pause. " What is the trilling service as I am expected to do for the Captain for that wage?" , , . " It's merely to stop your keb in a certain place, and then drive on again." "Then I'll take the mare out—because she's a jibber, and will do it forty times and think nothing of it," replied John, cheer fully- " You may count on that little matter as settled.'1 "Now, don't be a fool, Rutherford; be serious," argued Dick, with some irritation. " It's not a joking matter, let me tell you, nor anything like it." "I beg your pardin," said honest John with gravity. "I thought, from what you said about the thing being so very trifling, that it was a bit of a joke. It ain't thicv " " Hush—h !" said Dick, holding up his linger and "lancing apprehensively towards the top of a wooden partition; "don't never use such words as that. Do you think I'd ask an honest man like you to do anything agin the law? I've too much regard Tor ymi-Mr Rutherfovd, and for tell her." said John, "what you so kindly say, and likewise all about it. " What! You would not be such a fool •is that, surely ?" exclaimed Dick, in un mistakable alarm. " Why, that h'-pound note wast give you in order, whatsumevcr happened, and whether you proved game or not, as you was to be mum about it. ' " Then there was a little work to do for it, after all, Mr Dartmoor, if it was but to hold my tongue ?" observed John, with the ■air of a discoverer. '' Well, that ain't ea«y work for some people—but fortunately it is for ma. 11l never fay a word, I promise you, whatever happens." ' " I know'd it, Rutherford ; I know d you were a right good fellow,' said Dick, soothingly. "Now, the fact is this :We wants you to help us in n little bit of fun - that's the best way to put it—in a little bit of fun with Mr Helston." "Ah, indeed!" said John. "What ladies and qenelmcn call a practical joke, olif ''Just so, old fellow. The Capting knows Mr Helston—is indeed a sort of friend of his, so you see it's all upon the square. You drives him o' nights to Moor .Street, now and then, don't you?" ' Yes, I drives him to Moor Street." "And on again, after that, to Panlct •Street ?"

"I docs."

" Between them streets, and not much out of your way, lies Grain Place, don't it —a very quiet sott of spot ?" " Grain Place ? And ' not much out of my way,' " returned the other, musinglg "Well, if it was an hordinnry fare, Mr Dartmoor, as was going between Moor Street and Panlet Street, and wanted to call in Grain Place, I should stick on some thin' extra."

" Of course you would, Mr llutherford. Still, as a matter of fact, it ain't out of the way—it's in the way." •' Well, yes, I have drove through it occasionally," admitted John, "ou these very trips." "Just so. Now the next time you go to Moor Street, after having given mo the office—l mean as to which night it will be —just you stop in Grain Place on your road to the City. I'll give you the number of the house another time.' 5

'•And what am I to do when I stop?'

" Nothin. Everything will be done by other people. There will be some friends of Mr Helston waiting for him there." " And for what he has got with him in the keb, I suppose ?" snggested Mr Ruther ford slowly.

" Perhaps : that's neither here nor there. You've got nothing to do with tltat. It's a dark night; the snow is falling, perhaps; your horse falls lame, or you fancy he does, just opposite that very 'ouse—it's merely a coincidence Your fare suddenly finds himself in the hands of his friends, and he goes indocs with them to make a night of it. What have you got to do with that ? Nothing. Yon have only to stop your keb in a certain place—and then go on a™ain. And you will be paid a hundred pounds." " And you think that story will satisfy the police, do you, when Air Matthew Helston is missing, and they come to mo to make inquiries ? " inquired Mr Ituther ford, sucking at his pipe, as his custom was ■when deeply moved, and staring fixedly at his interlocutor. "It seems to me that I shall be the first one took up." "Why, what had ymi to do with it? You will say that Mr Helston went in of his own accord, like, into the house in Grain Place, and of course you did not notice the number.'"

" It's too risky by half, Mr Dartmoor." " It's not; there's not a hap'orth of risk ;tbout it. Just turn it over in your mind,"

There was silence for a moment or two, during which Mr Rutherford gave himself up to reflection. " And when he comes out," he resumed grimly, " when Mr Hel ston comes out, do you think my story about his having gone into the house of lus own tree-will will shape with his l " "He never will come out —that is," added Mr Dartmoor, perceiving the other to draw his legs in rather quickly, " not to harm you. He will never dc let out till he promises that; and, as I've heard you say, he's a man of his word."

"Yes, Dick," observed Mr Rutherford, speaking with great' gravity, "he's all that, and much more beside. He's an open-handed, good-hearted gentleman, _as I ye known for years, and known nothing but good of him. He has always a kind word for a poor man, and he comes from the same place as I comes from down in the Midlands."

"That's very interesting," answered Dick, endeavouring to show his apprecia tion of this touch of local pathos ; " and, mind you, all that will help you to make him less suspicious of you, and inclined to believe your tale. Perhaps you could con trive to appear a little drunk that night, which would account for your mistaking tilings." "Mistaking the Captain and Co. for his friends, you mean, and his being dragged into their house for a genteel invitation ?" "Just so; and ab-o for your forgetting the number." suggested Dick. "Poor Master Matthew I" said Mr. Rutherford, soliloquising. "It don't seem a very nico re'urn for his kindness to me, docs it? It was his wife's father, Dick though he was a parson and a beak—as got me out of my poaching trouble down yon der ; mostly, I think, for Miss Isabel's sake as was."

" Oh, cuss his wife's father ! " cried Mr Dartmoor, with sudden exasperation at the introduction of so extraneous a matter. " Who ever heard a human cretur' not in liquor go on in this way ! \Ye sin't a-going to lock his wife's father up in Grain Place, nor yet his wife."

" No, that's wheer it is, Dick " answered the other quietly. "If his wife - that's Miss Isabel as was—was to be with him, it would not be so bad for either of 'em. For they two arc one, they are, jnst a<< the par son puts it, and no blooming He. It would break her heart, it would, I believe. For she's a tender plant; and she's just had a baby boy, which don't go far to strengthen her. Ever since that child has come,. Master, Matthew he's been another man : more bright and cheery like, and yetmore loath than ever to leave his home o1 nights. What! ,she to be alone there, with her

child, a-_waiting for him—through all the winter night—and not to see him after all! No, Dick, I couldn't doit."

" Well, I am darned ! Of all the milk and-water chops that ever kep a keb you are the wishiest-washicst! Just because a woman in the course of nature, and being married, happens to have a baby boy, you "

No, Dick, no i interrupted Mr Ruther ford, apologetically ;"it is not that. For my part, I don'!; hold with babies in a general way ; but Mrs Helston, when my wife was down with fovor, and all the Mews fought shy of her thinking it was scarlet— which it only was to look at, not to ketch she usk! to come every day (because of old times, she said, when A<r"mothor was ten ded by Sally's down at Tarlton), and never without something good to eat or drink for my poor missus; and No, Dick, I ain't such a blackguard as you— though she tells me I soon shall bo—and I can't oblige you in this little matter—l can't indeed." And with that " honest John ' rose from liis chair and put his hand out for his sou', wester.

"Mr Rutherford," cried Dick, rising too, and laying his hand on the other's wrist, "don't throw a chance like this away, which will never happon to you twice. You are acting under a mistake, I see ; you think there will be murder done."

"Thinks!1' answered John contempt uously; "I biows there will. Master Matthew will never give up them diamonds for the asking—save with his life."

"Mr Rutherford, 11 cried Dick, standing with his back against the door, " I have de ceived you. It was only natural I should try to get the work done cheap -such a little work it seemed, too, and such great pay. lint the Captiug said two hnndred pounds—not one. One hundred pounds tor stopping your keb, and another for driving on agen."

" Oh, lie did, did he ?" returned the other coolly, as lie folded a woollen comforter about, his neck—tor the weather without was wot and cold. "Well, that of course would have made a difference had my mind not been made up from the first to have nothing to do with it. I don't blame you, mind, but only the Captin. There are some folks as is born foolish, while others fuddles themselves afterwards with constant nipa."

To this injurious and (to say truth) some what ungrateful speech, his host for a few moments replied nothing, but simply stared at his departing guest in a sort of imbecile despair ; then a gleam of intelligence lit up his sodden face. "John llutherford," he said, shaking his fore-finger at the other— or rather pointing it, for it shook of itself-— " I know why you won't join us. You're a deep- un, you are; and all the deeper because you talks so smooth and looks so shallow.''

" Well what is it ? " said John, smiling, cither in acknowledgment of this compli ment, <r at some inward thought which tickled him.

" Well, this is it—you are arter 'em dia monds yourself, rr.y man."

" I have been arter 'cm a good while, Dick, in the sense of sitting behind 'em on my 'aiisum."

" I don't mean tluii. You mean to have 'em independent of us. If you'll take a friend's advice, you'll drop that game, John llutherford ; it's a dangerous one."

'' Still, nothing venture nothing have, Mr Dartmoor," rspked the other coolly. "And yet, when we ask you just to stop your keb and then drive on again, you talk of the risks ! Let we tell you that those risks is nothing— nothing— to the sartin death you'll run up-n if you cross the Cap ting in this nutter, for he's set his heart on it,"

'• I'm very much skeared of him, Dick— very," returned Mr Rutherford, cheerfully. "I trembles when I thinks about him— which perhaps you'll kindly say to him, with my humble duty. But I knows a better trick than to rim my head against a. prison-wall for his sake for £200. As for my own intentions in this hern matter, I do confess I've thought ahout them dia monds a good deal. I've thought they'd become my missus (for one thing) most uncommon ; only it would excite suspicion in the Mews if she » ear to wear 'em in the verander ; and what would be the good of them to her if she couldn't ? I've thought as they'd sell for a pretty penny, on which I could myself reure from business, and keep a man to drive me nut in my own keb. I've thought on 'em in all sort o' shapes and ways j but what I never have though- of, Dick Dartmoor, is of getting them diamonds at the risk of life, and limb, and liberty for Captain Langton; or, to put it plainer, of pii'ling the chestnuts out of the fire fora dra'tcd monkey."

" And the fi-pun-note and the supper as you have bef n n-tncking into ?" suggested Mr Dartmoor, with honest indignation. '' The supper, Dick, you led me to under ttand was friendship's offering. lam sorry you did not tell me as it was at tlieCaptin's expense, because it would have spared me —especially over them beautiful whelks— the sense of a personal obligation. As to the fiver, I once heard my missus read out of a book aboii"; somethin' being the pledge o' secrecy, and it's been paid to me to hold my tongue. If it's any satisfaction to the Captin, you may tell him that it'll come in most uncommon useful."

With that, and a pleasant nod and a smile, which spoke of fulness and content, Mr John Rutherford took his leave of his would-be benefactor. But once in the street, a change came over Ms homely features, " I Know'd it would come to this," he murmured, " sooner or later, as I told Master Matthew himself—it stands to reason as them dinmonds must be collared. ' Then why,' says he, 'has it not been done already?' 'Well,' says I, 'what's every body's business, you know, is nobody's business.' And then, though I don't know why, he said—'That's good, though an old one,' and began to laugh. It's no laughing matter now; that dratted monkey, as I called him (though he's a sight worse than that), means business, if ever it was meant. Well, /mean business too, and the Cap. tin's fiver comes handy for starting it." He walked on, talking to himself at intervals, but always with great gravity. "They say as they're worth £25,000. I wonder how much they'd run to at tbo pop-shop ? No need arter that to drive a keb, nor even to be a Captin. It's a sight of money, any way "

(To be continued.)

Sophie (after hearing about Frank): " I declare I flhall not believe a word a man Hap to me. They're nil liars V Beatrice: "For shame, Sophie!" Sophie (regretfully) —" At least all the nice ones are ?"

" Ladies complain " —began ac elderly matchmaking mother to an unconfirmed bachelor. " They've no right to come plain," interrupted one Mister Wagstafle; " they should come pretty." So he gave a bachelor's ball and a lass-hoppers' feast, and there was no further complaining.

George (to his friend, who had been fish ing this year in the Highlands): The sun lias burnt your face, my boy, but it doesn't seem to have touched your hands ; they're as " Alec. :" By Joye, it hadn't a chance, old man. They were always in my pockets! Scotland's become an awful ex pensive place. I'm regularly cleaned out!"

An Adventure in the Franco-Prus sian War.

(From " The Adventures of a War Corresnon

dent," in BlackQood's Magazine )

The battlefield on which three sueessive days' fighting took ulace was an almost level plain, over which were dotted villages, each one with its church and spire, and which, strongly occupied and loopholcd, made formidable isolated positions, out of which the enemy had either to be shelled or forced at the point of the bayonet I passed the greater part of these three days seated amidst the bells at the top bf the steeples. Tho position was safe and com manding, and enabled me to avoid unneces sary fatigue. As soon as a new village was captured with a good spire, I moved to it, and remained until it was left too far in rear to be useful. On this particular occa sion I saw a steeple which, in addition to belonging to a church situated on a slight eminence, was in itself loftier than any other. My longing eyes had been often fixed upon irs belfry, but, unfortunately, it had been from the first strongly held by the French ; and little pull's of smoke were per petually boiug vomited from the loopholcd walls. / For some time a very annoying battery of artillery had assailed us from its neighbourhood. Meantime a change of locality had become necessary, and I descended from the steeple I was in to rind another. I was making fur a village nearer the frout when I came across a Bavarian regiment, the colonel of which I knew. To him 1 expounded my penchant for steeples, and my regret that I did not sec any cbnnco of the' one' I particularly affected being at my disposal. While we were 'alking, an aide-de-camp arrived with an order that the colonel, and another regiment biig.ided with his, should advance and storm the village in question. "Now," ho said, with a dis agreeable suspicion of irony in his voice —" now is your chance. You have only to keep at my side, and you will be in your steeple in' ten minutes." The invitation was in the highest degree disagreeable. How I regretted I had said anything about wanting villages taken for my benefit. I was on the poiut of declining, when the sneering laugh of one or two odicers, who had joined in our conversation, changed my decision. I had just time to shrug my shoulders with the nonchalant air of a man who passed his life in carrying villages at the poiut of the bayonet, when they were summoned to their duties. The r.egiment was put in motion, and I found myself leading it at the tail of the colonel's horse. It was simply sickening, and I don't know > exactly what it did—l mean the regiment —when we got so near that the bullets began to ping all round us. It probably formed in colums of companies, or deployed on its pivot Hank, or did something incom prehensible ; but it had the excellent effect of enabling me to get well niixel up with it, so that when we all went on at a run, I got carried along and into the village, only drawing my breath at the door of the church, into which I bolted like a rabbit into a warren, and sat down for a moment on a chair to breathe, and listen to the straggling firing which still went on in the street. 'Ihen 1 went up to the belfry. All the churches were on pretty much the same model, Jfud I had no difficulty in finding my way. I had just passed the organ loft, and got a few steps up the stairs, when a shot was tired apparently within a few yjirds of me. I fust jumped, (hen reflected. I had not heard the Suimd of a ball, nor could I see from what point I could have been tired at. Still the noise was unpleasantly close. Certainly the sooner 1 attained an elevation the better. The bell were ap proached by a ladder at last, and there was a more framework to stand upon, but there were splendid loopholes to look through, and the coup (I'wil over the battle field amply repaid me for all that I had gone throiigh to get there. I had just adjusted my lield-glasfl, and was begining to take a deliberate survey, when 1 heard a shout, followed by a volley of German oaths, and looked down to see a huge Bavarian take a deliberated "pot "at me with his rifle, the bullet ilattened itself against the corner of the loophole, not three inches from my nose, which 1 had drawn iv with the rapidity of lightning. Why I should thus suddenly have become a ta'g'et for one of my German friends was a mystery to me. I did not like to descend, for I was afraid of some more stray shootim: near the orgnn loft. I did not like look out of the loophole again, for I felt that the big Bavarian was on the watch for another shot; so I sat down where I was and waited the march of events. In a few moments I heard a grout clattering on the steps leading up to the bc'fry, and soon a dozen or more soldiers ; led b> the big Ba varian, appeared at tho bottom of the lad der, and simultaneously pointed their lilies at.me, with laud commands to descend and surrender myself as a prisoner on pain of being shot. I rcpliqd by imploring them not to fit o, and all the time I was looking literally down the barrels of their rifles, and hoping that one nvght notnccidentally go oil. I shouted energetically that I was unai mod, that I had that moment entered the village with them ; and that I was a friend, if they would only believe me and not fire. Still, I had to descend with all their rifles steadily aimed at me, as though they feai't d I should take wing and fly away through a loop-hole. It is not probable that any of my readers know from experience what it is to descend a ricketty ladder backwards, with twelve rifles pointed at one's most vulnerable ex tremity ; I earnestly trust they may long be spared the sensation. I wa& instantly seized roughly by the col lar when I reached the bottom, and was again in the middle of explanations, when, nio.it fortunately, their appored one of the officers who had been present whpn the colonel asked me to take part in the assult on the village. He at once ordered my re lease ; and on my stating that I had been first fired at and then captured by his own j men, he demanded an explanation from the big Bavarian. This worthy asserted that he had been fired at out of the church — that the bullet had just grazed past him— and that, upon looking towards the steeple, he had seen me exactly in tho position from which the report reemed to come. This was at one? accounted for by the shot which I heard after passing the on>an loft, and I suggested to the officer that if we searched there we might find the man who had so tiarrowly mi-sd the big Bavarian, as I hail heard the shot proceed from it We ac- ■ cordingly repaired thither, and there, crouched up iv a corner, was a wretched Mobile. There wa» a general shout at him of "surrender;'' but, either through panic, or not understanding that he might save his life by throwing down his gun, he clutched it the more tightly, and even seemed about to bring it up to Iris shoulder, on which the big Bavarian rushed at bim, wrenched it out of his hands, and, with one blow of the butt, literally scattered his brains over the floor. The whole episode was most painful; and when, a moment afterwards, my would-be assassin slapped me familiarly on the shoulder, and laughed heartily at the idea of his nearly having blown "rut my brains \>j mistake, I failed altogether to sco the point of ih.e joke.

Books worth Reading.

No. 2.—The English Phayeh-Book. Next to the Bibie, the Prayer-Book of the Angilican Chnroh stands in the first rank. To saj nothing of its spiritual cha racter, its sale and circulation are almost incredible. Few English folks are without it, however much opposed to the State Church, or Episcopnl, ProDably it is used by thirty millions, or more, of Christian people, and this is not remarkable, for it condenses the pious thoughts of Patriarch", Prophets, Apostles, Martyrs, and of Christ Himself, for our use. It places in the front the glorious truth that Christ Jesus cime into the world to save sinners. Its whole tone ami spirit are pervaded with Scripture, and it declares that Holy Scripture con taineth all things necessary to salva tion." It teaches that the faith of a Christian ought to produce the love of goodness and the imitation of Christ. The intense energy of its confession, the honour it puts on the Lord's Prayer, the terse beauty of the Collects, and tho majestic style of the Te Deum, the Litany, which embodies every human need and want, make it a book worth reading, ami one of the world's literary wonders. Culled from the Goapels, the Psalms, the Fathers and the Reformer's writings, it has inspired an army of preachers, musicians, and artists, withthepure, the beautiful, and the divine. The English Litany has a power of self adaptation to thoJCatliedral or the cottage ; its familiar cadence* fall, like music, on ears almost deafened by the world and its follies, and revive tho memory of early and purer* days, and with solemn grandeur, almost unequalled, it dismisses the parting spirit to its endless home, filled with tin; hope of glory, because the Redeemer has triumphed over death

No. ,".—UrxYAN's Pilgrim's Progress. Who has not read, or heard of, this marvel lous book, begun in Bedford Gaol, during the Merry Monarch's I'Oijjn, (luring tho-e "good old times," whan Charles tho Second flourished, when such reprobates as the Earl of Rochester were patronise), while Christians, such as Baxter, llunynn, and I'enu languished in 'prison, for not adopting the Court religion. Slacanlay's Essay on .John Bunyau says all necessary to be said about the Pilgrim's" Progress, Like the Bible and English Prayer-Book it is translated into many languages. The Pilgrim's Progress, says Lord Macaulay, stole silently into the world, it is probable that at fust only a few sections, poor and obscure, had it circulated among them, but soon the irresistible charm of the book gratified the reader with all the action and scencrv of a fairy tale. Human beings struggling with temptations were so de scribed as to draw a smile by some stroke of quaint but simple pleasantry, which yet left on the mind reverence for God and sympathy for man. In Scotland, and some of the colonies, it was more popular even than in England. In New England his book was the daily subject of conversation; in Holland, and among the Huguenots of France, it was the same, while envious scribblers said it was impossible for an ignorant tinker to produce such a book, 'V book leaving the reader on Enchanted Ground—who has not rejoiced at Christian thrusting his sword into Apollyon, or sym pathised with him writhing in the grasp of giant despair, or seen him bearing hi.s burden to the foot of the Cross, to see tbat burden roll oil his back into the Sepulchre. The .Slough of Despond and the liliick River, throuch which Christian pa«*ed ere he reached the Delectable Mountains, the Enchanted Ground, Vanity Fair, the Wic ket Gate ; his discovery that there is a way to Hell, even from the Gate of Heaven, and the rest of Bunyan's charming and immor tal similes are household words to many of your readers. 0 rare John Bunyan, he was a spiritual hero, an earnest servant of Gofl. His record is on high.

FOR THE LADIES.

A LADY of leisure and means in lowa has received the appointment of notary public and pension agent in order to give her services to poor women who cannot afford to pay for them. She writes bills, coSects claims, and assists them in any other way, In the late terrible railway disaster at Pittsburgh, one of the lady passenger* in the (loomed car lost her young babe in getting out, and made sever.il frantic effort* to get back into the car to get it. At three o'clock in the morning, the child ' was found quietly sleeping in one of the scats, covered with dust. It was restored to the thankful mother.

The crinolette is not always worn under a dress, but is frequently inserted between the skirt and the voluminous draperies that trim it at the back. This does not dimin ish the ungainlincss of the contrivance. In dancing it is more dreadful that under any other cireuinstunces. Even the most graceful woman cannot prevent its wob blinc about, and, iv fact, executing a pas sail on its own account, while on the un graceful dancer its movements are gro tesque indeed. The dresses of the bridesmaids at the marriage of Miss Knollys and Captuo Grey partook in some degree of a new characteristic. They were made of red plush and red Surah, and were trimmed round the edge with bands of brown fur. Bonnets, muffs, and stockings being all of the same red as the dress, the bunch of tca-rosea worn by each "maid" upon her left shoulder was a pleasant and artistic relief in point of colour, and the brown fur was valuable in the same sense.

A French authority takes a lofty view of the dressmaker's vocation. She must have the artist's eye to judge of the effects of colour, the sculptor's facility for form that she may soften the outlines, turn the figure to the best advantage, and arrange drapery in harmonious folds. She must know history, in order to take from differ ent epochs particular details suitable to various styles of beauty, and to be sure of making no mistake in the matter of acces sories, and she must be a poet to give grace and expression and character to the costumes.

Emperor William's latest cause for com plaint is that his enthusiastic female ad mirers throw bouquets at him so recklessly when ho appears in public in his carriage. He hasf requetitly been struck in tho face by the fragrant missiles, and on several occasions aunoying contusions and bruises have resulted: Attempts to put a stoD to the practice were made by giving public expres-ion to the Emperor's displeasure at the practice, but this only partially abated the evil, Some of the fair sox would not be restrained.

Says a foreign paper:—lt is to be re gretted that young American society men should have adopted the extremely nasty fashion (no other ward so well expresses the state of the case), of appearing at dances and evening parties in the United States without gloves. The touch of a bare, hot, moist hand is always very unpleasant, and a perspiriDg palm, pressed against the delicate fabric, of a lady's ball dres3 cor sage in a waltz is apt to leave an indelible stain behind it. When America does ori ginate fashions, she might at least invent more seasible and cleanly ones, for this bare-hand custom is undeniably an Ameri can one. .

The Last Hours of Miss Long worth.

A LADY correspondent, writing from Natal to some friends in Manchester, gives some interesting details of the late Miss Theresa Longworth, who was best known as the Hon. Mrs Yelvcrton. She says :— In one of my letters I mentioned that Lady Avcnmore was living with us. Well, I am sorry to tell, she died on Scp'cmber 13, You will perhaps remember that she was Miss Longworth, af'enva'ds the Hon. Mrs Yelvei'ton, the heroine of the celebrated lawsuit some 20 years ago. 1 believe her husband, Lord Avonmore, is still living. She has lived a life of adventure, and will ho remembered by many for her doings in the Crimea—devoting herself and her for tunes to the sick and wounded, nursing in the cholera hospitals and in the trenches, .and being under lire. That was just before her marriage ; she joined the Sisters of St. Vincent de Paul, and went from France. Then came her marriage, first privately in Scotland : but she, being a Catholic, was not satisfied with that ceremony, sr> they were married by a Catholic priest in Dub lin, at lea.st in Ireland. They lived happily for two years, when her husband loft her, and married Mrs Forbes, and was soon after arrested for bigamy. Then came the trial, which lasted some years, when, of course, Major Yelvcrton tried to move heaven and earth to prove his lirst marriage illegal. Had he lost the case he would have been transported. It was going against him when he at last brought it to Hie I louse of Lords, and gained it there. Mrs Yolvcrtou was the only lady who had spoken in the House of Lords except the Queen. She has tra velled almost all over the word since then, writing books of (ravel. What brought Lady Avonmore to Natal was the death of the Prince Imperial. She was at Ceylon, and hearing that the Empress was coming hero to visit the spot where her son fell, Lady Avonmore came over at once, hoping to join the Empress's suite, intending after wards to write an account of it and gather facts about the Prince's death for a hook she was going to write. I think she was rather badly treated by the authorities here, for they would not receive her, and the land for miles round the spot where the Prince fell was hired, and a guard placed that no one might approach. That was really to keep Lady Avonmore away. She has seemed to lie in rather reduced circum stances, though certainty not destitute. For the last IS months she has lived with us, and it was really a privilege to have her with us ; she was so brilliantly accom plished and such a musician. .She had been in delicate health for some time, but hearing of the death of a near relative in August she never seemed to look up. It was a sad time for us all. We did all we could for her, but she died on Tuesday night, the 13th September. We were the only persons who saw or attended her in her illness. We had -two doctors. I sent a note asking the Bishop of Natal (Dr. Colenso) to come and see her, but it was too late when be came to town. She how ever saw t\vi> other ministers. She was buried in a lovely nook in the Church of England cemetery, the Uev. Joseph ltice, curate of St. Peter's Cathedral, olliciating. We all followed her to the grave. So many people in England knew of her, and I am sure hundreds of people will be interested to hear of her as well as grieved to hear of her death in a strange laud, especially as the Longworth's nre a Lancashire family. I will just mention that During Lady Avonmore's stay with us she wrote for several papers, English, American, Australian, and foreign, some clever articles on the Transvaal war, my sifter Eva and I acting as her amanuenses. Her mind was clear ami vigorous up to the last moment. She died very peacefully, and seemed so glad to b'ave this world.

"The Pitfalls of Youth.'"

A Story ov a Mild-Faced Little Boy,. WHBH I was a little fellow in Stuttgart,, with yellow hair anil wnoilcn shoes, there came out one day to the school which I attended an American hoy named Jim Saundcrs, whose father was a jN'cw York ljroker. He was a quiet, simple looking child, with great soulful brown eyes, and an innocent look in his face that made us all think he couldn't know much. Wo used to make fun of his peaked fucc and thin legs, because in Germany, you know, the children are all round-faced and ftit. Little Jimmy never seemed to notice that we were enjoying ourselves at his expense, and he made us think that he must be. too simple for any use. But after he had been in the school about six months and could speak German pretty well, a circus came to the town, and, of course, was tho sole topic of conversation among the boys. One day we were discussiDg the matter, when Sounder*, who had been sitting quietly in a corner of the room, said ho should think a little boy might crowd in under the circus tent and see the sho\y that way,. We all laughed at this exhibition of ignorance, because we know how closely ihe tent was watched, and more than one of us had been made temporarily delirious by having the boss canvasmans boots lean suddenly agaust the seat of our pants. So when Jimmy said this we laughed heartily, and Laudcnheimer, who was ihe biggest boy in school, said that nobody but a« Yankee would talk so foolishly. But Jimmy Heenied to think he was right,, and finally Jacob oil'ered to bet him two marks that he couldn't get into the circus under the tent, jimmy always had plenty of money, and he at once took the bet. Then several more of the boys began betting the little fellow until 1 felt sorry for him, aud finally I concluded to go him six. groshen myself, so that I could give the money back to him when all others had won th«irs, and do a noble act. Little Jimmy took my bet, ■and after all tho money had been put up> with Mr Nierst jiner, one of the teachers,, tho whole crowd went over to the circus. ground to see James lose. He went right up to the ticket wagon, and bought a ticket. Then he said to the man, " I reckon thora is no objection to my g^ins; under the can vas as long as 1 have paid my way ?" The man said certaiuly not; if anybody wanted to take that trouble lie had no objection. So Jimmy crawled wider the tent and came out of the main entrance in a minute, looking.-jast as innocent as ever. Of eourso Mr .Niersteinor had to give him tho money,, because he had won it fairly, and.after ho had put it in. his pockets he winked at us and smd,," If you little tow-hsaded Dutch men think I knocked around New York York eight years for nothing you will get left." Tliia sad incident came near 'blight ing my. otherwise huppy boyhood.-—Car? 5<3m%

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, MARCH 11, 1882.

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