up a,S the blue sky shining through the filagree work of vine-leaves above hiai. It was evideat he vras thiiiking in the abstract only, but a fal feerfag little 'Dr. Gibson' recalled him to fcfaa

concrete. Ana there stood Mafcfcy, snailihg, btrishuSgi dhnpling. ready to.extinguish her self tb hei' bro^n gingham aproa. :

: 'Dr. Gibson. I liiie yoa ever so.mucn S' she faltersrl bravely, bui breathlessly,

The- doctor -jcinped- through•.■aa:O.pen. wia doir, .fed made his proposal over ragain

A NORFOLK GIANT.

Mr John T. Waller, M.K.C.S., writes U .VTLu' -Tuiicj". 'from Flegy,' -Burgh, . •'1 .tLiuk it Just po-sjlilp that Jyoiiv readers. r t ::..,y.be iutesestcd: ia knowiii'/-; that the iait. of the giants., oi East' Anglia is no tnore.. His, name was. Benjamin Danieis, audylie was. b'orix and lived ail his life as a1 fanner at Scratby, on' flic coast, : about six miles north of Xormouth, and* five miles from Sonierron, die birth 'aiul resting-place of Halee the Norfolk giant. He died on the 6th ci tliis mon^li, and on the 12th was buried in su adjoining village— Ormesby St.' Margaret—the funeral being witnessed by a iar^e concourse.. His age : was 54, height 6ft. 6in., weight 24 stone, "width from shoulder to shoulder across the back 20ia~, symmetry' gr;i:*d,. strength great, frequently loacar.g his own vrag.^on with corn by carrying four bushels of wheat under each arjii at one time, and he has brouoht wreckage off the beach which had foiled three men. When in great haste to have his farm work done, horses being much eugsged, I have seen him harnessed to one of_ his harrows and cultivating the land. He has left a widow but no] family. He was an exceedingly good-natured man."

A New Way of Paying Old Debts.—

A eelfisn rich man often induses his poor nephew, who had a large family, to perform unpleasant services for him by hinting at future rewards. On one occasion he was employed to purchase a grave, in which to bury one Mrs Brown, a distant relative of his uncle's. Some time afterwards he r-eceived the following kind epistle :— ' My very dear Nephew,—l have long, wished to do something for your worthy family in return for the many services yon have rendered me. I have not succeeded as I hoped in getting a presentation to some public school for one of your dear boys. I am now determinedi my good fellow, to do something for you myself. There is Mrs Brown's grave, a nice large one and per fectly dry ; I give and bequeath that grave to yon and your family for ever. From your affectionate uncle, JeeemySto^e. '

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