A Heart's Bitterness.

By BERTHA M. CLAY, Author of "For Another's Sin," "A Fair Mystery," &c.

CHAPTER XXVIII,

"the beggar maid."

a. open landau whirled past Lord Keith, and at the noise of wheels Violet looked up and met the loving smile of her friend Lady Burton. All her terror at seeing mother or son vanished at the sight of one who loved her so tenderly and purely, and as the carriage stopped, and the footman let down the steps, Violet sprang into Lady Burton's arms. " My sweet child," said Lady Burton, gazing fondly at the lovely roseate face, "I rejoice to sea you looking so bright and well, I feared it would be ether wise." "And why did yon not expect to find me bright and well ?" " Your husband wrote me to come—said he thought you needed me—that you were not very well, and were gloomy." "He was very kind to write you. I did not know of It; this is all a surprise to me —a delightful surprise—but you need not have believed that about my health, for I am always well." "I feared the worst, for I " Lady Burton stopped. Violet looked down and flushed ; she remembered her wedding-day. " Lord Leigh invited both myself and my son—l wrote you that Kenneth had returned —and Kenneth at first refused to come; but as I said I would not come without him, and we feared that you needed me, be came. Where is he 1 He walked from the gates. Oh, here, behind tho carriage. My son, come and be presented to Lady Leigh." Kenneth Keith stood upon the step of the landau ; they were in a false position, but it was Violet's place to speak Violst held out her hand, her face crimson ; it was at Lady Burton she looked. "We have met before; he wa3 in Paris when we were, and "

" Oh, that is delightful! I hope you love each other." " I had seen him beforo, too," said Violet, bravely, "and remembered him; and Leigh asked him to meet us in Switzer land." "And we came to Dover in the same steamer," said Keith. " So, you see, we are old friends," added Violet; and Keith took his place opposite her, and she sat by hia mother's side, and co they drove up to the entrance, and so they might have sat it they had been man and wife, and not two cruelly-sundered hearts. Lord Leigh had invited Keith and his mother in this secret and imperative fashion, with no thought of any danger or unhap pineßS in hinging Violet and Keith to gether. He was not so deep a villain as to deliberately put his wife in peril; he did not consider her enough, to think that she might ever be in peril; he was the centre of his own though ts ; he fancied if he brought more of Violet's friends about her, she would bo less opposed to inviting Misa Ambrose; and, also, he had secured Mrs Ainslie as an ally for that invitation. He had gone out on the terraoe to wait for the landau which he had sent privately to the station, and meant to go and surprise Vio let by his announcement of the arrivals. To his astonishment, ahe rode up to them, holding Lady Burton's hand, smiling and happy. „• . „ " See what I did for your gratification, he whispered, as the party alighted. "Thank you—you are very good, Nor man," she said, softly. "Then remember to be equally good to

me." " I want to be good," she said, looking wistfully into his eyes; "won't you help me —help me all the time, Norman »" She pressed his arm gently with her little hand, and then took Lady Burton up to the rooms which the house-keeper at Lord Leigh's order had made ready. She had time for scarcely a word with Kenneth until they were all on the moonlit terrace after dinner, when her husband said to her : "Take Keith to the great fountain, Violet; it is very fine by moonlight," "Yes," Baid Violet. "Come, Grace, and Churchill; a good thing is always better when it is shared." "I hope you are not sorry that I came," said Keith, as they stood by the fountain, Grace and Sir Tom lingering a little be hind. " Yes, I am," said Violet. "Then I'll leave directly, on some ex cuse," said Kenneth. "I only yielded be cause from Leigh'B note I feared you were in deep trouble, and needed my mother, and she would not come without me." "1 don't know why he wrote," said Violet, " and if I had my choice, I think I might get on better with my lot if you were not here, I like to think you remember me," she said, lifting her ingenuous eyes to his face. " But since you are here, stay. I prefer it. Norman asked you, ond would 'think it strange if you left; and it would jox your mother." • "Let ns fill np tho daya while I mtwfc remain, with various entertainments," sai_ Keith. " and I will disturb you as little as I can, Violet." /' " Entertainments I" cried Grace Fanenaw, coming up : " did I hear that choicest word in the English language ? Violet, Tom and I have just been thinking of entertainments in the way of tableaux. Let us arrange for them. You have such a store of ancient and magnificent dresses to draw from. Tom and I will do the quarrelling lovers in Tennyson'B lettere." " Yes," said Tom, " let the scene be * Like torrents from tbe mountain source We rushed into each other's arms I "Indeed, no," said tjrace, " we'll have it at the lines — ' Full cold my greeting was, and dry; She faintly smHeA-she hardly moved,' right in the very height of quarrel." "By all mealis, let us have tableaux, cried Koitb. The theme .was a safe one, ond that even ing and the next day passed in disouasion, and in ransacking the treasures of past ages. It wap very natural that the other member? of tho party should suggest scenes where Violet and Keith would be together, for th» well-developed, Saxon, manly beauty of K«ith was a noble contrast ond harmony plored beside the Bhy charms of the brown ey4d, browned-haired Violet. But Violet and Keith were both hard to please; if one did not object, the other was sure to do so ; until Lord Keith's astonished mother cried out: "Son, you havo lived in the Orient, away from woman's society, so long, that you seem not to know how to behave your self !" " King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid" was a popular choice for a tableau, and Kenneth was hailed with acclamation as the king. But where waa the maid i While this subject was in discussion Lord Leigh had laid his plans for making Mrs Ainslie acquainted with Edna Ambrose, and by their united efforts forcing Violet to invite her. He planned in his heart for a tableau of "Rose the Gardeners Daughter," where Edna should be Koae, " a sight to make an old man young, and he the artist. What was his consternation when one day, at lunch. Lady Burton said : " Do you know, I have found the very ideal of the Beggar Maid, if any one knows her to ask her. Keith and I met her out walking. The moat exquisite blonde I ever saw, all arbutus bloom and gold, and eyes true violets, if you can imagine violets of heaven." . "You are enthusiastic!" cried Tom Churchill, laughing. "My mother is right—she was a perfect nymph," said Keith. " What was her name ?" demanded Mrs Ainslie. jealously, for there waa her Anna, to whom Keith had as yet paid ouiy pant attention. "Miss Haviland," replied Keith, promptly. _ . ' "No one we know 1" said Leigh, in a sudden white fury of jealoußy. "We muat find our Beggar Maid here. I fancy, lor

Violat cannot make friends promiscuously with all tho county I" So! Keith had seen Edna, and had bowed down and worshipped evidently, as any man must. Not for a thousand pounds would Leigh have Edna asked to the Towers while Keith was thero I What I have the woman he had deserted, and now madly adored, marry Keith, and so drift for-ever from his own life I Selfishly he felt that as she had not married him, he wished no one else to possess her. The result was that Violet herself was forced to bo the Beggar Maid. AU insisted, so thab further refusal was impossible. And a wonderful littlo image Bhe was, her silken, brown hair rippling down her shoulders ; her slender, satin-smooth arms folded across her breast; her lovely, eu treating eyes lilted ; her face pathetic, sweet—the very ideal of the lines : " Ab shines the moon in clouded skies, S7icin her poor attire waa Boen." Dangerous indeed the innocent glances that leaped between tho young king rising from his throne and this most fair of Beg gar Maids. " Seems to me, Lord Keith is putting a good deal of heart in hia acting I" cried Mrs Ainslie, furiously, in Lord Leigh's ear, jealous that the tithe of such admiration bad never been in his looks ot her plump, pink Anna. Lord Leigh only laughed. The jealoußy that could stir him in behalf of Edna could not move him toward Violet. Besides, to do him justice, he had full confidence in both wife and friend. " I hate tableaux I" cried Violet, aa she ran into the dining room to take off her " poor attire," and don her blue brocade. " I'll never act in another I" " Why, you should be in one every' day in your life," assorted Grace. "You loosed simply doloctable. Every one wanted to hug you." But poor Violet, troubled by Keith's in voluntary look, and the tumultuous beating of hor own little heart, felt that ahe owed something to Leigh. What 1 she dare to be jealous I She stole to him as he stood apart, and took his hand. "Norman, I have been wrong, Invite Misa Ambrose, if you like." "Miss Ambrose I Not I. 1 don't like— I'm sick of the name of Misa Ambrose."

CHAPTER XXIX.

" AND WHO WILL TAKE CAKE 01' YODK WIFE';"

All hor gracioua little duties as hostess— Bhe left weightier matters to the house keeper—the constant diversions devisod by tbe young people, her own honest efforts to fix her thoughts and attentions on Norman and distract them from Kenneth, served to occupy and quiet the mind of the lovely little Countess of Leigh. It was Keith who suffered most during that visit at the Towers. What agonies did he not endure during the trip thoy made iv a jaunting car 1 They went throe on each side of that distracting, absurd vehiclo, with Leigh sitting up by the driver in a high seat in front, and a minute groom, heavily loaded with buttons, clinging on tho step behind. Thoy were all well seated at first, Violet seconding her Aunt Ainslie's arrangements, and Violet was tbe first one placed on the right, and Keith the last on the left, with Anna Ainslio between him and Grace, while Tom Churchill was happy between Grace and Lady Violet. But, inspired by some evil genius, Leigh must insist on their alighting and all changing places, till he got Keith between Grace and Violet, and Grace at the head of the left line, and so just bo bind himself, because, as he calmly ox plained, "she was moro fun than the rest of them." Whereupon Tom Churchill made himself miserable beside tbe pink placid Anna, and Keith endured hours of tbe sweet agony of boing crowded next to Violet, who muat speak only to him or be silent. In the first place, there on the rest, next his own solid boot, was that adorable little foot in a pink silk stocking, and a tiny, buckled slipper, which Violet pirt of the time frantically tried to keep under her pink cambric ruffles, and part of the time forgot and loft distractingly visible. Any man must have admired that admirably-moulded little foot. Small as it was, it crushed poor Kenneth Keith completely, and put him ir, a state of aggravated warfare with himself for so notably admiring his neighbour's wifo. Meanwhile, the neighbour had 'for gotten all about his wife, And was i>3.ndy ing jests and sarcasm with tho de,lij£htful Grace, and secretly pleased that! Tom Churchill,' her own true lover, wr_ shewing the cud of discontent in.his corner.

" I adore a jaunting car," sp.id .Grace ; "it affords variety in a ride. There is an air of quiet grandeur in our d'.iver ; a sug gestion of peril in the precarious position of that little page hanging behind ; a flavour of recklesaness in ourselves as we dash along exposed to dust, mud, and puddles, and a certain doniocraf,ic freedom in the ex hibition of our feet—-—" " And an amiab'/o suggestion of high spirits in our horso, I said Keith. "I do admire the brute's Rtyle of whirling about an an acute corner, and if hs cannot find a corner, he has a fashion of making one by spinning sharp round in the road." "If we find ourselves going over, let every gontlero.an look out for a lady. Grace, I'll take care of you," said Leigh. " And pray who will take care of your wife ?" demanded Keith. " I'll leave her to you, you are nearest her," iraJd Leigh. Keith turned quickly, and saw Violet averting her face, a grieved quiver on her pretty lipa, a rush of tears in her eyes. She felt still lonely, neglected, and uncherished —thia envied possessor of millions. His heart ached for her.

And then, in one of those antic turns of the horse, which Keith had mentioned, and that close upon a high cliff, the .jaunting car came very near upsetting, "hung on the ragged edge of despair " for one minute, and forgetting all else, Kenneth claaped his arm about Violet, and she hid her fright ened eyes on his shoulder. It was over in a moment, but Koith trembled as he re membered that brief olasp of the beloved girl. As amends he seemed suddenly dis tracted with anxiety for Anna, who sat directly behind him, and kept his head twisted, for the reat of the timo, into prox imity with her auburn braids. When they reached home, Kenneth found it needful to school himself into a calmer mood about the loved and nbglected little countess, and shut himself obstinately in the seclusion of his room; a proceeding which, having no visible occasion, made the young man very objectionable to his only parent. ... ~ The next day tbe indefatigable Mrs Ainslie had arranged for the young people, an excursion, including a picnic in a sup posed Druidical ruin. Anna rode well, and Anna and Keith, Grace and Churchill, Violet and Leigh were to ride, and the elders to go in a landau. Just at the last minute, Leigh proclaimed that " he had a beastly-headache and would not go," and so sent his horae back to the Btableß. Keith, therefore, was left toescort Violet and Anna. Violet in a dark-blue riding habit, sitting firmly, a h«j"_rtttul enow-whito horse, her blue saddle cbth embroidered with gold Btars, and he.cloie blue cap, looked most fascinating. The ride lit up tbe wild rose colour in her cheeks, and the sallies of Keith's humour filled her sweet eyes with laughter. The five on horseback reached the ap pointed spot, but no carriages appeared with their senorß, servantß, or provisions. Suddenly a great dark cloud came tearing across the sky, and a tremendous crash of thunder woke the echoes. Violet's timid, nervous Arabian, which being gentle had been left with the rein simply thrown over a furze bueh. while tho party made the pil grimage of the ruins, flung up its slender head, with a shrill cry, and darted away, almoat as swift as the lightning that fol lowed the peal. Then tho rain of that summer gust began to pour down. The five desolate equestrians endeavoured to save themselves by crawl ing under the shelter of that three legged stone table, called by courtesy a Drudical Altar, where in some fashipn they might be sheltered. Tom Churchill, with a fine prevision of accidents, had carried a large soft Mexican 'poncho rolled up behind hia saddle, and he wrapped this about Grace and Anna, and sat at their feet holding it, while the wicked wind and rain swirled in upon them, ruining Grace's plumed hat, and reducing her yellow head to a state of detestable wetneSß. ' , , ... Keith had his own blue cloth cloak with him, and wanted to put in on Violet, but she ehrank sensitively from it, and utterly refused. '• . , In a short time, from soaking ram and nervous excitement, sho was blue and chilled, and he' teeth began to chatter, while her lips grew white.

" Lord Keith," cried Grace, imperatively " don't heed Violet's words a second more> or she will die on your hands, with a con gestive chill. For pity's sake, look at the cbild I Are you afraid to touch her ? Wrap her up, and hold her tight io your anna till she stops shaking. What are you thinking of?" Kenneth turned to Violet m sudden terror. How frail, and cold, and exhausted, sho looked. Obeying Grace's commands, which Tom Churchill seconded, he folded the big plaid round and round Violet's slender, shrinking wet figure, and held her closely in his arms, drawing her almost unconscious head to tbe reßt of his breast. She waa too terrified and exhausted to remonstrate, for she had a constitutional terror of thunderstorms. Held cloßely protected, Bhe began to grow warmer, and a faint colour Btole into her face. Then the incorrigible Grace, to raise the spirits of the company, began to sing : " Bnt the sweetest. I maintain, Waa Caddie, whom I took 'neath my plaidaie, To shield hor f ra' the rain. She said the daisies blushed .Kor the kißs that I had ta'en, I wadna think a lassie Wad o'er klaa complain!" The arch, quaint words fell but faintly on Violet's ear. She was absorbed in her own thoughts. Oh, if sho might but end the misunderstandings, and miseries, and lone liness of her life, by dying there in Keith's sheltering arms! Hor hueband's heart had never been hsrs, aud she felt that she could not win it, or she dimly understood that it had wandered away to somo other object than herself. If she could only die, then Norman could marry for 10/e next time, perhapß, and some ono might make him good and happy; Kenneth, then if^ she were dead, could love her, and cherish her memory, and after a while.he, too, could be happy marrying some one like the blonde nymph he eaid he had seen in the wood. She only waa in everybody'a way, and in her own way. She never could bo placidly con tent like the easy Anna ; or gay and joy diffusing like the happy Grace. If she could only take one long look on Kenneth's eyes, nnd say: " Good-by, my love, goodby," and paBS away I But the summer gust waa over. The aun came out, the luncheon hour was long gono by, and no signs of the landau party. " Something has happened to them," said Grace ; "we must go back. No doubt we shall pick up their bones along the road." " But I have no horse," said Violet. " We must resort to ancient days, fair Chetelaine," said Keith ; "my plaid folded shall make a pillow for you, and you must ride behind me on my gallant roan." "I'd—rather ride behind—Anna," faltered Violet. "My goodness 1" screamed Anna, " I wouldn't for the world; both ou'f 'necks would be broken !" So the plaid was folded, and VKolob rode home with her anna clasped al/ont Keith, in such a terror of falling that she never knew how close was the pr. sr.ro of her arms. By night the party of tho broken landau came ignominiously homo, irj gigs hired at a country inn. ( To be Continued.)

A Collector Imposed on.

One knows very v/el'i that, in the present day, many thinf/s are not what they seem to be; and among <__o things in which impos ture is frequently practised are antiquities. A recent victim of imposture of this de scription is a M, Perdreau, a well-known French col'.eo'cor, who paid thirty thousand francs for a pretended Louis XV. carved table, whiob turns out to bo of recent date — w'nich, in short, may be classed with fabricated antiquities. A couple of dealers., in concert with the banker, palmed off tVio. table in quostion upon M. Perdreau, wha, thoroughly convinced that it was genuine antiquity, paid his thirty thousand f ro:ncs for it, his intention being to sell it, Ir, his turn, later on. But when he tried to dispose of it to an amateur, the latter un pleasantly surprised him by tho remark that he knew the table, which had been a long time in the market, and that he wondered that an experienced judge liko M. Perdreau could have beon imposed upon. Tho victim of the fraud brought his grievance beforo tho Paris Tribunal of Com merce, and immediately an expert examined his purchase. He pro nounced it to be a manufactured antiquity—so excellontly manufactured, however, that the tablo might, by its ap" pearance, deceive tho keeneat connoiseur. It was a beautiful piece of workmanship—a magnificent table, in Bhort ; but as it had been recently made, it was not what it claimed to be. Therefore the purchaser of it had no difficulty in justifying his demand that the thirty thousand francs should be returned him. The dealers who played him the trick have the table again on their hands, and must look about for another purchaser of "antiquities."

The Value of a Moustache.

What would our grandfathers have thought of the struggle which was waged at Marl borough-street Police Court? That any man—save a cavalry officer—should wear a moußtache at all would have struck them aa unseemly, that the law should assign any commercial worth to the hirsute adornment would have seemed to them ridiculous. Yet in these degenerate days when every man wears hia natural covering exactly as he likes, and hardly anyone goes shaven and shoro, when razors are a drug in the market, the barbers have to put up their shutters and take in their poles for lack of custom, ifc ia nothing out of the common. Isaac Julius, tailor, asserted tbat Samuel Schaei dor, toilor (of course, with such a name}, had cut off one end of his moustache. If we accept, therefore, the popular but mis taken View of the relative values of a tailor and a man, the question was not even ono of men, but only of vulgar fractions. One ninth of a man had removed one quarter of another ninth's moustache. What, there fore, could be the value by reduction of the part which had been subtracted ? If judged by weight it was obvious that complainant would get very ,little. Even the most valuable hair fetches little more than two guineas an ounce. But if decided by attractiveness, what would it not be worth 1 Had not the whole action arisen from a remark which fell from tbo lips of beauty? Had not Emily Rose said to Julius, " Oh I what a nice moustache you have!" and had not the defendant thereupon, smitten by jealousy, seized upon his sartorial scissors and snipped off one end of the offending object? It was obvious that Emily Rose would no longer be attracted by it now that half its charms wore gone. Complainant thought that £1 to the poor box would be a proper amount for Schneider to pay. Schneider thought otherwise, and the magistrate settled tho question by fining him 10s and coats. Julius is now a supporter of the proposed close time for hairs.

All Sorts of Items.

The latest piece of slang in New York is "foddering up." A Philadelphia sign reads: "Teeth pulled while you wait." A etopped-up geyser is an ex-spurt in its way. The editor of a Georgia paper says liberty is always pictured as a woman because lib erty to survive muat be vigilant, and there is no blind side to a woman. An Unexpected Comment—Pastor —En I says again, brederin', put not yoh trust in kings I Still small voice in congregation— Right yoh iB, chile, right yoh is. Aces is bettah, 'n data de reason I've come ter chu'eh wivout no obercoat this mawin'. A clergyman relateß that on one occasion after marrying a couple an envelope was handed to him which he supposed, of course, contained the marriage fee. On opening it he found a slip of paper on which was written : " Wo desire your prayers." A medical journal is responsible for the statement that " the application of a bit of ice to the lobe of the ear will stop hiccough ing." As " prevention is better than cure." it might be well to keep the ear packed in ice. The treatment will be* especially satis factory if " tbe ear" referred to belongs to some other man. " Moody's Church" in Chicago was burned on the 12th inst. The church was built nineteen years ago by the Evangelist Moody at an expense of $100,000, which he had received in subscriptions from all parts of the world. It had the largest auditorium of any church in Chicago. The fire is sup posed to have been lighted by au incendi ary,

TWO KEYS: OR Margaret Houghton's Heroism

By MRS GEORGIE SHELDON,

Author of "Brownie's Triumph," "The For-

oaken Bride." ". Audrey's Recompense.". 8#

CHAPTER XXVI_>

A CLEVER ARTIFICE,

"Come," he said gently, "I have some thing for you in the parlour," and drawing her hand within his arm, he led her from biß apartment back to her seat in the bay window, little dreaming how that delicate hand longed to smite him on the floor, and tear from him tho mask of hypocrisy.

Mrs Houghton glanced up at their ap proach and smiled, saying to herself what a handsome couple they made—be so dark and distinguished in appearance; she so fair and beautiful •

A small table had been wheeled up into the window before her, ami upon it thero wbb an elegant enorgna of fruit and fiowerß, whilobesido it there lay some snowy napkins, three or four plates, of delicate painted china and Bomo eilvor knives. Arthur unfolded a napkin and spread it upon Margaret's iwp, then filling a plate with some of the finest fruit in the dish he passed it to her, o.c the same time dropping a superb spray of. fuchsias into her hands. He then waited upon Mrs Houghton, after which lie drow up another chair and helped hii_se'f, remarking that ho was sorry that Mr Houghton was not there to share with thorn. Margarot quietly took up a banana and began to peel it, gazing absently out of the window meanwhile.

Sho made a protence of tasting it, then dropped it upon her plate and assumed a listening attitude. ''• Do I hoar music ?" she asked. " Possibly," Arthur returned, looking at hia watch, "yes," he addod, " it is time for the procession, but I had no idea that it would be punctual." Margaret set her plate upon tho table, folded her napkin and laid it over the fruit; then arose and stood in the window. Arthur looked disappointed; he had taken great pains in purchasing and arranging his dish of fruit. Nearer and nearer the music came, rising and falling upon_ the clear air in melodious, inspiring strains. "They are coming, mamma," said Mar garet, from her post of observation, and even Mrs Houghton put aside hor fruit now and arose to look

The vanguard of tho procession was just coming into sight nt the head of the avenue, a brilliant array of cavaliers, clad in uni forms of Bcarlot and gold, and riding upon horses as gayly caparisoned. It was a grand sight, and occupied nearly half an hour in passing a given point. Margaret was very silent — scarcely speaking during the time, and Mrs Houghton, seeing that sho was in an un usual mood, threw herself into tho gap and exerted herself to bo as social and entertaining aa possible with her young host.

Lunch was served, as soon as tho pro cossion moved ou, in a email room opposite the parlour. Mr Houghton made his appearance just then, having boen unable to reach them be fore on account of the crowd, ond his com ing holped to make the little party more social and lively. Margaret looked so flushed and seemed so preoccupied that her father feared ahe waa ill, and propoaed an early return home, But this Margaret vetoed at once, and with an energy that made them both observe her more closely. " Oh, no, do not let ue go yet," sho said, nervously ; "it would not bo polite t_j Arthur to run away directly after lunch, while you know he has promised to take us to tho top of the building to got a view of the city, by and bye ; besides, if we go now, wo shall be liablo to get into a crowd, and that would be vory disagreeable." " But, Margie dear, you know you have not rested at all to-day, and you usually lie down for an hour or so during the after noon,' 1 hor mother argued. Mr Houghton, watching bis daughter, saw her eyeß suddenly flash with a cunning, brilliant light. " Well, it will not matter for once," ehe said, carelessly. " Arthur, how many flights of Btairs do we have to climb to roach tho top of the building ?" questioned Mrs Houghton of her young host. "Tbreo." The lady Bhot a rueful glanco at her daughter. " Margie, aro you determined to do it?" she asked. " Yes, mamma, if you please." "Then upon one condition I will consent. That you lie down and rest for an hour first." " Very well, mamma," Margaret mur mured. Then turning suddenly to Arthur, sho added, " if Arthui will kindly allow me to occupy his room, I will be obedient and do as you desire." "Certainly," the young man cried, springing to his foot. "I will have the bod arranged in no time, and you shall rost as long as you like." " No, no ; do not do that. Just let me have a pillow please, and I will lie down upon the lounge," she said, rising to obey her mother's wish. Arthur, eager to perform any service for her darted into his uncle's room, seized a pillow from his couch and flew to deposit it upou the lounge in bis room, and was back again in lose than a minute. " AU ia reudy and at your service," he Baid, smiling and bowing beforo her. " Mrs Houghton, will you see that Bhe iB comfort able, and tell me if there ia anything more that I can do ?" The two ladies retired, but after a fow moments Mrs Houghton reappeared alone, shutting the door leading into the room whore she had left her daughter to rest. To rest? As soon as the door had closed aftor her mother Margaret sprang to her feet, clasped her hands convulsively together, raising them high above her head. " How have I borne it ?" she cried, in a shuddering whisper. "I believo I should have gone crazy io another hour.' She glided swiftly to the door and noise lessly turned the key in the lock. She then walked directly to Arthur Aspinwall's writ ing-desk and deliberately unlocked and opened it. " I must have an impression of those keys beforo I do anything else," she mur mured. She drew a chair up to the table, sat down bofofe the desk, ond took from a com partment a piece of sealing-wax, and from another a tiny wax taper, which she lighted. She heated one end of the wax until it melted, aud dropped a small mass of it upon a piece of letter-paper ; then she took those keys, which she was sure she had seen twice before, and gently pressed one of them upon tho still warm wax. It left a perfect impression, and she re peated tbe same operation with the other. "Now," she whispered, "I have some thing to work with : but—what will be t>he secret that 1 shall unlock ?—oh I what ?" A shudder ran through her frame, and for a moment ahe S6emed to grow dizzy and faint. With an effort she aroused herself, care fully wrapped the wax impressions in some soft paper that she had in her pocket, and concealed them in her puree. She extinguished the taper and pocketed that also, together with the 'ournetl match with which she had lighted the taper, that there might be nothing to betray the work of that hour. She then critically examine! the keys to see that no particle of wax adhered to them. She replaced them, just where she had found them ; closed: ond locked the desk, arose from her cha. and returned it to the very spot from which she had taken it. Her next move was to glide like a spirit across the floor fto Arthur's closet, which she entered, and unhesitatingly removing his keys from the trunk where they bung, tried them, one by one, in the lock of the other,

The last one that sho inserted in the lock fitted. She turned it, holding her breath as she did so. She lifted the lid, 'and a gasp of horror, mingled with a srap'preaaed exclamation of satisfaction, told Miat sho had found what she had expected 'and waa looking for. Insido that trl'.nk, at one end, there lay folded a heayy overcoat of coarse, rough cloth. At the ofch'ar end, thrown in carelessly, and evident/.y hastily, there were a wig of white hai.r, a false board, and a tall, old fashioned, black eilk hat. " I knew it I I knew I should find them here V" 'Margaret breathed, with panting bosom, while her eyes were fastened in a horviiiod, fascinated gaze upon the disguise which she could not fail to recognise. Without making the slightest noise, she let down the lid of the trunk, relocked it, aud replaced iho bunch of keys in the other lock where Bbc had found them. Then she went softly out of the closet, closing the door after her. " Step by step I have traced this mystery thus far ; step by step, and link by link, I will trace it to tho ond," she whispered, looking liko some beautiful, avenging spirit. "I will ferret the whole truth out," she wont on ; " and I will do it by myself \ Oh, Louis I Louis I what will that truth prove to be? Shull I ever have strength to accomplish it 2 Yes, I wilt have strength— I muat know the truth I" For a moment Bhe stood in the centre of the room, her hands claepodupon hor breast, trying to still the fierce beating of her heart. She had accomplished the purpose for which she had come there that day ; she had found, as she believed, some proof on which to ground tho suspicions that had been growing during tho last fow weeks. Becoming moro composed, ahe stole to tho door of tho room and quietly unlocked it; then creeping feebly to the lounge, she ; sank, weary and almost exhausted, upon it, so thankful that she could rest now. She looked at the clock upon the mantel. She had not been twenty minutes in ac complishing what she had done. " I will lie hore for half an hour; then I shall be ablo to climb six flights of stairs, if necessary," she said, as a faint smile of triumph flitted over her wan face. She closed her eyes, and in five minutes was fast OBleep, her heart and mind relieved, but her body wearied out with the excito ment of the day. When Margaret awoke she was much re freshed, and found that sho had beon asleep nearly an hour. After re-arranging her hair, she returned to Mr Forest's parlour. Hor father and Arthur sprang forward to meet her. " Tour appearance indicates that your rest has dona you good," said Mr Hough ton, noticing at once how much brighter she looked. "Yes, indeed," she replied, passing Arthur unnoticed, and slipping hor hand within hor father's arm. "I believe I did need rest and quiet; and, I assure you, I have improvod every moment oi my time." To what purposo she had improved it, not one of them dreamed.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A VISIT TO TUE RUE DE BLANC,

" Ann ktte, can you keep a Becret ?" " Oui, oui, mademoiselle, I betray never." " You are sure that I may trußt you ? "Ma_fois; ou>, mademoiselle." " I havo something very important, Anuette, that I wish to consult you about, but if you should betray me you would do me an irreparablo injury." " Mademoiselle has done me much kind ness. I shall forget it never ; try me, dear lady, my hoart is yours," said the girl, earnestly, while tears sprang to hor dark eyes and rolled over hor cheeks, whir.), even yeb, had not regained their usual rounded contour after her long illness. "I believe I will try you, Annotte," Margaret returned, gravely; "but first, nre you vory courageous, and have you strength to do something very disagreeable for me?" " Oui, mademoiselle, I am strong, I am well; new life there is in me since the bad illness. A good heart, too—courage you call it—l will do anything for mademoi selle."

Margaret smiled, more at the girl's eager facs ami manner than at her earnest words, whicßSSSttever, had tbe ring of truth and real affection in them. She had returned to her duties in the family nearly a week previous, and was, to all appearance, entirely recovered. She seemed very devoted, appearing to feel as if she could not do enough to show ber ap preciation of all the kindness she had ro ceived from Mrs Houghton and herdaughter during her illness. It was three days since tho fete and the Houghtons' visit to Arthur Aapinwall, and Margarot had been very busy during that time laying plans for future action. The very next morning after the fete sho had gone out by herself and ordered two keys to be made from tho impressions that she had taken of those in Arthur's writing-desk. To-day she had been out again to get thorn, and half the world's possessions would not have purchased those two precious bite of steel from her. She had already planned a bold course of action for the coming evon ing, if she could only secure Annette's co operation. " Does mademoiselle still fear to trust ? Ah, no I" timidly pleaded the girl, after waiting several minutes for Margaret to go on, during which she had beon carefully brushing the abundant hair which fell in waves of sunshiue over the maiden's graco ful shoulders.

Margaret started. Sho had fallen into a roverie, and almost forgotten that sho had spoken at all. " No; I told you I would try you, Annette," she said, adding :" I want you to go out with me alone to-night." " Alone, mademoiselle ?" " Yes." "It is not etiquette for young ladies to go out in the evening unattended by a gentleman." " Wo must ignore etiquette for once." .' " Wboro will mademoiselle go ?" " To the Rue de Blanc." " Rue de Blanc I" repeated the girl, astonished. "Yes ; but do not question mo further now. I shall go with you to the door of your home and leave you there for a wbile ; you will go in and make a visit to your mother, and at, the end of an hour you will come out again'; you will find ice waiting far you, or if you do not, wait a little for me. Noiv this is all that I can explain to you at present; if you do as I request, nnd say nothing, I shall reward you generously ; but if you have not the conrage or inclin ation to go with me, say so frankly, and for get that I havo mado 'ihe proposition." " Is mademoiselle's, hoart set upon going to the Rue de Blanc r,'hia evening ?" Annette questioned. "It is absolutely necessary that I go." " "Then I wil'i go also ; and mademoiselle may trust me, lully. I will not betray her." "Thank -you, Annette, I shall never forget it if you stand by me faith fully in this. Attire yourself vory plainly," Margaret; continued after a moment, " in dark clothing, just as soon as you have finishe'i dressing mamma for Madam Duprr/a receptipon, and then when she and papa have gone we will steal out, without lotting any of the servants know tbat we aro going." ," I will be toady," said Annotte, and _ien hearing her mistress's bell she with drew. Margaret hac'l also received an invitation to Mrs Dupro's reception, but had framed some excuse far not attending. Still, she urged her panents to accept, contending that for all three to absent themselves would be apt ba give offence. Shortly aftar eight o'clock Mr and Mrs Houghton left the house. Margarot ac companied thorn to tho door, watched them get into the c arriage and drive away, then hastened to ber own room to prepare for her adventure. Fifteen minutes later Annette entered her young mistress's room, and found Mar garet all ready, and waiting kier. She had arrayed hersolf in a simple dress of dark brown, with plain linen collar and cuffa ; drawn, hor hair smoothly back from her forehead and put ou. a simple felt hat. Hsr form waa somewhat concealed by a dark cloth mantle, and theru were a pair of coarse walking shoes on her small feet; in fact she had endeavoured to mako heraolf look as nearly like an humble servant as possible. She was clad even mora simply than An nette, but there was nevertheless an indo. ,

cribable air about her that gave tbe lie to hor disguise, while the beauty of her face alone Bhone forth even more prominent in con trast with her coarae apparel. "Mademoiselle must wear a veil," said Annette, remarking it. " I dialike a veil so much, Annette." " But mademoiaelle's face will surely be tray her; there are no waiting-maids in France with faces like that," and the girl pointed at the reflection of her figure in the glass near which they were standing. Margaret glanced at herself and smiled slightly. Her face was like some rare pearl, and all the more conspicuous from its sombre, all but ugly surroundings. "The night is dark," she said, the thoueht of a veil still distasteful to her. " Oui, but Paris is like a ball-room, with its thousands of lights. Mademoiselle will at least tie the veil about her hat, and she can draw it down or leave it up as she may have need," the maid persisted. Margaret submitted to this arrangement, though she observed that she thought her companion was over particular. "Pretty girla, unattended in the streets, Bhould mask," Annette replied senten tiously. "Now the gloves," she added, her cau tious eyes remarking the young girl's deli cate hands. "I have them here ; but stay ! I have a pair of dark spilk mittens—they will do even better." " Oui—but the diamond—the beautiful ring ! Take it off," said Annette, catching tho flash of the brilliant stone. " No, no I" Margaret cried, in a voice of paia, " I could not do that, and no one will see it with my hands covered," and she hastily drew on the mittens as she spoke. The very thought of removing her ring, that precious pledge of love that Louis him self had put upon her linger, was like a knife in her hoart. • With it still there she somehow felt as if sho was yet liuked to him ; to take it off would seem an if she was voluntarily sepa rating herself from him. " Now I aro ready," she said, and the two girls stolo aoftly out of the room, sped swiftly dow;n stairs, and wero soon in the street. Here Mai.'garetat once realised the wisdom of Annette's caution regarding the veil, for thore wero many people abroad, and the streets were almost as bright as day. Annette chose by-streets as much as possible, for she was very nervous and anxious upon her young mistress's account; sho was only too conscious of the wicked ness that lurks everywhere at night in gay, but corrupt Paris. But they . ont safely on their way, no one appearing to heed them, asd at length turned into the Rue de Blanc. " We aro nearly there," the faithful girl whispered, a.s sho came into the familiar locality. Sho had no fear now, because she was almost ot homo. "Oh, how dark it is I" cried Margaret, under her breath, her heart boating liko a frightened bird's, for there was only now and then a light to relieve the intense dark ness, and the street was lonely and almost deserted. " Oui, it is dark; mademoiselle is inßane to come hore at thia hour." " But I had to come, Annette—l hadto come. You are so good as to come with me, Annetto, I will tell you a little more. I have a suspicion—something that I must discover; no one else must know—l must find it out for myself. If there iB nothing in it, no harm will be done—no harm or injustice ; but if what I believe prove true —if I succeed, then justice shall fall where it ia merited."

Margaret spoke in a low, excited tone, and ber companion could feel that she was trembling in every limb. "Ib it—the suspicion — connected with the —unfortunate monsieur J" she asked, gently. " Yes," and a sob accompanied the assent. "All I But tell me—l will do anything tor you, madomoisello—what has it to do with this lonely, wretohed street ?" " It was here that I discovered something one day, while you were sick," Margaret explained, craving sympathy, now that the supreme hour of her trial had come. " Oui, oui; I begin to comprehend I" eaid the girl, with sudden animation. " The buildings here are empty, deserted ; no ono comoa to them only to store or hide something. Mademoiselle ia keen. But how will she enter ?" " I have keys to one of them," " How will she see ?" " I have a candle and matches." " Mademoiselle will be careful about fire I" said Annette, anxiously. "Oh, yea. But t.is is the place where I must go," Morearbc said,stopping aa they drew near the alley before mentioned ; " it ia very near your home. Go, Annette, and make your call. Do not say or do anything to arouse tho suspicion of any one. .Stay one hour, then come out, and I will meet you here." "Mademoiselle, I shall go with you," the girl asserted in a voice of decision. " I dare not let you go into that dark, dreadful place alone.'" Margaret hesitated a moment. The temptation to take her, both for company and protection, was very strong, almost irresistiblo, for it was a terrible under taking—a fearful ordeal for a delicate girl like her to face alone. But she did not know just how far she could trust Annette, notwithstanding her protestations of gratitude and fidelity. "No, Annette." she replied to the girl's entreaty ; " I think it will be better for me to go by myiiolf. Now, adieu, and be very guarded in what you do and say." Annette hesitatingly obeyed, and crossed the street, calling upon the saints to watch over her young mistress, and guard her frozn all r_langer.

{To be Continued.)

Protection in Germany.

Tfie following appears in the " Swiss Com mercial Gazette,' published in Berne, under the heading "Commor. al Politics, Treaties, and Legislation:"—" For several years the majority of German merchants were loud in praise of the excellent com mercial policy of the Government. It en abled them to manufacture at hifjh pressure, and they went on manufacturing till their goods wore no longer profitable Whon that result arrived ihe merchants began to criticise the Government policy, and the following extracts are from the ' Journal' of the Chambers of Commerce of October 30 laat: — Liognitz, Silesia. — The end of the crisis ia still far away. The aystem of protection inaugurated by Germany has had its followers, and our industries which <axisb by exportation find their outlets closed. Chemnitz.—The recoil in business is due to the system of protection, which has induced reprisals. German industries are now in the most de plorable state, business has been slowly paralysed, and the improvement hoped for will not be realised. Hanau. —The piresent year is woraa than the past; importation is reduced to a minimum in consequence of tho high dutir-8. The deplorable result of thia state of things is that stocks are constantly increasing both in the hands of manufac turers and merchants. Darmstadt.—The production is excessive and the consumption reduced, high foreign duties exclude Ger man products, and the consumption is diminished by the depreciation of capital and the lowering of interest. We must absolutely abandon this war of tariffs and return to commercial treaties. Corlsriche. —Business is in an anxious state, and the insecurity caused by the high duties makes the manufacturers despair, and inflicts great harm on industrial purauitß. Ctefeld. —Protection has not increased home consumption of the national product, and has diminished tho foreign demand. Exportation becomes yearly more diffi cult. The Rhine industries s^re mostly opposed to the increase of Custom duties. Coblentz. —Thero is an unprecedented de preciation in most of tho products of the aoil. Protective duties haye not beon in any way profitable to them. Heidenheim. — Exportation continues to diminish. Judi cious treaties of commerce instead of high duties can alone bring about any improve ment. Beutlingen makes tbe same remark. Another Chamber of Commerce speaks of the disappointments of manufacturers, and says that in all parts of Germany opinions are openly expressed against the commercial policy and the tariff of the Empire."

Capital Punishment—Being obliged to sit with the girls. How to Get Sick.—Exposayoaroelf day and night, Bit too much without exercise, work too hard without rest, doctor all the' timo, take all the vile nostrums advertised, and then you will want to know

The Van Dyck Family.

Of the minor details of the life of Van Dyck little is known, and only in comparatively recent times have the brief outlines of his career been established. But where facts have failed fable has stepped in, and tradition has woven round bis memory a mist of amorous romance. The clear, hard light of fact dispels most of these fantastic legends; yet our painter, shorn of these glories, remains whon all is told, handsome and comely, fond of luxury and of splendour, of all things rare and beautiful, of the great ones in the world, of wine and of women ; ao fond, indeed, of all these things, that he was content to work very hard to obtain them.

When, in 1599, Anthony Van Dyck was born, there was ready a nuraeryful of children in the big old house by the Scheldt, for Anthony was tho seventh child of his mother, and tbe eight of his father, who had been a young widower when Mary Cuypers took pity upon him. Mary waa famed for her embroideries, and little Anthony must often have seen his mother bending over her gorgeous handiwork, most of which found its way into convents and churches, for the Van Dycks wero Catholics and devout. Such work waß done only for pleasure, for the Van Dyoks were well-to-do. The busi ness, a cloth aud silk manufactory, was old established, the various little hints and facts that have come down to us show them to have been persons of culture and refinement. But the keynote of peaceful, easy life, where toil meant eccupation, not anxiety, where plenty meant the power of giving, where work and play alike were good and pure and sweet—the key-note of this quiet life was devotion; and when, in 1607, the mother died, leaving twelve little ones behind her, the children were watched and tended by the nuns of the Dominican Con vent. Years afterwards the same nuns helped the Van Dyck girls to tend their father through his last illness, and be in gratitude laid on Anthony a sacred charge to paint a picture for their high altar —an obligation which remained undischarged for seven years. The reli gious nature of the older Van Dyoks was inherited by many of their children. Four girls became nuns while still in the flower of their youth, and Theodore, the youngest son, took vows at the age of twenty. To make up one's mind early seems to have been the family tradition, for Anthony was only ten yeara old when he entered the studio of Henry Van Balen, one of the best artists of his day. There he remained five years, and then passed on into Rubens workshop, where he made sketches froru *ie great pictures of his master for the en gravers to work from. Among the legends ifhat Burround Van Dyck are many tallirig of Rubens jealousy, but the more we read of the relations' between the great master and tho favourite pupil, the more w4 learn of their faithful friendship and mutual respect. Anthony was indeed o, pupil to be proud of, and envy was up.known to Rubens generous soul; and it was a glad day for him when the lad, only nineteen years old, was admitted a meiiiber of that painters' Guild of St Luke, which had ex isted in Antwerp since the early years of the fifteenth century.

Human Sacrifice in India.

[Fbom the " Saturday Review."]

Whether human sacrifice was ever practised in India in Vedic times or earlier is a question about, which scholars have somowhat needlessly disputed. The famous Vedic, hymn of the Purusha Sulitu gives an account of the original sacrifice of Purusha by tha gods, and in all those 6tornal saciifices the goda were only aetting the example of ritual to men. But appa rently, to judge from the locus classictts in the Brahma.na, " the sacrificial virtue " went out of man into a succession of animals, and finally into grain. _ The recent human sacrifice of two Hindoo women neav Tonk was not exactly a sur vival of pre-Vedic rites, but it was a survival of the kind of temper which made such rl_.s possible. Tbe per formance haa beon called a oaße of Johur, and " A Hindoo," writing in the " St. Jameß's Gazette," 'gave many extraordinary examples of Johur from history. But Johur was really the collective suicide of the women of a conquered town or tribe to pre vent them from falling into the hands of the enemy. Jlf all the women of Troy had burned themselves alive, to avoid making the bed and drawing the water of Agamem non or Diomede, that would have answered to Johwt. It was an action of more than Carthaginian resoluteness and horror. But the recent dreadful act in India does not seom quite to belong to this category. No foreign force was threatening the virtue of the women who gave themselves to the flames. They merely burned themselves publicly to deal h as an evidence of the dislike of their dis trict to being overrated or overtaxed ty the loca/. Hindoo authorities. Their charred hands were sent to the Dunbar. The sac rifice was a kind of demonstration. It was as if the friends of woman's suffrage were to induce Miss Helen Taylor and an other lady to burn themselves on a pyre in Hyde Park. It was a quiet way of proving the people • were in earnest. In the same style a Japanese gentleman, not very long ago, committed happy despatch on himßelf in the lobby of the National As sembly of his native land by way oi draw ing attention to a bill which he had introduced into the House. The celebrated burning of himself by Peregrinns after the Olympian games may conceivably have had some such motive ; but it does not leach us in the version which the reporter (Lucian) gives us of the event. Thus considered it is plain that the burn ing of tbo woman near Tonk is not pre cisely a case of Johur. It rather answers to the practice of " fasting upon" an opponent —sitting, for example, without meat or drink, at the door of a man who owes you money. If you die your death 13, ip more senses than one, "at his door," and your blood, or rather your laok of that vital fluid, is on his head. The practice was known to the ancient Iriab, who ' may have brought it from the cradle of the Aryan race, or may have devised it from the resource of the fancy which has evoked boycotting. Of course Irish land lords must very much wish that tenants would adopt this plan of boycotting them selves. In India the fasting is called Dharna, according to a correspondent of the "St. James's Gazzette;" but the mild Hindoo of that learned serial was once very indignant with the tame Baboo of another print for using a similar name. Traga, and not Johur, it appears, is the right title for suicide or murder committed merely by way of demonstration and to embarrass a third party. In both Traga aod Dharna, if the Hindoo will pass tbe word, the whole object ia to bring innocent blood on that third party's head. Tho manoeuvre wou'd not have affected the Irish landlord, who said that his tenants were much mistaken if they hoped to terrify him by ahooting hiß agent. Nor, perhaps, wouldEnglieh society much regret Hindoo influence, if all con temporary leaders of demonstrations would only quietly cut their own throats. It might, in the long run, save trouble to many persons; but Englishmen havo not this Oriental Indifference to life—when it happens to be their own.

Most Fellows Know.

When Mr Jenkins went to his bedroom at half past 1 it was with the determination of going to sleep, and with another deter mination that he would not be interviewed by Mrs Jankins. So, as soon as he entered the door and deposited his lamp upon the dressing-table, he commenced his speech: " I locked the front door. I put the .chain on. 1 pulled.the key out a little bit. Tbe Aig is inside. I put the kitten out. I emptied the drip-pan of the refrigerator. The cook took the silver to bed with her. I put a cane under the knob of the back hall door. I put the fastenings over tho bath-room windows. The parlour fire has coal on. I put the cake-box back in the closet. I did not drink all the milk, It is not going to rain. Nobody gave me any messago for you. 1 mailed your letters as soon as I got down town. Your mother did not call at the office. Nobody died that we areinterested in. Did you hear of a marriage or engagement ? I was very busy at the office making out bills. I have hung my clothes over chair-backs. I want a new see for breakfast. I think that is all, and I will now put out the light." Mr Jenkins felt that he had hedged against all inquiry, and a triumphant smile was upon his face as he took hold of the gas : cheque, and sighted a line for the bed, when he was earthquaked by ,a ringing laugh, and the query from Mrs Jenkins: " Why didn't you take off your hat?"

FOR THE YOUNG.

"SAUOY DICK."

ByVioia Cassidy.,

M Saucy Dick " I think I hear someone Bay. " Pray who and what is he J" Well, that is just what I am going to tell you. Ha waa only a little bright-yellow canary bird. We called him "Saucy Dick "because of the saucy way he had of turning up hia head, first on one side, then on the other, and looking at us in such a pert manner, whenever we gathered around his cage, as if he were trying to count, and sea how many of us there were. _ He was a very cunning, mischievous bird, and it would take up more time and space than I have to give, to tell you one half .hia cunning tricks, but his greatest delight was in sprinkling the cat. - Pussy was in the habit of lying down directly under neath Dick's cage, to take her morning nap, and the little fellow soon discovered that when he took his bath and Bprinkled a fow drops of wator on the floor the cat would ran. Then he began to take delight in it, and no matter how many times ha had bathed, or at what time of day the cat would come and lie down, Dick would go immediately into his bathing dish and begin to dash and splash abo'jt. peeping over every few minutes to s_i if the cat was still there, and then going back, until he had succeeded at last in making her run. Then in the most comical and cunning manner ha wow.ld peer through the bars at bis vanquished foe with an unmistakable look of triumph. If there was no water in his, dish he would mako such a fuss about it t.'hat mamma would be compelled to give him some in order to quiet him. One day a lady called to see mamma, and happened to take a seat quite near to Dick's cage. Dick eyed her a moment, and t'nen hopped into his dish and began to splash, which attracted the lady's attention. Mamma told her about his naughty 'nick of splashing the cat, and added: " _ do verily believe he is try ing to do the same to you." The lady scarcely believed that a bird could bejso intelligent, but asked mamma to give him some water, for she wanted to see what he would/do. Mamma did so, and he dashed and Splashed about till soon tbere was ,nob a deep left, stopping every little whjle tc 100 _ at the lady and see if there were any indications of moving on her part, and then going back to his dish with renewed vigour. But the lady did not move. S. a only laughed and shook her finger at him, and said : "Now, you naughty bird, is that the way you treat your visitors ? I'm not going to rnn from you like the cat, for my dress and shawl are thick.and I can stand a good deal of splashing." Then she asked mamma to give him more water, for aha " wanted to see the fun out," aha said. Mamma very reluctantly filled hia dish the third time, when he made such a vigorous splashing that he not only wet tha lady completely, but the floor and fur niture around him, and she was compelled to move, or have her new bonnet ruined. Then with what saucy self-satisfied air did that bird look at her, with a look that seemed to say, "Aha, you had to move at laat."

The lady was much amused and thoroughly convinced, and offered mamma a high price for Dick, but mamma would not part with him, for she knew we were) all very much attached to the fallow. Not long after this Dick began to droop. He would roll himself up till he looked like a little round yellow ball,and refuse to eat. For a few days he continued to droop in this manner, and then one morning wet found him lying in the bottom of his cage, gasping for breath. Mamma took him out,, tried to revive him, but he died in her hand, and we all cried very hard over him. for we knew no other bird would ever seem half ao clever to ua as " Saucy Dick."

LITTLE FOES OF LITTLE BOYS.

" By-andbye " is a very ba. boy- Shun him at once and lor: over; * For they who travel with " By-and-bye" Soon come to the house ot " Never." " I Can't" is a mean litt _ coward— A boy that Is half of a man; Set on him a plucky wee terrier Tbat the world knows and honours, "I Can,"

The Bishop of London and the Rev. R. H. Haweis.

A large congregation was present at St. James'sChurch,Marylebone, onarecent Sun day, it having been announced that the Rev. R. H, Haweiß would explain in the course of his sermon the exact nature of the Bishop of London's inhibition to preach at the City Temple. In the course of his sermon tha rev. gentleman said that there was nothing illegal in Dr. Parker having asked him to preach in the City Temple, nor was there anything illegal in his having accepted the invitation, and from the bishop's' point of view there was nothing illegal about the proceeding, A dissenting place of worship was not a chapel at all. It was simply a room, and an episcopal clergyman was as a simple layman in such a building, and there was nothing that for bade a Church of England minister going into a room and uttering any number of words. Then again, he had the matter'of precedent on his side. He was proposing to do nothing more than had been done in the past by the Bishop of Liverpool, tha Dean of Westminster, Canon Freman tie and himself. It was announced throughout tha whole land that he intended to preach ab the City Temple, and yet the bishop did nod know anything about it until Dr. Parker wrote and apprised him of tbe fact, and then he merely replied to Dr Parker and himself, saying that he did not wish the sermon to bed elivered, and that If it was delivered io would be without his sanction. The bishop did not threaten to prosecute ii he preached, and, indeed, he was even kind enough to say he did uot think ho would do so; but in a second letter he stated that he had power to prohibit him from preaching in his diocese. He could not say what motive led the bishop to forbid him to preach at the City Temple. The bishop had, in a letter, pointed out tbat by doing so ha would embitter the feeling which now existed between the different sects; but, in his opinion, the bitterness of feeling would have been still more provoked by hia nob availing himself of Dr. Parker's invitation,

A Great Fireproof Theatre.

The Vienna correspondent of the . Times * gives some interesting particulars of the new Hofburg Theatre, now. being con structed on the Ring. Though the whole exterior of the building is finished, i tha inside will not be completed till next October, but it is already possible to ferra an idea what the house will be. In ita mechanical appliances for scenery, warm ing, and lighting, nnd in its arrangements • for the comfort of actors and spectators the new theatre will be without its equal in the world. It will hold 2.Q00 persons, and every persd i will have a clear view of the stage, as ther i mot a single pillar to obstruct the view E very private box will have its vestibtue opeaing on to a. passage 20ft. wide, aud this jjassage opens in its turn through countless doors into a foyer 30ft. wide, which goes all round tha building. This arrangement, repeated on - every floor, will give spectators in tha gallery a foyer as large as those on the lower tiers. Twenty-four doors from each ot the foyers open on to wide staircases, which lead out of the theatre, so that in case of a. fire alarm there cannot be any crowding or difficulty about exit. Wood has been used as little as possible in the construction, all the staircases being of stone, the girders and frameworks of iron, and the ornament in the foyers of marble, polished stone, or enamelled tiling. AU the wood used is im pregnated with incombustible chemicals. The stage ie completely separated from the auditorium by a wall oi brick and iron, and, according to the mie now enforced in all Austrian theatres, there is an iron curtain, which can be enforced in two min utes when required, AU the mechanism fot scene-lighting is of iron, and by a new system peculiar to this theatre, the whole, stage and different portions of it have been made movable, so that set scenes with fur niture can be prepared below, the boards and sent up all ready, without any work on the stage or in the slips. The space under the stago ia part of the moat of the old forti fications, and is of immense depth.' Three stories of private rooms for the actors and actresses give the space all round the stage the appearance of a large hotel. Every performer above the rank of chorus-singer will have bis or her separate dressing-room, and even the "supers" will not be mora than 12 in one large room. The theatre will be lighted throughout byelse ti icifaf, '•

THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JANUARY 3, 1887.