A Romance in Two Chapters.

Chapter I.—The first time George and Maiy met was at Mrs Dixon's garden party at Putney, An old gentleman was fishing. All she said was, "He doesn't seem to be catching any fish." George only answered, '' True'happiness lies in anticipation." She thought he must have an original mind, and secretly loved him. Chapter ll.—Their next meeting was at the same place, under the same circumstances. The same old gen tleman was fishing. "He doesn't seom to be catching any fish," said George. " True happiness lies in anticipation," said Mary. "WhaL.au..original . mind!" thought George,Ttod he fell in love with her. They are, now married I—Punch.

Phil's Burglar.

[By Fjrank H, Converse.]

I AH Phil Morris, fourteen years old, and the youngest clerk in Covert Savings Bank. The cashier is my Uncle Jack, and he began at the bottom, where I am, when he was a boy. He says that a boy had better grow up with a country bank than go West and grow up with the country. He thinks there's more money in it.

" If there s nnyrning m you," he said one day, " you'll work your way up to be Bank President some time." And I guess it's better to be President of a country Bank than to be President of the United States. Anyway, you wouldn't have to be shot before folks began to find out that you were doing your level best to keep things straight. Uncle Jack says and does such queer things sometimes that people say he's odd. They tell about his being so wrapped up in our Bank that he never had time to hunt up a wife. I notice, though, that when father and mother died, and left mo a wee little baby, Uncle Jack found time to bring mo up. and give me a good education to boot. Oh, he's as pood as gold or Go vernment Bonds, Uncle Jack is.

We live in rooms over the Bank, where old Mrs Halstead keeps house for us. Underneath, we do the business. There's heaps of money in our two big vaults. Last summer— and, mind you, this was while I was on vacation—two men broke into the dwelling. They came upstairs, and into Uncle Jack's room. One had a bull's-eye lantern that ho Hashed in Uncle Jack's face as lie sat up in bed, and the other pointed a big pistol right at his head. "Tell us where the vault keys are, or I'll shoot you," he said. " On, Uncle Jack," I bro\e in, when he was tolling about it, " what did you do?" " What would you have done 2" he asked, in his odd way. "I know wliat I wouldn't have done," I answered him, straightened up a bit—"l wouldn't have given em the keys." "Ah!" Uncle Jack says, kind of half doubtful, and then went [on :—" Well, I tolil them to shoot away.*« And they knew as as I did that shooting would'nt bring them the keys. So when they found they could'nt frighten me, the scoundrels tied me, and went off in a rage, with my watch and pocket-book." That was last summer. One night along in the fall Uncle Jack started olf down town. " It's Lodge night, and I may not be back until late," he said. " You won't mind stayiug alone—a great boy like you," And of course I said "No."

But somehow, after Mrs_ Halstcad went to bed, I found I, did mind it. I don't know what made mo feel so fidgety. Per haps it was reading about a Bank robbery in Bolton, which is the next town to Covert. It was thought to be the work of Slippery Jim. a notorious burglar. And while 1 was thinking about it, I dozed off in Uncle Jack's easy-chair. _~ .

" Ow-w'-w 1" I sung out at once. And if you'd woke up of a sudden to .see a "rough looking man, with a slouch hat pulled over his eyes,-standing right in front of you you'd havo done the same. " What—what do you want here ?" I sort of gasped ; and I tried to speak so he wouldn't hear my teeth knock together. "Tho vault keys—where are theyi" he answers, short and gruff. And then he kind of motioned with his hand—l suppose to show the revolver he was holding. 1 was pretty badly scared ; but all the same, I didn't mean he should have those vault koys, if he shot the top of my head off.

"Come, hurry up," he said, with a sort of grin. And I noticed then that he had red whiskers, and some of his upper front teeth wcro gone, so that ho didn't speak his words plain. "I should know you anywhere," I thought. "Strategy, Phil Morris," I said to myself, bracing up inside; for tho story I'd read about how a lady caught a live burglar came across me like a flash. "Please don't shoot, sir," I began to say, -with all sorts of demi-semi-quavers in my vo i ce —"plcaso don't; indeed I'll show you where they're kept." So making believe to shake all over, I took the lamp, and led the way into Uncle Jack's bedroom, "The k-k-k-eys are in th-there, sir," I told him.i | You should have seen my fingers tremble when I pointed to the little store-room that opened out of the chamber. The keys were there, true enough, but'l'd like to see anyone except Uncle Jack or I find < them. I suppose you have heard of such things as secret panels. ; The store-room floor is lower than the chamber floor. Many a time, when I haven't been thinking, I've stepped down with a jar that almost sent my backbone up through the top of my head. "In there, eh?" said my bold burglar, quite cheerful like, and pushed by me to the open door. I , I set the lamp down; and my heart began to beat so that: I-was almost afraid he could hear it. "Now or never," I whispered. ; ■ It was all done quicker than you could say " knife." I put my head down like a billygoat, and ran for the small of his back. "Butted" isn't a nice word, but that's just how I sent him flying headlong into tho closet. I heard him go down with a crash that shook Mrs Halstead's biggest jar of rasberry jam off the shelf. t<l didn't stop to take breath until -I'd locked the door and barricaded it with Uncle Jack's big mahogany bureau—just as the lady did' in the story. Then I hreathed —and-listened. What I heard made my eyes stick out a bit. First I almost feltlike crying; Then 1 laughed until I did cry. I ! suppose ' the excitement made me hystericky. It wasn't ten minutes before I roused, up Mr Simms, the constable, and Jared Peters', who lives next door. Mr Simms brought along an oW pepper-box revolver and"a pair of handcuffs.' Jared Peters had a douple?barrel gun, but in his hurry he forgot to load it. : ' Upstairs Tie hurried. -,-< The two_ men pulled away the .bureau; and Mr Simms, who -was in the army, stationed us in our places^ ■ "'■■'■'■ "Look a-here, you feller," Mr Simms called out, "the strong arm of the law is a coverin' you with deadly weepons. Surren der withoutTeaistance—Phil, yank open the I flung open the door. Jared Peters covered the prisoner with his gun. He was covered with something else, too—Mrs Halstead's raspberry jam, that he'd been wallowing round in. He didn't look proud, though, for all he was so stuck up. Before he could open his mouth, Mr Simms had him handcuffed and dragged out into the chamber. " There," he said, with a long breath, "I guess you won't trargle no more right away." "For goodness' sake, Simms—Peters— don't you know me—Mr John Morris, cashier of the Savings Bank?" That was what the prisoner said just as soon as he could speak. Well, I didn't wait any longer. I )ust bolted for my own room, where I could he down on the floor; and there I lay laughing until I was purple-clear round to my slwnilder-blades. Then I went to bed. "Philip,"1 said Uncle Jack, solemnly, while we were at breakfast next morning, " I should beg your pardon for trying to

tost your courage in the—the consummately idiotic way I took to do it last night, but"— and he looked very sheepish—"l—l think I got the worst of it."

" I think you did, sir," I answered him, choking a bit.

" 'Die disguise was a good one, though," he went on, with a sort of feeble chuckle, "and leavingmy false teeth out, changed my voice completely—eh, Phil?" "Yes, sir—until'you hollered out in the closet that it was all a joke, and wanted me to let you out," I answered him, as I got up and edged toward the door. "Why didn't you let me out then?" roared Uncle Jack, who is rather quick tempered. ,

I hope I wasn't impudent. Truly, I didn't intend to be. "Because, Uncle Jack," I paid, as I turned the doorknob, "I have heard you say more than once that he who cannot take a joke should not make one." And as I dodged through the door I heard Uncle Jack groan.—"Harper's Young People,"

President Garfield's Maxim.

In illustration of the late President's intellectual character, the following ex tracts have been taken from a work pub lished at Philadelphia, by Mr Wra. X, Balch, containing a collection of General GarJield's maxims, rules of conduct, and. judgments on society: I would rather be beaten in right than, succeed in wrong. I feel a profoundcr reverence for a boy than lor. a man. I never meet a ragged boy iii the street without feeling that I may owe him a salute, for I know not what pos sibilities may be buttoned up tinder his coat.

Poverty is uncomfortable, as I can. testify; but nine times out of ten the best tiling that can happen to a young man is to be tossed overboard and compelled to sink or swim for himself. In all my acquain tance I never knew a man to be drowned who was worth the saving. If tho power to do hard work 13 not talent, it is tho best possible substitute for it.

We cannot study nature profoundly with out bringing ourselves into communion with the spirit of art, which pervades and fills tho universe.

If there be one thing upon this earth that mankind lov* and admire better than an« other it is a brave mail—it is a man who cares to look the devil in the face and tell him he is a devil.

It is one of the precious mysteries of, sor row that it finds solace in unselfish thought. ■Every chmacter is tho joint product o£ nature and nurture.

It lias been fortunate that most of our greatest men have left no descendants to shine in the borrowed lustre of a great name.

An uncertain currency, lhat_ goes up and down, hits tho labourer, and hits him hard. It helps him last and hurts him first. We no longer attribute the untimely death of infants to the sin of Adam, but Jto bad nursing and ignorance. The granite hills are not so changeless and .abiding as the restless sea. In their struggle with the forces of nature, the ability to labour was the richest patri niony of the colonists. Coercion is the basis of every law in the universe—human or Divine. A law is no law without coercion behind it. For the noblest man who lives there still remains a conflict. We hold reunions, not for the dead, for there is nothing on all the earth that you and I can do for the dead. They are past our help and past our praise. We can add to them no glory ; we can give to them no immortality. They do not need us, but for ever and for evermore we need them.

Throughout the whole web of national existence we trace the golden thread of human progress toward a higher and better estate.

Heroes did not make our liberties, but they rcilected and illustrated them.

The life and light of a nation are insepar able.

After all, territory is but the body of a nation. The people who inhabit its lulls and valleys are its soul, its Bpirit, its life. In them dwells its hope of immortality. Among them, if anywhere, are to be found its chief elements of destruction.

It matters little what may he the forms of national institutions-if the life, freedom, and growth of society are secured. Finally, our great hope for the future— our great safeguard against danger—is to be found in the general and thorough educa tion of our people, and in the virtue which accompanies such education. The germ of our political institutions, the primary cell from which they were evolved, was in the New England town, and the vital force', the informing soul of the town, was the town meeting, which, for all local concerns, was King, Lords, and Commons in all. It is as much the duty of all good men to protect and' defend the reputation of worthy public servants as to detect public rascals* J3e fit for more than the tiling you are now doing. ■ If you arc not too large for the place you are too small for it. Young men talk of trusting to the spur of the occasion. That trust is vain. Occa sions cannot make spurs. If you expect to make spurs you must win them. If > you wish to use them you must buckle them to your own heels before you go into the fight. Greek is perhaps the most perfect instru* ment of thought ever invented by man, and its literature has never been equalled iv purity of style and boldness of expression. Great ideas travel slowly and for a time noiselessly, as the gods whose feet were shod Avithwool. What the arts are to the world of niatter, literature is. to the world of mind. ... History is but the unrolled scroll of prophecy. ■'■'~..' c The world's history is a divine-noern. Of which the history of every nation is a canto, and every man a word. Its strains have been pealing along down the centu* ries, and though there have been mingled the discords of warring cannon and dying men, yet to the Christian philosopher and historian-the humble listener—there haa been a divine melody running through the song, which speaks of hope and halcyon days to come. . ; Light itself is a great corrective. A thousand wrongs and abuses that are grown in darkness disappear like owls and bats before the light of day. Liberty can be safe only when suffrage la illuminated by education. , Parties have an organic life and spirit or their own, an individuality and character which outlive the men who compose them, and the spirit and traditions of a party should be considered in determimninc: their fitness for managing the affairs of tne nation., '~,.. .. - ■

Suitor : Marry you only for your money I No I I will s?ive you proof of ray unselfish, ness by makiDg it all over to my creditors!

Considerate mother to governess : " MiSS Smith, don't let Alfred and Jamie sit down on the damp grass, for fear they should catch cold. When they are tired, you can sit down and take them on your lap.'

Presently the door was opened, and, not Helena, but her mother came in. Sebas tian was as much struck with the change 'in her as he had been shocked with that in

Helena, but in a different way. Mrs Spcnceley looked Letter, happier, younger, 1 and more contented than she had done since her husband had made his fortune eighteen years ago. And she looked so "because she .was so. She did not mind the narrow means, the small house, the two servant ~ girls, and the constant necessity for her pre ' senco in the kitchen. All that was as^the tread of life to her, and she thoroughly en joyed it. Sebastian, with a sigh of relief, .-felt that here no condolence was needed, no -delicate skirting of dangerous ground. He might look cheerful, and ask Mrs Spenceley ■with confidence and success how. she ■was. The nature of her answer was visibly -written upon her face beforehand. "Well, Mr Mallory, this is a pleasure! •'I could scarcely believe it when Helena said she had met you, and you were coming to see us. I said, ' Eli, he'll never come, not he!' But sho said she though If you Avould; and she's right, it seems." "She certainly is. ' I am very glad to see you looking so well, Mrs Spenceley." " Oh, thank you,' said Mrs Spenceley, •lightly flinging a purple satin cap string •over her shoulder. "I've nothing to com wlain of, thank God ! I've got on much tetter than I'd any reason to expsct, and I'm thankful for it. It's hard work some times, but I've a broad back. Which she certainly had. " That is very fortunate, he said, with becoming solemnity. "Yes; I've four gentleman. You'd wonder where we find room to put them all, but the house is more capacious" (Sebas tian conjectured that she meant spacious) "than it looks, and we've room for them all Very nice gentleman they are, too; all'in business in Manchester, you know. They're quiet and well behaved, and they pay tip regularly; and," she added, drop pin" her .voice, "none of your stand-off «cnts. They are all disposed to be most Fticndly, all except Mr Harrison, and he's L': en»a"ed to his cousin, who lives in Nor ,: thunioerland. He hears from her regularly, ' twice a week." . ' '-"'• "Yes," said Sebastian, with an air of the I -deepest interest—the air of one thirsting for more information. " But all the others—Mr Frnlay, and Mr Smithson, aud Mr Jenkins—are most i!. friendly, aud quite gentlemen every one of ■ them. " Indeed, Mr Jenkins," she dropped her voice again, "is very much interested ■ "Ishe?" said Sebastian, still with un feigned interest. '' Yes, he is. He's getting on, too. And a perfect gentleman. On Sundays" Sebas tian leaned eagerly forward—" on Sundays they often go out into the country for the day,sometioies even for the week end: but Mr Jenkins, never," said Mrs Spenceley em phatically, "Mr Jenkins dines with its." "Poor Helena !' thought Sebastian, while he said" Oh indeed!" " Helena said I oughtn t to have entered into such an arrangement; but I think she's mistaken, and I think she'll come to see her mistake in time." '.. _"Mis 3 Spenceley does not feel so much a interest in Mr Jenkins, perhaps, as he feels , inher!" . * '*' "That I can't say; but if she does, she conceals it, which is but natural, after all." "Quite natural, in such a case," assented Sebastian. _. . "Here's the tea-things," continued Mrs Spenceley cheerfully, producing a bunch of keys, and going to a cupboard, whence she drew forth, to speak metaphorically, flagons wherewith to stay her guest, and apples for his comfort—in the dry language of reality, ajar of apple jelly, and a glass dish contaiaing conserves of a deeper,more sanguinary hue. ,■■-,,, ■ •, ■ While Mrs Spenceley was half-buried in the depths of the cupboard,- Helena came jntothe room again. She had changed her dress, and attired herself in another relic of splendour, a black silk dress, rich and handsome, if somewhat old-fashioued ; and she had tied an orange-coloured ribbon round her neck, and put on a little lace frill, and Sebastian felt that fhe looked lovely, and began to hate those three gen tlemen who were disposed to be so very friendly with a deadly hatred. Her eyes fell upon the fighre of her mother, half ia and half out of the cupboard. It was a very •fnnny sight, and when she turned to feebis tian there was abroid smile of amusement •upon her face. It looked as if it was_ the first that had been there for along time, and Sebastian felt it only right to smile as

genially in return. I Mrs Spencclcy, emerging from the cup toard, summoned them to the table ;. Sebas tian felt aS if it were a dream as he handed Helena her chair, and took his place oppo site her. No surroundings, however poor, could take away from the queenly -beauty -of her face and figure.. was indeed more queenly than she had ever been before, ■ lie thought, as he watched her across that simple board. VThe meal .was soon over, and then Mis Spenceley, rising, said : "Mr Mallory, you must excuse me if I ■leave you. I must go and see about their t^as,fa;ndthen I've promised to, go> and sit with Mrs Woodford, next "doors but one. She's a greatfriend of mine. Her husband's ■fatherbuilt mos.t of th.fii houses in this street, and ■ was a rich man, but he never could keep anything, never ! and she now pays a ;rent for the very hoiise her father-in-law built; This world's full of aps and downs/ - -. ' '/Itls indeed. Then I shall not see you again this evening?" "Well, no. We shall most likely have a little supper together, and so I shall leave Helena and^ybu to, have a" little chat. But I . shall hope to see you again soon, Mr.Mal lory, if -youdon't mind coming all this way ~ out of town."' ; ; ;',■■■'•"...■ He hastened to assure her that he thought :■',;■" sit a very nice drive, and not at all far; and :< Mrs Spenceley, disturbed by the sound of it 1 ring at the bell, said : '.',M "There's Mr Finlay VI, must g0.:.'., .Good evening, Mr' Mallory;"- "'■'■ ~': ~. She-was gone, and they; "were alone. ~-j Helena' : , had taken, her .work-basket: to a j ,: little table near4he window^ and had begun ;si to embroider, a little strip of muslin. Sebas ■ > tian thought the sofa, which was just on the other-side of the little table, Offered a suit able place for the purposes of confidential * conversation, and he, went and sat down ~'.'' nponit. . - "Isthere no one in Thanshope about . whom you wish to inquire, Miss Spenceley ?" J he began. . • : ; ,;v. "I—oli,how. rude of me! I'have never ■ !-asked after Mrs Mallory. Howis'slie?" ," She is very well, thank you " "I am glad- to hear it," said Helena . .calmly ; and Sebastian felt rather uncom . ' fortable, for Mrs Mallory had not displayed . ariyinterestinthe Spenceley family since' ~. their downfall. : !■ ■.-...• '.'Do you see much of the Thanshope .--people," continued Helena, in the same calmly indifferent tone; not a resentful ■",,.;tone,-'but a conventional one, which was much more disagreeable to Sebastian than a resentful one would have been. It im plied that Thanshope and all that therein -"lived had become a name, a memory, a thins? . .^c+l.« «„»*. j.« i tc t-»_ :~:t i- 7i

of the past to her. "Do you visit much," she added; "goto many parties ?" •'N—no. lam ,very busy, lam busy all,,day, and I don't care touch for the Thanshope people. All my near friends,

those in whom I took an iutcrest, I have lost."

" How very distressing ! How has that conic to pass ?" "Hugo yon Birkenau has gone to Ger many. He is studying music, and intends to make a profession of it. He has begun to give lessons already." " Hugo give lessons !" cried Helena, look ing up surprised. "Yes, I will tell yoii all about it another time. I see you don't half believe it. But it is true. We have not quarrelled, lam glad to say; but he has gone. Ho has begun life for himself, aud henceforth our paths are divided. There was another. You did not know him. I could scarcely call him one of my friend-, but I miss him. He is one interest less. There was Mr Blis set: he is dead. There was you -at least I hope so." " I don't think we ever were really friends ; I did not I ike your opinions." "But not enemies?"

"Well, perhaps not exactly; at least, not at last," said Helena, with a sudden change in her voice. "But," sheropcated, "I did not like your opinions. You shut me—l meau you.denieu to women the right to participate in those larger questions which I hold they ought to be interested in as well as men, for the sake both of men and of themselves ; and I never would give in to that as long as I live."

She did not speak vehemently, but with a decision and calmness unlike her old agi tation of manner.

" I wonder how I shall over make yon understand my real views on that subject," he said despairingly. " You said you had no views on the question. Perhaps, if you;had ever tried to find out whether I had any understanding, you might have succeeded in iinding a tiny scrap, somewhere very low down. But never mind, it is of no consequence now. I can never help forward the questions I take an interest in, as I once hoped to do ; so you need not be afraid of my going astray. I have lost the power." " Miss Spcnceloy " "I think you have forgotten one of your friends," suggested Helena, with a change in her voice which she could not quite con ceal.

"Have I? Which?" he. asked very meekly. "Miss Adrienne Blisset." " All, yes! I actually had forgotten her. Lnever see her now, either." " Does she no. longer live in Thanshopc ?" asked Helena, bending over her work.

"She still has Stonegate, but she is scarcely ever there. I think she has taken a dislike to tho place. And when she is there I do not see her. As you say, she is lost to me too, for we onco were friends."

Sebastian's voice did not change. It was quite steady and composed. Helena still seemed interested in her work as she said :

" I should think that must be the greatest loss of all to you.'" "In some respects it i». At first it was a great loss. Now I feel it less. For two years I have been learning to live alone. SmUe scornfully to yourself if you like! You may not believe me, but it is true, all the same," " Oh, I can beliove that you found it hard to lose Miss Blisset's society. She was no ordinary young-lady, ■•■- If she had once been your friend, it must have been difficulty to resign her. And people spoke of something more than friendship. I heard often that you and she were engaged."

" Did you ? I, too, have heard something of the same kind; but there was no truth in the report. We were never engaged." "Ah! people will talk, you see !" " Naturally,' but I don't think they talk so much any whore as in Thanshopo." "Perhaps they haven't, so much cause." " That is rather too bad." " You mean that people are not often so rude to you. I can quite fancy so." "You will agree with mo that I have lost all my friends."

"You do not seem broken hearted," said Helena. You look well and cheerful." She raised her eyes, and surveyed his face, strrtightly and composedly. ' Sebastian wished the look had not been so entirely self-possessed. "Head too busy a life to be broken hearted, "he replied. '' Pray don't suppose that I spend my time in thinking how lonely I am."

"I never supposed' anything of the kind." " It is simply that I once had friends, and circumstances removed them, and I have not been ablcto fill up their places. I have worked hard—really hard; and I think I have learnt some good lessons in these sad years." ; . , "Yes," said Helena, looking'up, with the old eager interest in her eyes, the old bright ness upon her face. "You must indeed have learned some lessons. My greatest trouble in leaving Thanshope was that I lost sight of all my friends during the dis tress. I have had no interest like that since then. You have. And you have j had other interests too. I 'sawthat they I had asked you to be the Eadical candidate, j when Mr Lippincott resigned. There is a j pro«pect before you! Have you given your answer yet?" ";; . ; , ' "My answer is due to-morrow. And upon my honour, I don't know* what it w going to be. What would you advise?": : ; "Mr Mallory!" -| "Yes!" \' " ■ ' ■' •,: !

, "Why do you jversist in saying such things? Do you think it is amusing?" I " According to you, I must have the most wonderful faculty of amusement that any man ever possessed. Please, do I think what amusing?" ,'/'

"Do you think it ariinsing to ask ques tions of that kind? To solemnly aslc advice when you don't want it? Tp consult a woman, and a young woman, upon an im-, -portantstep inlife? Wedon'tunderstand these things—at least, you say so, .and I; choose to take yon at your word, so far as you are concerned. Ido not choose to ;be treated as you once treated me, when I was in earnest, and then be appealed to for an opinion. I'have no opinion on the ques turn." ''■'■! V ?:■'.■! . -.-.■ i " I wish I had never opened my lips ! upon that question. You have never for-, <nven me, and you never will," said he, m a deep tone of mortification. "I, too;> was in earnest when I asked you to-night what you advised. " I have been vacillating, and considering and wondering what was best, like " ;'< i;//.!..i till ■■ uj "Like a woman. . , ; ,<

"Like.a lonely man who has no coun sellor to whom to apply." " IJow pathetic 1" '. "Will you really not give me one word of advice ? Would you accept or not ?" " You do not want my advice. You—it is absurd! You have lots of men to ad vise you. What can you want my advice °She spoke impatiently. Stung by her tone, words, and manner, lie leaned sud denly forward, saying: " I do want your advice, Helena. I acted like a consequential fool toward you at one time. When your troubles overtook you I was made thoroughly ashamed of my self. You behaved like a heroine. Tell me, should I accept or refuse t Give me your opinion, and, by heaven, I will abide by it.! 1 can trust you."

"Then accept! With your abilities and your responsibilities you have no right to refuse." "I shall accept," was all he said, and there was silence for a time.

Helena went on working, with how great how immense an effort, he could not know. He sat and meditated on what he had done, on the fact that he had submitted his con science to the guidance of a girl's voice, and that since that voice had spoken every hesi tation, every doubt had vanished. Not a difficulty remained.

"You will bo almost certainly elected," said Helena, after a pause. " Then your life will busier than ever. How will you manage ?" " This is a problem which is even now troubling me. I must have some help. Ido not know where to turn for it. lam overwhelmed with business, really." "Are you? I wonder at you spending your precious hours here," said Helena; and the moment after she had said it her face became crimson.

" You think tho time wasted, and you wonder that I should waste it here?" said Sebastian, and looked at her steadily.

Helena did, at this point, show a return of her former sensibility. The flush re mained high in her cheeks. Her eyes fell, and her hand trembled as she resumed her work. Sebastian was much too good a tactician to lessen the value of the sign he had wrung from her, by coining to her as sistance with any casual remark. Ho re mained perfectly silent, till Helena, appa parently finding the situation disturbing, etartod up, exclaiming impatiently : "How hot it ia! Oh, how liot! My needle gets sticky, and I can't work with a sticky needle. ... ...Whonyon are elected —anil you are sure to bo elected —you will, as you say, be very busy ; but what an in teresting kind of business ! I shall often think "

Sho stopped suddenly, " Never mind my life." said he, begin ning to sec wliero the power on liis side, and the weakness on hers, really lay. Tell me something sibout your own." " About mine—my life !" said Helena, with a little laugh. "That would indeed bo an exciting history—too much for your nerves altogether, I fear." "Tell me, or I shall not know how to think of you. It is so annoying not to know the tenor of the life led by some per son in whom one takes an interest. What is the name of the parents of your pupils ?" "Their name is Galloway." "Whatnort of people are they?" "Theyare rich people." " That is nothing to the point." " They are people with fad% and yet they are very kind to inc. I teach their children —as much as they will allow mo, that is They beilevc in letting the children grow up happy, and nover punishing them, which means —" Helena smiled.

"Which means that every one else, and you particularly, are to grow up unhappy, and Jive in a state of eternal punishment," said Sebastian resentfully; " disgusting people!" "They are not disgusting, and they have a right to bring up their children as they think best."

Sobastian found that Helena would not complain. She evidently accepted the in evitable resolutely. She had become very reasonable and sensible. He wished she had been less so.

" Mra Spenceley looks well and cheerful," said he, at last. " That must be a comfort to you." "Poor mamma ! Yes, it is," said Helena with sudden tenderness. '.' What a great deal she has had to go through, and how brave and cheerful, and uncomplaining, she is 1 Sho makes mo feel ashamed of myself, and yet I cannot see things in the light in which she sees them. '

" Mr Jenkins, for instauce, on Sundays."

" Oh !" exclaimed Helen ! and then after a pause, " No; mamma and I differ very much on the subject of Mr Jenkins."

"You see, I know why 1 may not come on Sunday," ho said. "Do you ; I thought you would not enjoy Mr Jenkins's society : butnow, if you li'-to, you may come on Sunday and have the pleasure of meeting him, We are glad to sec our friends, if they care to visit us."

" Our friends .1" It was the turn of the eminently reasonable to feel mr'st unreason ably annoyed at beimr classed .along with Mr Jenkins as "our friends." Helena had succeeded in turning the tables very com pletely upon him; It was useless to try not to feelmortifiednud snubbed. He felt both, and Helena stood, looking the picture of un conscious innocence, waiting for him to finish his good-bye. "You have changed, Miss Spenceley," said he. " You hare developed the power of being very " "Kudeand unkind?" suggested Helena. " Perhaps adversity has soured my temper. It has that effect upon many natures, and I never was one who could endure thwarting, as you may remember." "May I be allowed to come again ?" he asked, almost humbly. " We shall be happy to see yon, whenever your other engagements allow you to call," said Helena, quite coolly and distantly. The answer chilled and stung him, and yet, he asked himself, what more would he have had her say ? " You say you are so very busy," she con tinued/remorselessly, "and if you accept this invitation, and if Mr Lippincottrosigns, which I suppose he really intends todonow, and the election comes on, your time'will in deed be fully occupied." " Bilfrl am not forbidden to come when I have time?"

"Forbidden I Oh no ! As I said we are always glad to see our friends." j "Good-bye," said he. "Kemcmbcr you are answerable for the step I am going to i take." ' ' • ■■ " ■ 11 You say so, but I wonder bow it would have been if we had never met 1" said Helena carelessly. They shook hands, and Sebastian, "was gone, with the words still echoing after him: '' I wonder how it would have been if we had never met ?' ! "Howindeed?" he mut'ered to himself, " arid how is it to be now that we have met ? I don't know how it will end, but you shall look at me differently from that, Helena, or " ■' ■"''."' (To be continued.)

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, DECEMBER 17, 1881.

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Have your prescriptions dispensed at the English Pharmacy, IS4, Queen - street, Auckland.—Austen W. Gardner, M:P.S., Eng., Pharmaceutical Chemist.— [Advt.]