Called.

It was not Ray AVilmot's own fault that she was spoiled, was tho general verdict on a generally accepted fact by all the inhabi tants of the little sea-coast town where Ray, her father, and her sister—her senior by two years —dwelt together in an humble little cottage, close to where John Wilmot moored his boats. Not her fault, but that of the father and the sister, who made themselves her slaves —not her fault, but that of the pretty face and soft white hands, which latter made such contrast to the brown hardened ones of her sister —not her fault, but that of all. those who lavished admiration upon her as upon the flower or the butterfly. i She seemed so strange an anomaly in this place which had sprung up by the sea, so ill-fitted for its coarse and rough ways, by right of her own dainty grace. I Yet no cottage on all the coast was as .spotless and as perfectly kept as this one where lived John WUmot and his two I motherless girls. Was it to her it owed its charm? Tho white handa told a different story, and pass when one would, Ray sat always idle, while Grace was ever busied at some household task. I Grace, with her honest brown eyes and I sweet mouth, which, fail as they might; to ' give her Ray's beauty, hud a wonderful charm of their own, if .any one might ! chance to find it out. j And latterly no work had seemed hard to Grace, for she funded that some one had found it out. She could scarcely remember when she had not cared for Dick Rugby, but only lately had she learned to blush at his coming and to sigh at his farewell. For Dick was captain of a gallant little craft of his own, and ,often was absent for long weeks on .some cruise. He was home now, and Grace had hur ried through her tasks to-day, for he had asked her yesterday to meet him on the clitl this afternoon, that he wished to talk with her and to be quite alone. How her heart beat as .she fastened a bright ribbon about her throat, as she heard the old clock strike the appointed hour. 'Where are you going, Grace?" called Ray, petulantly. But for once Grace evaded her question ing, and was gone ere she found time to murmur. Refreshingly tho cool autumn wind blew upon her flushed cheek. It alone would hear, later, what was the secret Dick wished to whisper in her ear. Already ho was awaiting her. From afar she caught sight of the tall, manly figure, as he paced up and down the cliff with impatient stride. 'You are late,' lie said reproachfully, when she had come within sound of his voice. ' I could not help it, Dick,' she answered. ' You know I wanted to be here.' 'Yes, Grace; yoiAc never yet denied a wish of mine,' was his reply : ' and I hope you'll not dream of denying what I came to ask you today, for it's the one wish nearest my heart. Sometimes, Grace, I have fancied you have guessed it without the telling. Is it so?' Hotter surged the crimson tide into her face at his eager .speech, while her down cast eyes sought the ground. ' Maybe I've guessed it, Dick,' she said. ' Ay, so I thought ! —and you can under stand why I wanted to speak first to you, and to ask if you thought likely there was any chnnce for me. I'm so rough and strong and big, you know, Grace, and she's such a frail, beautiful child, that I grow afraid of her. But. oh, Grace, my love would make me that tender of her . Why, G race, what's the matter ? You're white .-is the cliffs, child. Have I surprised you, after all ?' ' A —a little,' she stammered. For plie knew now that her dream was dead. It w;vs Ray whom Dick Rugby loved— Hay who had taken the brightness, and left her the shadow always. Hitherto the division had seemed equal to her. Why not now ? ' You've no need to make me your inter cessor, Dick,' she said. Any girl would be proud to win you.' And so she gave him courage to set forth on his wooing. Herwords, too. held the spiritof prophecy. Before the sun set, Dick had won Ray's promise to become his wife. ' There's no better man in these parts,' Ray sleepily confessed to her sister, as she laid her beautiful head that night on her pillow ; ' and I suppose I must be married some day. But, oh, I hate the thought of living on here for ever !' ' Ray,' exclaimedJGrace, with a choking at her throat, 'don't, you love Dick.' '1 suppose so,' was the answer. 'I'm sure I'm quite too sleepy to discuss tho point.' So Grace learned her second lesson on that fateful day. Was it a lesson Dick, too, wonld learn in time ? It was almost pitiful to see his anxiety to please his beautiful betrothed—his tender solicitude nnd care for her—to watch him walk less heavily, speak less loudly in her presence, while his eyes never left" her face. But as the weeks rolled on a shadow came into their depths—a shadow which deepened into pain—the pain born of know ledge . True, he stood in the garden of Eden ; but he had tasted tho fruit of the tree, and its taste was bitter in his mouth. Ray would be his wife, but his helpmeet never. When he bade her good-bye, as now and then, during the winter, he was forced to do, in making his frequent cruises, the lips she lifted to his were cold and im passive, and the interest in his return greater in the gifts he brought her than in himself. And Grace saw. with growing sadness, that he was not blind. So February came, and Dick again must say farewell, and now for a longer I time. i ' I can't get back before April, Ray, ! dear,' he said wistfully ; ' but I'll take a ; holiday then. And, Ray, won't you let me j take it with my wife? You're used to • sailors' ways, love, and you won't mind me leaving you now and then ; but it'll make all the difference in the world to me. On the darkest nijrht at sea I shall fancy the ' lamp burned by my wife at my own hearth stone shines out across all the blackness, ' the star to guide me home.' J " What nonsense, Dick !' answered the ! givl. ' But I suppose it might as well be over one time as another, so I'll try to be ready against your return.' At that moment Grace, who had been sitting silently at the further end of the room, lifted her eyes, and hers and Dick Rugby's met. What was it passed from each—a light ning flash into the other's soul ?' If each read too late the truth—if Grace was avenged at lost, their loyalty would never give them the sweetness of confes sion. The next day Dick sailed, but he and Graco did not meet again.

She contrived to be absent when he came to say good-bye. For the first time, Ray began to waken to interest in her marriage : for, simple and quiet as wore their lives, a wedding involvetl a wedding-dress and bridal finery. She thought only of the flowers that strewed the threshold of her new life, not of the solemnities that lay beyond. So the weeks flitted by, bringing nearer and nearer the time of Dick's return. At any day now he might be looked for, but no flush of expectancy dawned on Ray's beauty, and only Grace's eyes held a wistful and anxious look. "There's a heavy storm brewing," said the father one evening in the latter part of March. ' I would that Dick were safe in port.' Grace glanced up startled, but Ray laughed lightly. " He's breasted storms before to-day,' she said. And not even when the tempest, true to the old sailor's prophecy, burst forth in all its fury, did she seem to fear, or weigh her spirit with her lover's safety. For three days and nights the storm-king reigned in all the might and majesty of conscious power. The coast was strewed with spars and beams, which told their own story of the devastation wrought at sea ; but yet Ray's cheek did not pale, and song and laughter ■were still upon her lips. The third night the storm was at its height. Ray lay sleeping peacefully on her pillow, ; and even Grace, exhausted by long wake fulness, had sunk into a troubled slumber. Suddenly she started and Bat upright in the bed, as if listening eagerly—intently. ' Ray !' she cried. ' Ray, wake up ! Dick has come. Hear !he is calling me ! Ones, twice, thrice I have beard my name above all the outside din and roar.' Languidly Ray opened her blue, sleepy eyes. 'You are dreaming, Grace,' she said. ' You could not hear a human voice on such a night; besides why should Dick call on you '! It is I whom he loves.' 'Hark ! There it is again,' ."poke Grace, ' Surely you must hear it, Ray ! ' I hear nothing but the storm and your folly. A likely thing my lover would come calling to you in the night! If he did, he might go his way for ever henceforth. I'd have none of him.' And she closed her eyes to sleep again. Grace listened a moment longer, then a sudden change swept over her, and she, too, sank back on her pillow with a smile of peace. All the anxiety had fled from her eyes. They shared the Bmile that played about her lips. ' Dick Rugby is dead,' she whispered low. 'He knows my secret now, and through the storm he came to me to whisper his.' The morning sun streaming through the windows proclaimed the tempest at an end ; but Ray was the first to awake, strange to relate. Grace still slept on by her side. She leaned over to arouse, and lightly laid her hand on her cheek. The next instant a shriek of terror rang through the silent house. That touch had betrayed to her the awful truth. Grace slept the sleep that knows no waking. ' A faulty action of the heart, all unsus pected,' was the verdict the physician gave. We will not contradict him, but that very day fragments of Dick Rugby's gallant ship were washed ashore, and Dick himself, its brave captain, came never more to claim his bride. Within a year Ray had pledged to another the vows she had so nearly sworn to him, and her double sorrow was forgotten. But what was the voice Grace heard, and how she answered it, we may only read in the smile which rested on her dead, cold lips, as though she only slept and dreamed a dream.

Some of Lady Dixie's Freaks.

Numerous anecdotes, illustrative of Lady Florence's eccentricities, have lately been told me. Upon one occasion, while walk ing along the river bank with a gentleman., a friend of her husband, she suddenly stop ped, pulled a revolver out of her pocket, and fired into the air. Rather startled at this unusual action on the part of a lady, the gentleman demanded what she meant by it. "Oh," said Lady Florence, with a laugh, " there are two lovers ' spooning ' under the tree yonder, and I thought I'd give them a bit of a scare." She proceeded to brag about her skill with the revolver, and finally challenged her companion to throw his hatin the air and she would shoot at it. This was done, and the Amazon cleverly put a bullet-hole through it. "Now," said the gentleman, "it is my turn ; let me have a shot at your hat." No sooner said than done ; up went Lady Flor ence's " deerstalker," and it was neatly shot through by her companion, who then coolly turned round and pitched the weapon into the Thames, quietly remarking that the river was the best place for ladies' revol vers.

Right opposite " The Fishery," where Sir Beaumont Dixie resides, is the country resi dence of Lord Sandys, and the lawn of the latter stretches clear down to the water's edge. Some time ago Lord Sandys gave a dinner party, and Lady Florence Dixie was one of the invited guests. Before the din ner, Lord Sandys, with one of his friends (through whom the story comes to me), was enjoying a breath of fresh air on his lawn in the gloaming, when a sound of splashing drew their attention towards the river. In another moment a dripping figure emerged from the water. The naiad turned out to be Lady Florence, who had swuim across from " The Fishery " in a bathing gown, and sent her maid around by the bridge with her clothes.

But for the fact of the press having been thoroughly deceived and hoaxed in the first instance, Lady Dixie's romance would never have gained the credence which it at first undoubtedly received. The farce was chiefly kept up by the London daily papers, which had been egregiously deceived by one of the most successful hoaxes of modern history, coming as it did just after the Westminster dynamite explosion, and while the public mind was in a state of wild ferment, and nothing was too startling for belief. Moreover, on the Sunday night when the first editorial comments upon the affair were written, Lady Dixie had not had time or opportunity to embellish her narrative with all the little pictorial details which afterwards enriched her story and did so much to disprove her statements. The London papers, naving unhesitatingly accepted the story, could scarcely discredit it forthwith. It was worse with the illustrated papers. Ai-tists had been sent down post-haste to sketch the lady, her house, ncr husband, her dog Hubert, and all her other appurtenances. Costly and interesting plates were completed, and it would not do to laugh at the story too soon. Hence it lived on, more or less decently, through a whole week. But now the tide has turned, and poor Lady Florence finds herself without a friend on the press who will even politely attempt to look as if he believed her tale.—" London Letter in the Philadelphia Telegraph."

A NAUGHTY GIRL'S DIARY.

By tlic Author of" A Bad Boy's Diary."

Stolen Sweets.

Charlie came over to our house an' said to me, do you like honey? I said I did awful much. Ho said he knew where we could both get all we wanted thout having to pay a cent, I asked him where ? He asked me would i never tell so long as i lived and died ? I promised him i would not. Then he said to me: "Dolly, you know the garden nex to ourn, that belongs to Miss Sharp's house ; she kepes bees ; she has 12 beehives ; this is august an' those hives are chuck full of luvly honey. O my, it makes my mouth water to think of it ! i hay had my eye on them all sumer, an now, what i came over here to say is— that honey is ripe.'" I said to Charlie : " What good will that do us ? she is tite as the bark of a tree, besides she is mad at me." Then he whispered ; '' Kepe dark, she has gone away to stay a week." "But won't the bees sting us if we try to take any of the honey, Charlie ?" "O," said he, "you are a little girl an don understan ; but there is a way to get it all, an' not be stung nuther. I have read bout it in papa's book on bees. Dolly, have you get 20 cents ?" I answered him my gramma gave me 25 cents this morning. He said if I would furnish the cash to buy the sulphur he would go halfs with me; -so I gave him my quarter and he put it in his pokkit; he is a grateful fellow to borro because his own money burns his pokkit, but Ido not sue why. I have been told I must not lend my lunch an' money to Charlie, but I have to, or he would go back on me at onse. What would life be thout Charlie? I'd rather look at him eting my jumbles that eat em my self, they do him so much good. He said he would go down street an pirchis the sulfur ;by and by he would happen past our house, but I must not seem to see him, only I would know he had come back with the sulfur, if he had his red border handkerchif in his hand an' said "hem " very loud like he had a cold. He should not be back til supper time as he was going to see some of the boys ; right after supper I was to come over in bis father's garden ; he had 2 pikkits loos orr* Miss Sharp^ fense, behind the currant bushes, so nobody could see us take em off an' craul thro. I asked him agen wouldn't the bees sting us ? I have always been afraid of bees, an' wasps, an' bumblebees ; but he tol me that was all right—the sulfur would fix them so they would let us take their honey jus as easy as anything. He added: " Bring a K]K>on along, Dolly, an' some them nide biskits ;we will have a feast fit for a pepper cure." " What will we do with the rest?" I wanted to know. " I only propose to take the contents of one hive," he answered, "I shall leve leven for their oner, we are titled to one, cause those impertnent bees bin stealing honey out of our garden all sumer; they have stung me forty times, too, an' I am bound to get even with the little raskels. Don't eat much supper, Dolly," wir his last words, " save you aptite for our feast, an' look sharp not to see me when I go by.7' I kep watch not to see him ;he went by slowly swinging his handkerchif an' said " hem " so loud my sister gumped right up an' said: "Grashus," an' looked out of the windo. " There goes that horid boy up to misehsf, i bet a dolar. Don't you pay any tention to him, Dolly." "So I said : "No, indede, sister Mary," as good as pie, an i pruktisixl my music til the tea bell rang. "Dolly has only eaten one biskit," said Fred. " What is the matter?" But i had sliped five into my pokkit, an I took 2 more. It was very cam an' plesant in Miss Sharp's garden — for awhile. I got my biskits an spoons ready in her sumer house while Charlie made a chip fire an' got a lot of coals on his father's man's spade ; then he pored the sulfur on the coals an held the spade under a hive chuck full of boxes of beautiful golden honey. "Charlie," said I, "are you sure they won't sting?" "Nonsense," said he, "what gees <_ rirls are ! fraid of their shadows ! Would you sting if you wir colaformed.?'' "I guess not," I said, but I was friter.ed. "These bees," he ecsplained, "are stiflled by the fumes an' fall down sen— ouch ! Ouch, ouch, ouch ! get" out, go way ! ouch !" he dropped the spade an' run like he was anxshus to get over the fense. O, my ! I hope I shall never survive to go thro another such a seen ! Those bees wir not cloriformed worth a cent—far from it ! I saw a dark cloud come out those 12 hives : i heard a buzzing like a buzz saw, i felt a thousan hot nedles pricking me, i wisht I had not come after honey. I wisht I had et my biskits at tea, I shreked with frite an agony, I fell down an' roled over, I heard them in my ears, in my curls. I shall never, never bear the sight of honey agen— never !It is now the lof September. My eyes were closed five days—l was sweled up all over, you would not have knone little Dolly ; the doctor was afraid I might not survive ; but Fred says his litle sister will live till a earthquaka opns under her feet an' then he presumes she will come out in. China all right. Charlie does not like honey now, ether, he canot opn his eyes yet ;■ he says his father's book on bees canot be re lible. Miss Sharp she sent our biskits back with a very polite mesage if Dolly would rub some apple on her stings, when it rotted they would go away. Fred he jus drives me distrackted when he is in the house singing : "How doth the little busr bee Improve each shining hour, An' gather honey all the day From evry opning flower." He says he knows they took his little sister for a flower, she is so sweet. But Fred is going into bizness so he will not have so much time to teaze people. He has rented a offis in Hubbard's Block, there is a telafono in his offis ; I want to get well so as I can go there an' try it. Gi-anma loned him her 4 pur sent bonds to go into bizness; he is going to be a broker; I wanted to know what a broker was—he an swered : "It is one who breaks other men all to smash when stocks fall." " I asked: " Do the men fall when the stocks do?" "He said: " Generally." "I should think the men would know better. If Fred sukceeds as a broker he will be married to Miss Garner nex sumer ; he says I shall certainly be one of she brides maids if I learn to be more thoughtful an' quite, i shall try hard all the year to be lady like so I can have a pale-blue silk dress, an' skatter flowers along the path to Miss Garner's bridle. I don't believe I will ever dare en'oy myself in the garden again, I

have such a horror of bees ; I shudder if one comes booming around tho vines at tnv window.

I have been down to Fred's ofiis twice ; it is fixed up nice; he lets me sit in one of his big leather chairs, but he says I mus not come too offen—it is no place for little girls. I asked him if it was a place for big girls, for I saw two go out when I cameln—he answered : "That depends." My goodness, how i jumped when the telafone went off, boom, whiz. I thout it was a swarm of bees after me agen, van' I began to dance up an' down an' scream to Fred to save me. "Don't be silly, honey," said he—that's my pet name now—he calls me " honey " from morning til night—"that's a 'eel' on you, honey,'.' an' then he aded as if to him self : "to bee or not to bee, that is the question." Then he called " hello " in the telefone and lissened. " Sell short," said he pritty soon. Then he put on his hat, an' tol me : "Dolly, lam going out 'bout 15 minits into Tom's store ; if the telefone rings you can run over an'call me as quick as ever you can. Don't stir unless it rings." " All right," said I. In about fire minits that thing went off agen, scaring me dredfully til I remembered what it was ; then I thout: " What's the use running for my brother? I can anser it myself now I have learnt how." So I went over an' stood on a chair an' hollered in it "hello!" " Who's there ?" asked the telefone. I hollered " Muggins." " What shall we do with your 500 shares in the Croat Oil Bubble? they're bound to go up." " Sell short," I hollered, like Fred did. " But they are on the rise," said the tele fone. " Sell—" " Short," i was going to repeet, only I saw Fred crossing the street, so I hopped down an' ran an' sat down where I was. " Have you been lonesome, Dolly ?—well, you had better run home now." Xex morning my brother read the paper an'felt very jolly at breakfas. " Father, the Great Oil Bubble is going up like a rocket," said he. "I hold 500 shares ; I shall sell before it gets to the bursting point." " You are in luck," said papa. "Yes; I took 'em off a poor fellow's hands. I got 'em for almost nothing." 'Bout 2 o'clock my brother came home— you would have thout a thunder-cloud had walked in the house. Oh, how he shouted at me ! " Dolly, did you meddle with the tele fone when i was out ? I know you did. so you need not deny it. I would like to turn you out to grass for seven years. You are a fritefnlly naughty girl, you ate not fit to be left alone a minit, there is more down rite mischif in your little body than there is water in the oshun. I could ring your neck, you have lost me 8 hundred dollars I ecspscted to make. I shall jiot have another chance like that in six munths. I could have paid that much back to gran mother, Ha, ha!" he laffed wildly, "you did a jolly stroke of bizness for me ! Dolly is going to help her brother get writch," an' then poor Fred flung hisself down on the sofa an' groned an' groned till I felt so bad I rushed up to my room an' cride like my heart would break. Maud Evelyn cride too ; we hugged each other an' the tears ran out her eye that was not jounced out till the red all came off that cheek. By an' by mama came in an' talked to me 'bout an nour, how thoughtless I was an' how much serius trouble I made the family. She ecsplained if i did not refform myself the whole house hold would be ruined—it could not stand it much longer. She said it would have given Fred such a nice start if I had not sold his shares too soon. Mama cride some too. I promised I would never sell".1; any more shares short. Then mama went down stairs, an' I washed my eyes an' looked in the glass to see if they were red like mama's wir. They were not very red, so I put Maud Evelyn's promenade costume on her an' we went for a walk in front of the house. I dare not walk in the garden for fear those bees will get after me agen. Maggie came over to speak to me, only her mother called her to come back this minit an' put away her things. Mrs Spencer's nurse was going by on the walk with her baby in the baby carridge, out for a naring. He is an awful sweet bnby, his name i? Roily ; i made her stop for me to kiss him, an' then'l helped her drag the carridge. 1 wish our folks had a baby like that,the sweet little fellow cood an' laughed when we ran fast with him, so she wanted to go in the store a minit to get a spool of thread for Mrs Spencer: she asked me would I stay right by the baby til she came out ? of course I wanted to make the little angle laugh, so I drew him as fast as ever I could along the pavement—when didn't i run an' didn't he goo-goo with de lite ! only as I came to the crossing I did not stop in time, the c.irridge came over the cur • stone so quick it tipped over an' the poor little fellow flew out in the dust an' dirt—he struck on his head an' turned over. 0 dear ! I do not like to write what came next, a man was driving a fast horse, he covdd not stop him in time an' he an' the buggy wheels went over that child's neck ! 1 pikked it up an' found it was broke. The nurse came runnin an' screaming an' pikked up little Roily ; his nice white em broidered dress was a site to be seen—his nose was all dusty ; forehunitly he was not much hurt —it was my poor dear Maud Evelyn I had put in the carridge got her neck run over an' broke. So my eldest child is now dead. The nurse is glad it Mas net the baby an' says I shall never tuch him agen. I only wanted to make him laugh. I feel very respondent about Maud Evelyn. However there is 1 comfort —i shall bo busy the rest of the week putting my other dolls in morn ing, next week school opens. I spect I shall have to go. The family seems to be in lo spirits. I do not know what is the matter with them. Nobody spoke to the table this morning hardly, only Fred said will you have some stake, grandmother, and she groned very sofly an' ansered nun. If I had not bin such a nice lady-like child the last 2 days I might feel gilty they all look at me so silent and strange as if the comit was coming an' little dolly was to blame. I have fnot done a single thing as I 'member of, so it can't be me makes 'em look so sollum. I ate 7 muffins cause so many were left on the plate, then I went upstairs where Norah was putting mama's room in order. " What's the matter with our folks, Norah ? is aunt Carrie dead or mama worse or wThat?" " Don't you know, Miss Dolly?" ansered she looking me in the eye very serius. "No indede, I wish I did." Then said she : " Mrs McCurdy's goat is dead—her don key is dead too ; her children are very sick an she has sude your father for hevy dam idges." " What for?" I asked, but I am afrade I blushed when i better not. "The rat poison is mising out of cook's pantry," said Norah.

" Perhaps she spread it on bread, like it says on the box, an' the goto an' donkey got the bread by mistake/ "It wax not the cook spread the bread." rephdo Nora sadly. I thout i had better leave tho room an' co over to Charlies awhile. It was Charlie asked mo had we any poison in our house? He said gotes an' donkeys would etc any thing, it would not hurt them, it would jus be a nappetbser for that gote—he et up Charlie's shoes last week he left out in the garden by mistake ; so I lent him our box to fix the bread—l s'poct the donkey left some an' those silly little children found it. o dear I wish I had not got the box for Charlie ; he said it would not injure them, only lite up their stomaks on the inside bo we could see thro' them an' I did so want to see if his shoes wir in that gotes stomak j he said it was fosftrus an' we could see their inside, an' I thout a gote must be very funny inside after he has eten 2 of our towls an' Charlies boots; o dear, o dear !

Drunkenness in India.

Baboo Pbotap Chundbb Mozoomdak, the apostle of the Indian Theistic Church, who is now endeavouring to enlist British sympathy for that form of faith, made (says the "Globe") a statement at Birmingham the other night which carries considerable im portance just at present. He affirmed that "fifty per cent, of the educated natives of India die through over-indulgence in intoxi cants," having acquired the evil habit from their contact with Western civilisa tion. Now, it is the educated natives for whose exclusive benefit the Ilbert Bill was introduced, and here we have their own countrymen describing them as frightfully addicted to intemperance. Had any Anglo - Indian advanced such a charge, the vernacular Press would have overwhelmed him with terms of abuse; as a gross libellerof a most virtuousand sober class. It will be interesting, therefore, to see how the Indian papers take the accusa tion when coming from a native of high posi tion and attainments, who has kept apai- t from polities. It is unquestionably true that the " enlightened " Bengalis are much more addicted to the use of stimulants than their unenlightened ancestors were. They have learned to appreciate champagne and brandy, and even bottled beer appeals more pleasantly to their senses than cold water. But we were certainly unprepared to hear that the vice of intoxication has made such terrible progress in their ranks, nor should we credit the statement in question did it pro ceed from a. less authentic quarter. If mat ters really are as represented, it can only be said that the people of India have little cause to be thankful for high-pressure education.

Chinese Women.

Of all the women in the world, the ladies of China are probably kept in closest bondage j for while they are compelled to render to their parents an obedience more absolute than is practised in any other country, with the acquisition of husbands they find them selves committed not only to a complete acquiescence in the wills of their lords, but also to a veritable bondage to their fathers and mothers-in-law. This List consideration, coupled with the inevitable donbt whether each will be the only star to shine in her new sphere, deprives matrimony of that charm which generally surrounds it in the eyes of maidens. Such a reversal of the common order of things could only exist in a country where the needle points to the south and where men wear petticoats. Where otherwise would one find young ladies banded together in anti-matrimonial societies, and ready to say with Hermia :— So will wo die, my lord. Ere we will yield our virgin patent up Unto their lordships, to whoso unwished yoke Our souls consent not tc give sovereignty.

Imagine fifteen Mayfair maidens throwing themselves together into the Thames rather than accept the husbands proposed for them, as so many young girls did at Canton not long ago. But, if once the objection to marriage be overcome, such young ladies show as keen a desire to fulfil every duty of the state to which they have been called as they before did to avoid undertaking any duty at all. A daughter of the last Chinese Minister to London, Kwo Sungtaon, has recently afforded an admirable example of what a wife should be, dare, and do. Ac - cording to the " Peking Gazette," at the tender age of seventeen she consented to become the wife of Tso Tsungtang, the con queror of Kuldja. Not long afterwads by a decree of the fates her husband fell ill, and when ordinary nourishing food failed to revive her prostrate lord, she with more than courage sliced a piece of flesh from her arm and mixed it with his .broth. But " her pretty action did outsell her gift," and in spite of herdlsm her husband died. This event, which might well have brought to a close a record of self-devotion, only opened a new field for the exercise of saintly duty. Tso had gone.and could not come back to her ; but there was no reason why she should not go to him. So she re fused to swallow anything but gold leaf. Here, however, some unseen power interposed, and the gold neither choked her nor wrought the mischief which the more costly powdered diamonds produce with the victims of Indian assassins. Struck with wonder at this miracle, her friends besought her to throw away the poison and to remain yet a little while with them. This, after some misgivings, she con sented to do ; but, keeping the word of pro miso to their ear and breaking it to then hope, she took advantage of the first illness which overtook her to perform a happy de spatch by starving herself to death.

A Dinner With an Object.

It is stated that the editor of one of the

■ journals has hit upon an "original' idea of advertising his paper. He goes the round of the principal restaurants, even to the "Star and Garter " at Richmond, and the " Ship " at Greenwich. His plan is to arrive about five p.m. and order a sumptuous dinner for six to be ready xt seven o'clock. He then scans the wines list, picks out the choicest claret and port, scorning champagne if the limit in price is 12s. per bottle, and orders largely of those costly wines until the astonished waiter is left under the impression that this "free handed gent" must be a veritable Crcesus. Having exhausted his orders, he says, casually, " Oh, by the way, just bring me the • naming his own journal. " Yes, sir," said the ready waiter; but pre sently returns to confess, shamefacedly,■ "I'm very sorry, sir, but wedon I Keep it." ~, . " Not keep the ("exclaims the liberal customer; " not keepthe ! Il"*?.°l ® f heard of such a thing. I could not th. ml'°? dining at a house in which the —| 1S taken in. I must trouble you to oountei ordcr that dinner at once." . :., O Mv Then, rising majestically, *° ]USt$ f offended editor goes away in » ™*r stJon course from that day the journal wqu^^ is taken in at the restaurant, dv j. again does the insulted editor maw. » appearance and order a dinner lot w*.

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, SEPTEMBER 15; 18&h.

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