A Heart's Bitterness.

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

CUAPTStt XL

violkt'k oood anuei,

Lady Burton was at hor London house, She was alono, but sho expected hor sen Boon, who was to tako again his long emp!y Beat in tho House of l'eors.

Sho intended to invite frionds to bo with her. Lady Burton liked to have hor house fairly full; eho enjoyed having young, happy faces about her, and sho now-de sired to mako her son happy, and, as his passion for Violet was hopeless, to strivo to fix hia affections on some fair young maiden who would satisfy all hia heart. To the opening season Lady Burton looked with anxiety. It would bo impossible to keep Violet and Komioth from seoing each othor, and evory meeting would be a pain. L^dy Burton, whoso toudernoss for Violot increasod daily, felt na anxious about the young countess as about Kenneth.

Sho was --itting in hor boudoir, lamont ing to herself Violet's ovidontly growing misory and Leigh's singularly increased brought hor a card— "Edna Ambrose Haviland." Lady Burton mueod a momont boforo she could rocolloct where- ths had soon nny ono of that namo ; then recalled the beauty met in Sussex, and also that V'iolot had told her that this charming Miss Ambro?o was Leigh's early lovo. Groatly wondering, yet eager to soe onco more that oxqnieito face, that still ehono in hor lnomory as a choice picture, Lady Burton went down to the drawing-room.

Edna was standing almost in the contre of tho drawing room, under tho chandelier. She was turned toward tho open door, nnd in hor ongarness to see Lady Burton, had no thought that tho light from a window open to tho garden was pouring ovor her, setting her in full statuesque relief, whilo it flashed prismatic rainbows in (he cut glass pendants over her head. Tho vigorous, supremely graceful young figure was in a dross and coat of black velvet, which marvellously set off tho fairness of fcer peatly skin and the light gold of her hair. She was too intent on her errand to be Bhy, so innately graceful that the could never either move, 01 stand, or look aniss. Tho oxquisite long-lashed eyos turned on Lady Burton as if ontreating a welcome.

The whole heart of Lady Burton went out to her ; she seemed so fair, so sweet a thing, sho lit tho placo with hor beauty.

Lady Burton advanced, holding out both hor hands.

"My doar girl, how pleased I am to see you ! How kind of you to como to me !"

" I almost feared it would be an intru sion," said Edna :" but—l bed an errand — that I felt I must do ; nnd that one hour we talkad in the wood, you looked to kind, bo wise, so good, I folt euro I could trust you."

" You may, indeed, trust mo. To bo faithful and helpful are my strongest characteristics)" said Lady Burton, leading her to a seat. "I think wo ?hall not bs disturbed for a whilo. Now, my dear, what is it 1"

" You will think mo a maiden Don Quixote, I fear."

" I am sure I cannot think yon other than good and lovely," said Lady Burton, smiling. ~ Edna hesitated, as if oppressod by what Ehe had to say. Then—

■'Her voice In serious sweetness, flowing from her hoatt

" It is about tho Countess of Leigh," she said ;"I feel so anxious for her. From what you eaid the day I Baw yon, and from what I heard from old Adam, Lord Leigh's confidential ewvant, I believe you her beat and oldest friend, and I want you to help her. I saw her yesterday in her carriage; it was a Mght to break one's heart; ehe ia co young, co frail, and she looked co lonely «nd wretched, as if ehe were dying with heartbreak. Ob, Lady Burton, I want to try and make things better for her- for them ; for 1 am, and always must be. Lord Leigh'd friend—his sister-friend—and wi?h him to be good nr>d naFPy- It ia a long etory to tell, but I am quite willing to tell you all. I know Leigh ia not a good man ; but, oh, Lady Burton; cannot ho bo made a good man, and good to his wife? VTou do not know how I wish hie welfare. I thought I loved him once " "My dear girl," said Lady Burton, " I nm quite alone today ; let us go to my boudoir, and I will refuse myself to all callers. You will stay with mo, nnd you will tell me all that you have in your heart, Be euro of my sympathy and help." They wont up tho boudoir, and when the hat and coat were laid aside, and Lady Burton noted the round satiny throat, and perfect face rising flower-like from the soft ruffles about her neck; paw the splendid gold of hor hair and noted how

" The lull day dwelt on her brow -, and sunned Her violet ejes and all nor Hcbo b!oom And doubled it) own -warmth against her lips. And 01 the bounteor.o wave of such a breat. As never pencil drew,"

her heart went out to this girl, and she wondered if she might not havo her for a daughter. Then the harmonious contralto voice began to set this young woman's views and experiences to music. Edna told of hor motherless life with her father in Cornwall, with occasional glimpsea of wealth at the house of her childless maternal uncle, Mr Haviland. Of the good mother-like go verness, who had brought her up, and then died, and been succeeded by Miss Hope. She told how, in a brief visit to her father's half-sister, at Rose Lodge, Lord Leigh had seen hor, and become infatuated, and made a long pursuit of her. •' I had been much shut out from young people, and no ono had ever spoken of love to me, and to me Lord Leigh seemed all that was good, and tender, and true. I believed him my ' Uouglass' aa in the old song. But confidence in my good father belonged to my nature. I kept nothing from him. I told him all. Ho feared for the disparity of our rank and temperament, and finslly said that, as I was young, there must pasß a year while I did not see or hear from Lord i-eigh, and then, if he remained true, another year of acquaintance, before we wero engaged. The first thing that shcoK my faith in Leich was hi 3 trying to persuade me to break this promise. Tbon I found that ne had made mook love to my governess, to get more freely into my society. Then, alter only two letters, I heard no morei; but instead ot breaking my heart, I found myself heart whole. 1 had loved an ideal, I had loved qualities that! Leigh did not pjssesß, Then my fathoi died, and I went to my uncle. Soon he died, leaving me all he had if I would take his name of Haviland ; 30 I am now Miss Ambrose- Haviland. Do you know I cintiot give up a deep sisterly "interest in Leigh ? I want him to be the man I thought ho wbb. He has bad no mother, and ho inherited some such terrible passions. "But, L,ady Burton, hero is the dreadful thing. I auppoFe, of course, ho loved since he married, and I needed to go to my aunt at Rose Lodge, and I went; and do you know, when he met me, he fell in love twice, yes, ton times as much as ever before ! And now I feel as if 1 am a cause of sorrow to that sweet young creature, h:s wife, i cannot tell you how her face impressed me ono day, when I found her sleeping m tho woods"; thero is something so ir.expresaib.y touching about her. Lady Button, do you not feel as if you wanted to gather her in your anna and comfort her, and shield ncr from all pain ? I feel like that. And when I saw her in her carriage, sad and heart-sbk, I felt as if I must devote all my time, my life, to comfortiDg her, and making this unhappy carnage turn cut a happy one. Can X, do yon think ? is there no way'in which I can help her? You love her, you know her beet. Help me to plan. She has heard of roe, and thought me an enemy as Miss Ambrose ; but as Miss Haviland she does not know me at all; and as Miss Haviland cannot, I become her friend, if I could only bring before her all that ia good in him, ana make him see that ho can never, never tie to me anything but a friend, and that only if he is a good husband to her; and if 1 crnild make him see her a? good, and sweet, and charming as she is, as I see her. Un, it all sounds ao wild, feeble, and foolish, to •peak it; but in my heart, iv some way, it seems right and good." ""No girl needa a friend of her own age more than Violet," said Lady Burton, and if you met, she must love you — no one could help it."

And how shall wemeot? lam willing to bo a teacher and give her lesßOns; or your roador and humble companion, for such hours as I might moot her hore " 'But you are independent -you hare property, havo you not ?" "Oh, that is nothing," aaid Edna. "I would not mind seeming poor, or anything to get to her. I have six hundred a year,' and I am a lover of art, bnt I will givo up all until I can help this dear, unhappy little creature. I believe I have fallen in love for the first time, and with Violet Loigh." "If you are the niece of John Haviland, of Brompton, I met him and your mother when I was a young girl; »nd your father, tne Cornwall vicar, waß well known to mo by reputation. I can plan you a much better way to know Violet. Come here as my guest; spend the toason with mo I shall lovo to introduce you wherever I ;;o." " Oh, Lady Burton, I cannot think of that."

But Lsdy Burton was persistent, and noxt day ordered rooms made ready for hsr young friend, " Miss Haviland."

CHAPTER XLI,

" WHO IS THAT DIVINE UREATUKK ?"

Lady Burton- had need of much argutnont to persuade Edna Haviland to agreo to her proposition, and becorao a part of her family, nnd enter sociotj under her nhnporonago. She was bst in wonder and admiration of this sweot young creature, ready for tho period, to sacrifice her position, her preferences, evon hor comfort, and forogo socioty, for tho sako of trying to bring hor former lover to a bettor lifo, and be tho help and champion of Lsdy Leigh.

Edna scorned to havo no realisation of her own beauty and ite wonderful powor t she had no thought of self, no craving for dis play, or fashion, or excitement; sufficient to horaolf, companioned ever by beautiful thoughts, and good dosiros, and noblo deeds, loneliness or ennui such as fall to tho lot of

many young girls, was unknown to her. Lady Burton thought her tho grandest craaturo sho had over seen.

" If I agree to your proposal, dear Lady Burton," said Edna, " cft> you not peo that I shall moefc Lord Leiyh in society, as well as liia wifo ?"

"And why not?" said Lady Burton. "Must a girl of your accomplishments, beauty, youth, family, hide herself liko a criminal, bo left deprived of all social lifo, or find companionship only among uncon genial people, because a man who courted and thon forsook hor, and marriod, has chosen again to fall in love with hor 1 Tho

very be3t way to quench anil destroy this wild, foolish pa°sion of Lord Leigh is to meet him bravely and calmly; and let him

boo you accepting attention from other;, and only coldly tolerating him."

"From what I Baw of him at Leigh—l have told you how 1 felt obliged to leave there," said Edna, blushing—"l fear he will persecuto me with attentions that will distress his wife, and prevent that friend ship with her which is now my groat ob ject." " If Lord Leigh becomes importunate it will be easy to roproes him," said Lndy Bur ton, with dignity. " You will bo under my protection." And so, affor eonio discussion, it was settled.

"When will you come to me? Lot us say Thursday," said Lady Burton. " I am in vory pleasant lodgings on Ber nard street,'1 said Edna, " with a good old damo who used to be house keeper to my father. I spend moat of my time at Warn* ley's studio. lam very happy taking lea eons, but I will pive all up and oonio to ycu Thursday. I must order a fow now dresses," eho added, smiling; "and—you will find mo very much a novice in tho gay world, Lady Burton." Lady Bi:rton was more than elated. Every instant aho had greater admiration for Edna. Her voico was pure melody, her Fii'iilo an oncnantmonr, her figure a pculptor'a ideal, and every motion eeomed in its ijrace to answer to Borne sereno harmony of her mind. To introduce such a wonder to London society would be n triumph indeed. Lady Burton smiled to herself as sho thought of the surprise and dolight that would arise; and iho asked the CountcFs Montrecsor, who was to give tho first great entertainment of the soaeon in honour of tho bride, Lady Clare Hunting ton, to s«nd cards to a young debutante about to come out under hor own aucpices. Her own innate sense nnd taste, the in structions of her governess, and her aunt, Miss Whately, who had been a belle for threo seasons, and her experience of life at hor uncle s, had taught Edna all that was required of her. She app2ared at Lady Burton's with a noat littlo amid, skilled and devoted, ond a wardrobo of dainty, ox quiaito tasto, simple and rich. Edua did not need the varied and elaborate toilets required by many yountr beauties Her own loveliness was her cbarni, and simpli city bocamfl her aa it'does the lilips. Knturnl flowors wero hor favourite orna ments Sho had a *toro of rich, old, almost priceless lace from her aunt Havi land and ho: mother. Her good judgment trade fix hutdreds pounds amplo to her noods, and she was alike without ostentation or parsimony. Lady Burtcn took care to bring about nn immediate meeting with Violet. She drove to see the little Countes3 of Lpigh on tho day after Edna's arrival, aud bring hor back to lunch with hor.

"I have a young friend, Miss Haviland, to paw the season with mo and I want you to bo friends at ono-3. I have cards for your annt's ball next week for her, and your great ball to introduco your two cousins will come off next, I suppose. I shall follow with something - not a crush, but, I hope, very charming, and with a musicalc, for AIUs Haviland's voice is exquisite." . Violet did not wince at tho name Havi land. But in spita of herself, and to hor fnstant remorss, a sick terror came over hor at thought of this poerles-i young protegee in the same house with Kenneth. She went upstairs to make ready for the lunch, and as she wont she told herself that it should be her chief desire to see Keith happy in maniage; that, these risings of jealousy were wicked, selfish, and mean ; that she had need to be heroic. She would know and lov« this young friend of Lady Burton's, if there wore in her a single lovable trait. When Violet descendod from Lady Burton's barouche at the door she glanced up, and caw a charming face between the flowers in the drawing room window. Edna, with a naive anxiety, had been looking out for them for an hour. She was in a morn ing toilet of the palest lavender cashmere, with white lace and knots of white satin ribbon. A cluster of white hyacinths was under her round, pearly chin ; and Violet, the instant she met her in the drawing-room, felt that it was not a question of finding a trait to love; but the question was, who could help loving so exquisite a btiog. Violet, with her usual sßlf-distrust, had no idea that in herself, perfonally, there could be any attraction. Would tbia royal beauty condescend to give affection to a little person, who had nothing to commend her but title and fortune, neither of which could make the least difference to tho beauty ? She had no notion wh*t a delicious little darling she herself was with change ful brown eyes shining under the frill of brown hair, the wildro?e tint fitfully com inf and Going on her cheeks, her innocent, artless face under the wide plum-coloured velvet hat turned up with a cluster of blush ro«es, her dainty form in a plum-coloured velvet suit, a knot of roses at her neck. Edna herself took off the Reubens hat, and the little gloves, and before Violet knew it, she was chatting away with the etranger, as one long known. They went to the conservatory and discovered what flowers, even what colours, each loved bost • to the music-room, and confided eacn to each what songs wero dearest ; they told what novels aud Dooms of the season they bad read, and what characters in each they liked best; and Edna had told Violet that of all things she loved paint ing ; and Lady Burton had eaid she might have tho dearest little studio, and might she paint Violet, "for I don't mean to bo very, very gay, you know, said Edna. " I moan to have aome time to my -88"But you will come to my entertain ments, won't you?" said Violet. "'And, whon I get lonesome and sick of everything, may I come to your studio ?" "Let us see each other every day, said E '"f)o you think you'd mind very much Tieinr very groat irienda with me ? said Violet. "Real deep friends? I shall be a ♦rouble, I fear, for I'm terribly low-spirited E°" WlTd'o away with all that, and bo the very dearest friends ever were known if you Ilk?," said Edna, warmly.

It was the evening of the Counter Mon tressor's ball. No more splendid social event had b=en known in London far years Lndy Clare Hartington looked imperial in h» -stately drees of white velvet and pearls, iadv Rrai. Churchill, the other br.de was n^;»nf- in 1 robe of white lace trimmed with Pers an Sta™ but Lord Leif;h felt a little glow of pride stir his hearty as his young

countess, in a roso coloured brocade, shim moring with multitudinous diamonds, in countless points of light, cauood a buzz of admiration even throngh tbateelfcontainecl, aristocratic os&embly, aa Bhe moved up and took hor placo beeide her aunt. The Marquia of Alworth, prospective Duke of Ripon, pressed forward at once to be pre sented to her, and to ask her hand for the first dance. .Sunned in universal applause nnd admiration, Violot stood with a bright face, smiles wroathing her lips, dimpling her cheeks, gloaming in hor uplifted brown eyes ; her voico rippled morrily in piquant artless sayings ; without vanity or coquetry she stood the centre of all oyos.

Suddoi'y the Marquis of Alworkh gays a start.

"Lady Leigh ! Toll mo—who ia tha' divino creature !"

V'iolot looked up Edna Haviland, in simple robe of cream white f atm, with no or namonts but lilies of th» valley, was entor ing tho room with Lady Burton and Lord Kenneth Keith. Thoro was almost a hush of admiration and wonder. Violet whiepored: "It is my friend, Miss Edna Haviland j" and yet her heart sraw sick nnd faint. The words roaobed not only tha marquis, but Lord Leigh. He turned, nnd his oyea fell on the woman whom he wor shipped, CHAPTER XLII. " AS UKRJS ACQUAINTANCES ! CAN 1 liE NO JIOKE '!" Ai'tkr saluting tho Countoss Montressor, Lady Burton and har two oompanlona turned to Violot'a party. It was Violot herself who presented the Marquis of Al worth and Lord Loigh to Miss Haviland. The honoat soul of Edna was disploased at the idea of seeming to bo a etrangor to one whom sho knew so well. Sliosaid, quietly, as ahe gave Norman Leigh her hand for a second : " Lord Leigh and I havo mot before ; I trust we aro fairly good friends." Norman Leigh nearly lost his breath with wondor at Edna's beauty, and hor unexpected appearance. Ho had heard of her change of name, and that the unentailed part of her uncle's proporty hai come to her, but ho had never seen hor in full dresa, and had never dreamed of hor crossing his orbit in tho elite 01 London socioty. At first ho waa so dazzled by hia good fortune at enacting her, and by admiration, that he forgot everything but to gazo at her. He camo to his senses in realising that the Marquis of Ahvorth, Lord Keith, and Sir Tom had soizod the opportunity of securing hor hand for different dancea. He pressed hastily to hor sido. " You will mako mo happy by one wnltz, Misa Haviland."

" Keally, Lord Leigh," said Edna, glanc ing along hor tablet with indifference, "I liave not a waltz left."

" All tho waltzes of the evening gone !" said Leigh, amazed. " All in which I shall indulge," said Edna, calmly "I have method in my madness, and it is my ordinal principle navor to loavo an assembly tired." 11 Some danco then," pleaded Loigh, oagorly j " do not deny me all." " I think I have piomiaed all that I shall danco," eaid Edna, again referring to her tablet, and then glided into convi rsatioti with Sir Tom and Lady Grace Churchill. Lord Leigh had ongagod li:b wifo for the first danco ; ho had only expoctod to danco that onco, as ha was not fond of that ainupo mont. Whon he led out Violet, Edna and Lord Keith wore near them, nnd at that in stant Leigh remembered that Keith had inefc Edna whilo afc tho Tower*?, and had called hor " a nymph " Sho had left Susaox about tho time of Keith's hasty departure, and now appearod as a guest of Keith's mother. What moro evident than t.hit these two had mot moro than ohco, fallen in love, and that nil theso movements wero prearranged botwoon them, and Lady Bur ton'a knowledge, nnd tondod toward a lovo match ?

Be grow pile with rage and jealous envy, aa ho saw Edna's delicate hand roatinp on Keith's shoulder. In that group of four Edna's was the only placid heart. Leigh was on lire with pission for Edna ; Keith nursed and strove to hide his longing, despairing lovo for Violot ; Violet, pick at heart, was trying to school hereolf to the thought, evon to Ul9 wish, that Keith should find his lovo nnd happiness in Edna.

Whiepored praieos of his lovely littlo wife foil coldly on Leigh's ear -wore hardly undei stood ; but ovory word that suggested tbac Ediia and Kennoth looked rarely well together, and mado n magnificent couple, pierced Lsigh'ti fevered hoart liko a savage knifethtust. '•What am I to understand by your ap pearance hoie with Lidy Burton ?" whis pered Leigh, later, hi Edna's ear. " Why, that she ii my chaporon, nnd that I am likoly to have a clalt^htful reason," paid Edno, serenely. " Am I to con^idor that it means a match with Keith ?" " Koally, my lord," paid Edna, scorn fully, " I cannot see on what ground >ou presume to ask such a question. I may be ignorant of tho customs of society. Do mere acquaintances challenge personal acts and intentions in this fashion ?" "A mere acquaintance ! Oh, Edna, can I bo no moro!"

" Not a whit more," said Edna, " unle«s by dignity, Rood judgment, and nobleness, yon Bhow yourself worthy to bo my friend " Lord Leigh retired to a secluded corner of the conservatory to meditate. It had always been his belief that he could, if ho willed, ba victorious over tho hoarts of women. The ardent idolatry of Helen Hope, the acceptance of Violet, and the early fancy—for it had only been a brief fancy—of Edna, had nurtured thh flittering opinion. If ho had adored Edna when he saw her last at Kose Lodgo, ho worshipped her with tenfold ardour now, when overy eye was on her with admiration and every lip uttered hor praiee. Surely the vicar's daughter would have made a worthy Count ess o( Leigh He saw that if he offended Edna or laid himeelf open to hor scorn, all hope even of her friendship would be ended for ever. But if he strove to show himself good and admirable, the old affection might revive, and then - What then ? Almost in gpite of himself the infamous suggestions of Helen returned to him, and ♦ho words " Divorce I" " Death !" seemed written in letters of fire on his brain. He looked from the fragrant, flowery shades of the conservatory into the brilliant ball-room," and brw tho rosy, diamond sprinkled figure of Violet, taking her place in tho dance on the arm ■of Sir Tom Churchill. How frail a thing she looked, yet standing as an invincible wall betwean him and his desire ! Her child-liko, touch ing, pensive beauty made no impression upon him, because near it shone, in a serene splendour, the matchlees face of Edna. To win back Ednas love was his one master thought. To that he would bend all his energie3 What would come after he did not know—nor even think of; it was too far away. To vanquish this calm, proud beauty would surely bo a season's siege, and with all the leading bachelors of London for his rivals. How easy in Corn wall had eeemed the conquest of the little ance', whore e*r bad never before known the voice either of love or flattery — who wai yet in hor governess's care. But^this eoft. silken chrysalis bad burst bonds, and spread its heaven-tinted wings and fluttered, the choice prize, over this garden of the gods. When Lord Leigh come outs of the con eervafcory, the palms and the feme, the roses and the orchid", had heard his vow to bend all his powers to reinstating himself in the heart of Edna Ambroso Haviland. This re solve calmed him a little, and then he had time to wonder how his wife had become acquainted with Edna, whoso friendship she had lately indignantly rojacted. She had called her " her friend I" What mystery was this? He saw the slender figure of Violet resting in a large grey plush easy chair, which set hor delicate pink brocade and hor dark shining head in bright relief. Ho -enfc to her, bent dutifully over her chair, and taking hor fan, began gently fanning her. Violet looked up, gratefully. ' " Are you enjoying yourself, Lady Leigh I" " Oh, much, thank you. . "That i? a vary pretty friend of yours, in caro of Lady Barton. Where did you find "At Lady Burton's. Lady Burton has a genius for'surroundiog herself with lovely girls'. Is she not exquisite ?" "Very, indeed." "And we are each friends !Bo you not think it would be delightful_ if she would come and stay with us some time ?" " Perhaps, for a little, towaro the close of the season, if you like," said Leigh, quietly, while his heart leaped madly. "At least Ebo will be at our entertain ments -at our ball next weak. Oh, do you know, 'be has a studio at Lady Burton s and piinrs She is ti paint me. I will set hor to let mo bring you there some time if ynu like, Norman." " Thank you, my dear. If you are rested would you like to go to Bee some wonderful cacti in the conservatory ?" The presence of Edna, for whom his ab sorbing passion daily grew, turned Norman Leigh's mind from tha dreadful scene by

tho Black Pool. His spirit Bhook off somo of that clinging, deadly burden of solf-nc cmation, and terror of soiho discovory that might bring crime to his charge. To sec more of Edna, ho followed more closely hia wife, who waa now constantly with her best loved friend.

The night of Violet's ball was A marked occasion. No expense had been spared to make it a scone of unmatchable eplbndjur. Lord Leigh had opened the ball with Violet, and had sacured Edna for tho second dance. Sho had been unable to refuse him a waltz, but just as they wero taking their plaeo on tho floor, Edna's hand on hia shouldor, his arm clasped about her lovely waist, some one touched hia hand, and gave him a telegram. It was from hiß steward at tho Towers-

" Wiloox has disappeared. They mean to drag tho Black Pool for him to morrow." The room winded about him. The'floor socmed to open at his feet. Ho saw, as in a vision, a horrible disfigured ghastly face lying on the bottom of tho Black Pool, and what damnatory evidenco might not be in tho papers clutched ia the'dead innn'g hand —possibly decipherable still ? •'Lord Leigh, you are ill. You have news, lot me rolease you," said Edna.

"I must go to the Towers," ho gasped. Without a word, Btoadying him as she seemed to lean on his arm, sho lod him from the ball-room to tho library and rang the bell for Adam. Then aho gave him a glass of wino.

"Adam, get ma my cloak, and follow me —we must go to tho Towors," said Leigh, when his old valot entered.

(To be Continued)

TWO KEYS: OB Margaret Houghton's Heroism.

By MRS GEOROIE SHELDON, Author ot "Brownie's Triumph," "Tho For <♦'!(•• Brldo," " Audrey's Itocomponss," &o.

CHAPTER XXXIII, AN ABOLOOV. Tub young man started back instinctively. Thero was no mistaking that tone ; it was tho voice, tho command of a lady. Margaret had drawn hor figure to its fullest height, and eomcthing in hor attitude half awed him, whilo Count Lorrain had sprung to his foot astonished, as that clear voice foil upon his cars. Surely ho had heard it bcloro. "You will get yourself into trouble Perrino; thore is something n this you havo no right to pry into ; yju bad bolter let thorn go," ho faid, almost sternly. The caution only appeared to irritato the young nun. " Bah ! 'tis only a grisotto lam not to becowod by nny such trick ; it is only tho ruso of v waiting-maid, assuming tho air* of her mistress. No, no, piotty ono," Porrino continued, turning again to Mar garot, " 1 am not to be fooled like this ; your voice is tho voico of a nightingale your hand like that of ix princess, ami your manner that of a queen. lam going to havo a look at that charming face of yours, whether you will or no."

Margaret saw that thoro was no uso in resisting furthor ; sho was only snbjoctrng herself every moiuont to added indignity and torture

Thoro woro only thoso two nion in the room ; sho knew both of them personally. Sho know that sho could appeal to tho honour nnd piotection of Count Lorrain and ho would gladly shiold her from further insult if eho should but reveal hor identity.

"Do you coinprehond, p'stito, 'whether you will or no?'" I'orrino ropoatod, lean ing nearer her yet, hesitating to put hi* threat into execution.

" Vory well; stand back, Monsieur Perrino, and you aliall havo your wiob," Margarot roturnod.

" I'arlilku 1" extlaiinod tho young man, recoiling from her more start'.od than before.

"Suraly I^knew that voice," said Count Lorrain, prowing palo, and moving a slop noaror tho group.

Without a worJ, and with a single sweep of hor whito band, Margarot throw asido her veil.

la (he act hor hat fell to the floor, and she stood (bore, befyro hor astouishod captor, proud and hnughty as- a quoen, wilh indignation fl«hing from hor glorious eyes. Moasieur Perrine was etrick n dumb. Of Bourse he recognised hor Instantly, nnd he staggered back from her na if hs had been Bmitten by a blow.

" Mademoisollo Houghton I" criod Count Lorrain, springing forward to bar side, his faco absolutely colourless. " Pardon ! par don ! that ovor such an indignity should havo boon offerer! you in my prosenco."

" Is it because I am Miss Hoiighton in stoad of an humble waiting-maid that an apology is tendered to me ?'

"No, indeed, madciuofeoHo; but it moves me the more dooply, knowing you as I do, I would not have allowed any harm to come to either of you. I was oven trying to devise some way to help you out of your difficulty," he concluded in a low tone.

" I believe you, Count Lorrain," replied Margarot, moro calmly, "and I know I do not need to appeal to you for protection against further annoyance" " Suroly you do not; most pladly will I eorvo you in any way. Now what shall I do ? call a carriage and attend you homo ? '

" If you ploaee ; but first tell me whore I am," Margaret eaid, lookiog about tho luxurious room with an anxious expression on her face.

" You are in a perfectly respectable place, mademoiselle," the count replied, reading her fear "This room is the parlour of a private olub house, ownod by a half dozen gentlemen, and it is not unusual far us to entertain our lady friends hero ; thereforo you aro in no way compromised by being in this place." Margaret heaved a sigh of relief at that information, and Count Lorrain, moving to tho mantol, rang a beJl.

A moment later there came a tap on the door, and stepping to it, he spoke a few wordß to someone without, and then came back to Margaret, who had seated herself upon a sofa and beckoned Annette to do tho same

"I cannot toll you," said the caunt re grotfully, "how I deplore whit haa hap paned—the annoyance, the distress you have suffered. M. Perrine has overstepped all bounds in doing as he has done this evening, and it would bo no more than his due if he was expelled from tho olub on ac count of it," he concluded, turning sternly to that abashed individual, who had dropped into the nearest chair and aoanaed overcome with confusion and shamo.

He glanced up appsallngly as the count spoke his name. " I crave, most humbly, mademoiaelle'n pnrdon ; lam undono !—I am confounded !" he said

Margaret bent her flashing glance upon him for au instant, but she deigned him no reply. ' " Somo explanation ia duo you for my being in this costume," »he said, turning to the count, a bright flush on her chock ; " I am afraid it wbb a very rash thing for me to venture out thus, but a deed of charity called me forth —one which could not go unheeded - so I took my maid, and, clad as another, I hoped to escape recognition by anyone who miphfc know me." " Madomoiee'l'3 Houghton should havo taken a carriage," returned the count, won dering what "deed of charity" could have called thjm out bo late at night.

" Yos, it would have been safor, perhaps ; but—circumstances conspired ngainst my doing co. Can I—may I ask, as a personal favour, that Count Lorrain will rogard what has transpired as a matter of confi dence ?"

" Most certainly, mademoiselle, you may trust mo fully," he repHed gravely. Then turning to his companion, he said, sternly : ' You understand, Perrine, this is t.o be kept between oureelvos, and you will in struct yonr vnlet." " There need be no fear. Ah ! If 1 could but hop 3 to secure mademoiselle's pardon !" he concluded. " M. Perrine," said Margaret turning to him, Bfter a moment of reflection, "if I could be assured that this experience would be a profitable lesson to you that it would lead you to feel respeot for womanhood, whether in the person of the high-bred lady or the humble wailtng-raaid, ife might do much toward softening the present state of my feelings toward you—my indignation^— my resentment."

"'•I pledge mademoiselle my word of honour —I swear, I will never be guilty of a lijie offence again."

" Has momieur a siator ?" Margaret asked gontly. " Yos—a lovely maidon of fifteen years," he answoreU, his faco kindling with pride and affection. " Monsieur loves hor?" "I adore her!—sho i» an angel," he cried. "Can Monsieur Perrine imagine her in such a position as / have been in to-night ?" " Tho saints forbid I" he oxolaimed, hit faco growing white as death. "Monsieur would resent it?" Margaret questioned. " I would Mil the man who dared assail hor," ho cried. Margaret laid her band upon the shoulder of Annette, who was sitting beside hor and regarding her with a look of adoration in her eyes, f She was'beautiful as " an angel," with that earnest gravity on her fair face, ami tho light of a holy p irpoee in her lovely eyes. " Th:B young girl," she said, solemnly, " though in humbler circumstances than your sister, monsieur, is, nevertheless, at good and puro as the fair maiden whom monsieur so fondly lores. Shtil aivoman, and—" Margaret paused an instant, im pressively raising her hand, as if to give greater effect to her words, " a woman's in nocence ar.cl purity, and self-respect, be tho high or low, rich or poor, aro the most precious things ib.3 possesses; thoy are jewels which Ood has given her to guard and giva back to Him untarnished, and he who would rob her of them deserves not the namo of man, nor a place among men—he ebould ba wiped from off tho face of the earth.'

" Ah ! what a wretch I have beea !' mut torbd the young man, flushing scarlet be noath her scathing word".

"In my own country," Margaret con tinued, •• where social distinction is not bo marked as it is here, every good woman re garda every other, who is pure and true, as her sister, and reß«nt3 an indignity offered hsr as she would if it v/aa offered herself. This girl, who is with mo to-night, ia my friend as well as my servant; she has ren dored me faithful eervico, and ahe has been as deeply pained—as greatly wronge.l, as I myeolf." Thore was a moment of silence, after Margaret concluded, during which Count Lorrain stood regarding this bravo, beauti ful woman with netuniahmont, mingled with profound admiration j and, had she looked into hia eyes juat then, sho might have road thoro even a tenderor <euti merit.

Than something occurred that amazed thdin all.

Monsieur Perrine stood irresolute) one moment-, (he noxt ho lifted hi* hoad with a determined air, and walked with a firm tread to whore Annette was sitting.

" Mademoiselle," ho said, addressing her, and speaking as courteously aa if ho had boon addressing Margaret horself, " 1 humbly crave your pardon for tho un warrantable annoyanco thia It was baao ! I was ignoblo ! Pray forgivo mo." v Annette blushed crimson. Sho had never imagined that such a thing could happen. A rich young man, occupying a high posi tion in tho brilliant circlos of Paris, humbly apologising to a grisotto. But she responded modestly and simply : " Monsieur is pardoned."

"Thanks and Mademoisollo Houghton ?" liofalteroJ. turning to Mnrgarot with an ar^)3»ling 1 ;ok. Sho arose and frankly extended hor band with a smilo that was bewildering to both gentlemen. " I beliavo Monsieur Perrino ia sincere, oleo I should novor offer him my hand," aho eaid kindly. "He is freely forgiven ; and-may I havo his pledge that, herico forth, ho will roapoct my box in ovory sphere in lite."

" Verily, raa^einoisollo, as Heaven ia my witnofS."

Ho bent and toucbod bis lips to the hand extondod to him with a humility that ho didtiotdeein himself worthy to take it in his own.

"I thank madcmoisollo for her un oxamplod kindness ;" he continued, "sho has indoed given moa lesson this night which lah ill never forgot. I hope-/ believe 1 shall be a hotter man all my life for it."

Ho bowed ton before her, then turning, loft tho room without anothor word.

Margarot sank wearily upon tho sofa, feoiing groatly unnervcdnowthatthiK trying ordoal wa? uvor.

Count Lorrain aprang to tho lablo, poured out ft s?lusa of wino and brought it to her. " Mademoiscllo i» faint—driDk this," he said, kindly. She waa only too glad of something lo braco her trembling nerves ami accepted it gratefully. Tho count offored another to Annctlo but the girl modestly doclincd it, and, at that moment, thore came anolhor tap upon tho door.

Count Lorrain anxwerod it, and after a inoaioit caino back to Margarot saying thut a c.irriago was waiting for her, whenever she folt ahlo to rut urn homo

Sho at once aroso, replaced hit hat, and hor veil closoly about hex face. Sho re mombcred that she had been told the house was owned by half « dozen gentlemen, and she foarod to int'ot othors whom eho know.

Couut Lorrain offered her his arm and led her out tho mnin entrance, tho ono by which sho bad o-^erod being a privato ono at tho rear of tho house. Thoy paeeed through a magnificent hall and vostibulo, down a flight of marble steps to a carriage, drawn by two tuporb black horses. Just as sho was passing out, somo one was coming down stairs. Tho step was familiar, and her heart sank liko load, as all at on=o tho individual stopped midway and turned to addros-t some ono abovo ; and the rocusnised the voico as that of Arthur Aspinwall. Sho graeped tho arm upon which sho wa leaning almost convulsively. What would ho think to lind her tberj ?

" Do not fear," the count murmured, and without allowing hor to incroaso hor speed in tho loast, ho led her quietly out and put her into tho carriage, while eho saw Arthur piss the door and enter the room she had but just loft. " What an oceapo !" ebe breathed, in a trembling tono. " Yo", it was fortunate," said her com panion, in a low voico ; then ho added, with delicate forethought: "Perhaps tnademti ello would profer to return alono with hor maid ?" "Thanks—yes, if you pleaso," she answered, feeling that she would be glad to be aloue after her recont excitement.

" She can feel perfectly safe," ho added, in the eamo subdued tone, " for this is my own carriage and my own diiver, and nothing can happen to hor. I sincerely ro gret the nnnoyaiico of this evening, and trust that Mile. Houghton will not judgo all nion villains because she has been badly used by one." "No, no, Count Lorrain, you havo been moat noblo - most kind. I shall always ea teom you as a friend," Margaret said, earnestly, while she extended her hand to him.

He took it roppectfully. " Thanks," he said, in a voice that trembled : then askod : "May I havo tho honour of calling upon you soon, lnado moisello ?"

" I shall bo happy to sco you by the end of anothor week, Count Lorrain ; then I hope to be nblo to explain to you moro fully why I was abroad tonight unattended ex cept by my maid, and in this diagnieo." "I doubt not thoro was a good reason ; but in Paris it is impossib'e forso fair a face to escape observation. I—l hope it will not be necessary for you to venture forth in the same way again,' he concluded, anxiously. "Indeed, I shall not ventuio ; I shall never subjoct mysolf to a second oxporience of this kind," Margarot uaid, with decision, and inwardly resolving that she would go boldly to Louis in tho open day ; she never could go through again what she had en dured to-nigbt. ' You greatly relieve my mind, Mile. Houghton ; and now adieu." The count lifted his hat and bowed, then shut tho carriage door, spoke a few words to his coachman, and the two weary but grateful girls were driven away to their homo.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

PREPARATIONS FOR ANOTHER SECRET VISIT. Margaret and Annette reached home in safety, and, having a koy to the night latch, thoy lot themselves in without at tracting attention. Margaret had just removed her humble attire, donned a white wrapper, and, witb a crimson shawl thrown about her shoulders, was sitting before the grate in her own room, with Annette brushing her abundant hair, when her father and mother returned.

Mrs Houghton soon after came in, as was her custom before retiring, to see if her daughter was comfortable, but sho stopped involuntari'y upon the threshold, as if struck by something unusual in her appoar- BDCe.

Annette had just gathered up those masses of shimmeriDg gold iuto a graceful knot at the back of har small head, but a few fluffy stray locks, like finely, spun san- Bhine, fell over her fair white brow; her eyes seemed more deeply, darkly blue than

usual; there wus a (lush upon her cheeks, her lips wero a vivid scarlet, wbilo a smilo, that made the heart of her mothor thrill with sudden joy, trombled among their beautiful curveß,

"Margie," Mrs Hwghton said, coming forward, and laying her hand upon her shoulder bent down to look more closely into her face," how well you are looking to night. Is it the glow of the firelight, or becaum th 3 crimson shawl ia so becoming to you ?" " Perhaps it may Uo the (fleet of both, momma," tl>p young uM answored, lightly while ahe lifted her mother's hand from her shoulder and laid it fondly fgainbt her cheek.

How eh ■ longod to tell her of the new joy that wna beating in her heart; of tho glad hope that seemed all at once to have ?iven her new life and strength ; but, no, she would keep it to horself till her own and Louis1' triumph was oomplote. " Did you have a pleasant time this evening!" she asked, after a moment of silence.

"It would have been delightful, dear, if you oould have enjoyed it with me," Mrs Houghton said, tenderly. "It w»s one of the most brilliant receptions that I have ever attended in Paris ; and, by the way, I learned some newa that I think will interest you."

11 S.)niß news, mamma ?" Margaret re poatud. " Yes; you doubtless remember that young and handsome Montiaur Perrine, who was so attentive to Ada for awhile— what us the mattor, dear ?" Mrs Houghton exclaimed, stopping short in the midst of her no*p, for Margaret had started violently at the sound of that naino, whilo both comb and brush which Annette was pre paring to put away foil clattering upon tho marble hoarth at her feet.

" Why, Annette, what a noise I" Mar garet said, making that an excuse for the shock she had received.

"I am vory sorry, mademoißollo," humbly apologised the girl.

" Well, never mind—of couno, I know you did not rauan to be careless," Margaret returned, giving her a kind and significant look. " Now, mamma, go on with your story, pleaee,"ahe continued, turning ngain to her mother.

"It is reported that an uncle of hia has just died, und young Perrino, being his noarest of kin, inherits his title and immense wealth—and you know he is considerad very wealthy himself."

" A title, did you say, mamma ?"•

" Yea ; ho becomes now tho Marquis of Perrine. It would be singular if our dear Ada should eventually become a titled French lady, would it not ?

"I do not know ; it is not an unfrequont occurrence for Americans to coino abroad and marry among tho nobility," Margaret aßswored, but sho looked very grave.

Sho knew that Ada had greatly admired tho gay, handsome young man, though she believed that hor love was given to her cousin, Arthur Aspinwall. Still, if it should prove that Arthur was a criminal, sho did not believe that she would ever marry him, oven if he should finally turn to her for affection and sympathy ; and thus it might bo possiblo that the young French marquis would geek hor and succeed in winning her. But she was not quite sure that sho should like to eeo hor the wife of such a man —she could not tell whether tho repentance he hadoxpressed to her that night would prove to be lasting. Of course, the botrayed none of these re flections to her mother, who, after chatting a fow minutes longer upon that and othor topic!!, bade her daughter a fond good night and retired to hor own room.

Tho next morning Margarot surprised her mother by coming down stairs attired for a walk ; and, wonder of wonders ! sho had dis carded hor flombro black and appeared in a lovely suit of dark blue velvet, richly trimmed with fur, and a dainty hat of the same material, adorntd with a beautiful bird of Paradise.

" Why, Margie ! you did not tull mo that you woie going out!" Mru Houghton re marked.

" No, mamma ; but I havo taken a sudden notion that I will be very industrious. I am going out to match some floises and try to finish that mantel-lambrcqain which I began so long ago." "Why don't you have the carriage, doar ? you must not forgot that you havo not been very strong of late." "I fool just like taking a brink walk in rbo koou air ; it ia lovely out this inornin;;," Margaret rosponded. "Well, dear, just as you like, perhaps tho walk will do you moro good than tho ride, "ropliodMrsHou"h ton, unsuspiciously, :irxl tho young Isly tripped away with an elastic step. A few moments lator Mr Houghton on to red.

'• What is it, Wallaco ?" his wifo ex claimed, in alarm, observing his whito faco and agitated manner. "They havo found him—they arrested that nrnn."

" Whom?'1 sho criod oagerly. "Murray, Louis's fatht r. They discovered him in a miserable gambling hou?o, and under tho influence of liquor ; ho was ex. oiled, and, from his talu, they suspected who ho was, although ho has been known by another name all along. He seemed to havo plenty of money, too, and that was anothor nut-picious fact, Someono asked him where his eon Louis win, and ho cureod him, with an oath, siying that he was "too moan and tight to blood well, that ho wjuld not part with his gold even to save his fatbor from starving." When they arrested him, how ever, ho seemed to como to himself, donicd that ho was Murray and all knowledge of Louie, claiming that ho was a single man and had no son. It was too lato, though, and ho is now safely lodged behind iron bars "

" Wo must try and keep it from Margie ; she was so bright and liko her old eelf this morning," said Mrs Houghtoo, looking greatly distrosted. " Wo cannot koep it from her, tho papers will be full of it. I wish, though, wo were jafely across the Atlantic," observed Mr Houghton, moodily. Meanwhile Margaret proceeded directly to a hardware storo and made tho pur chases that Louis had desired, and slipping them deftly out of sight into a pocket in the skirt of her dross, inquired for some fancy brass-hendod tacks, suitable for upholstering. Supplied with thosß, ehaturnod to leave the store.

Just outside tho door, toberconsternation, she encountered Arthur ABpinwall! Liko a phantom ho seemed to rise up in hor path wherever sho went

Ho had turned the corner of the street a littlo abovo, just as sho had entered tho store ; had recognised hbr by her dress—it being a suit he had always admired—and his curiosity waa aroused to tho highest pitch to know what she could wish to purchase in a place of that kind.

Margaret's heart bounded into hor throat as sho sow him. What if ho bad been look ing in at. ono of the windows while sho was buying tho saw and file ? His suspicions would bo instantly aroused, and all her plans defeated, she thought. But sho controlled her agitation marvollously well, and glanced up at him with a smilo of groeting. " Goodraorning," aho said, "how queer that wo thould meet here."

" That is just what I waa thinkine," ho returned, observing her closely. " What ia there in this line of gonds that a lady liko you can possibly need 1" "I have not much use for many of tho implements kopt hero," oho said, "but I am going into tho upbolatering hnsinors proi<ontly ; those are what I havo been buy ing, and you may carry them for me, if you please" She slipped tho packago of ticks, used for putting up lambrequin? and in finishing off chair cushions ; "Put them in your pocket, please, and then if you havo nothing more important to do, como with ma whilo I select some materials for my lambrequins." She waa playing a deep game Sho meant to inveigle him into some ar rangemont, or make him commit himeelt to some appointment, so that she could find an opportunity to visit Louis during tho day without any fear of being detected by him.

Arthur unsuspiciously pocketed hor pack age, whilo he said, with a significant look :

" I can nei-tf have anything moro impor tant to do, Margie, than obey your com mands or accede to your requests."

Margaret bit the iosido of her lip until she nearly cried out with pain at his fond words.

Sho hated herielf for the duplicity that Bhe was practicing, yet tho exigency of affairs seamed to demand it. She would risk evarytbine, and secrifice her own feel ings, for the sake of Louis's safety. " Then," she retorted in reply to his ob fervatinn, while she shot a shy glance at him, "my lirst enmmand i?. that you shall not talk nonsense to me ; my second, that you act as c-ivalier thia morning, carry my bundle? and make yourself generally use ful, and be treated to an invitation to lunch afterward, as a reward for your good behaviour."

" All who could resist such temptations as those—your command?—excepting first

ono—aro but pleasures, aud as seductive as the promised reward," ho responded, gayly. " One is as imperative as another, and yOH aro breaking my first already, eir; give me back my tacks, and I will go on by myself," Margaret returned, with an air of mock displeasure. "Please, ma'am, I won't do that any more—l will be good," Arthur pleaded, with boyish humility, and, boldly taking possession of her shopping-bag, he surren dered himself to hor service.

It was not often that he found her so pleasant and aaiiblo, >nd he enjoyed hor company very much. Her purchases were at last completed, and they turned their faces homeward, where they arrived just in time for lunch.

Mrs Houghton looked surprised to see them come in together, for she could not fail to see, of late, that Arthur's eoc ety had been distasteful to Margaret: but ehe con coalod her feelings, and thoir lunch proved the gayest meal that bad been eaten in the house for many a day.

{ To be Continued.)

Elves, Pixies, and Witches.

Thire is a small blue lake at the foot of sonio of tho Welsh mountains which the ancient inhabitants, descended from the old Druidical school, suppose to be the abode of the fairies. Those old Britons driven out from their English homes by the invading Roman*, and seeking aheltur amongst the Welsh and Coroiih ia«tneese?,' held many superstitious fancies. They sew tokenß acd charms in all nature and belioved aB truly in goad and bad spirits, in mischievous sprites and pixie?, in witches and wizards, and the machinations of the Evil One, as they did in their law-giving Drmda, their vatcß, and their legend - singing bards. Nature was their book of the unknown, bo hind whose unturned pages lurked things beyond their simple comprehension, A bravo and fearless nation to foos that they could face openly, yet were they tho veriest cowards before the slightest and most harmless thing in nature, and under many of tho wide-spread ing trees did they dance their mii ni«ht dance and hold their fairy revels. They visHed the milkpaila and upset their contents, and they turned the cream, and prevented its churning into batter. They rode the horsos loft in the fields at night until they half killed them, and they used for these mad rides the hairs pulled from the unfortunate animals' necks or tails, twisted into stirrups to rest their tiny feet in. They led astray those people whom they found abroad after jaightfall ; and the only remedy to secure eafety from thoir pranks was to turn some articles of clothing upon tho body. They stole or changed children who had bsen loft in their cradles, and thoy invariably appeared dressed in rags. But these were pixies of the mischievous order : there wero others-the good and in dustrious pixies—who worked at the looms all night and did tho washing for any family which they happened to take a fancy to, or they busied themeelves by threshing tho corn in tho barns ; but ono and all of this bard-working sorb wera ragged and dirty ; and tho mortals to whom they rendered «uch valuable assistance, upon finding out to whom they were indebted, in gratitude suprjliad them with gay new clothes ; and tho pixioa in seeming delight donned these garments and departed einging as they wont—

Novrths pixies' work is flono. We take our clothes and off we run. And off they did run indeed, for their kind offices for ever afterwards coated. So much for the pranks of tho pixies. The witches woro quite another kind of thing, and if offended would c»;t an " ovil eye" upon the cattle or tho family of the offend ing one. In that case tho cattle died, and tho family became eick and somotiroes died also. Thus to guard against the evil that one witch worked, another was propitiated, and gavo a counter-charm, that alleviated or entirely removed the ills worked by her sister-witch. Some witches assumed the forms of haree, doge, and cats, aa in the well known legend of Pendle Forest, in eonsequonce of which tale as told by the Hobinsona 18 persons were tried at Lan caster, and 17 of these unfortunate creatures wore found guilty of witchcraft, and six out of that number forfeited their livea upon the "Tho Lancashire Witches," etill a stand ing toast of tho country, siren with- brim ming glasses, loads some of us to forget for a time tho bonnie girls to whom the term ap plies in theso our day?, and to allow our thoughts to wandor far back into the past, when in placo of tho mills and factories, tho land was covered with giant trees, gorse and bracken, and the deer and othor wild ani mala roved at will in their picturesquely beautiful domain, wherein tho foot of man seldom trod. And inueing of those bygone days when Pendle was one of tho largest forests of our ielo, wo forgot the handsomo lassos of the country, and inuso on the legend of tho foreat whero the Irvrell first finds its source. Do you, my readers, know how the tales of tho woodcutters wore credited by a eupontitious nation?-how, in a violent Btorm in Pondle Fcrest, Robinson said that he saw by the flashing of the lightning the terrible witch of the forest perched upon n high crag, and that he felt her cat rub bing itsolf against hjs legs, and that tho cat expressed itsolf in food English and informed him that the v/itch would meat him at Malk;n Tower ? Then the legend prococdes to tell that young Robinson went into the forest the night before his father's journey, and that he saw two beautiful greyhounds with collars of gold about their necks; and while he ad mired the dogs, a hare came upon the scene, and he, seeing so good an opportunity for a hunt, tried to urge on the dogs, and even struck them to compel thorn to do his bid ding ; but in spite of all his endeavours the dogs remained passive; and while he looked in wonder at them, one waß suddenly transformed into the witch of the forest, and the other into a little boy. Young Robinson went on to atato that the witch forced him to remain where he was, and oven offered nim money to keep Eilence; but her money he refused : and then immediately the little boy was transformed into a white horae, and young Kobinson wa« placed in front of the witch upon its back, and it galloped off to a place in tho forest known aa the spot where "the witches' Sabbath" was celebrated. At thisplaceaboutfifty witches were assembled; and a young woman presented Robinson with a steak tot upju a golden dish ; but he was unable to eat it on account of (ho taste, •which was quite disgusting. Subsequently he found himself in a barn where there were six witches, who were engaged pulling ropes suspended from the ceiling, by which the choicest and richest articles of food descended. Then a great caldron was pro cured, and the witches performed and used various incantations around it; during which ceremony Robinson managed to escape, and was pursued by the whole troop of witches. Tho tale runs that after his adventure young Robinson became ill, and raved for a whole week about witches ; whereipon, the talo of his adventures getting wind, 18 poor women were tried for the offence of witch craft. One of the unfortunate creatures was so much frightened that sho imagined she was actually a witch, and is said to bava made certain confessions before her death relative to her dealings with the Evil Still, though all our island teemed with the tale 3of (he supornatural, the most cied ited and renowned tales of elves, pixies, sprite?, witches, and tho like appear to have had their origin along the western parts of our iuland, and moro particularly in Wales. Some hiatorianp, however, ascribe our great pootShakspero's idca%concorning fairy elves to Jhave originated in tke Isle of Wight, where many tales of these little creatures' doings were cuirent at the time of his sup posed visit to that garden of England. But it is not to bo wondered at that the Welsh should held many superstitious fancies. Ancient Britons an they were, they believed implicitly in the Diuidical egg enclosed in gold hung about tho necks of thsir priests. Pliny tells us that this egg was the distinguishing badge of tho Druids, that it was the size of an apple, that its shell was a cartilaginous incrustation full of little cavities like those upon the arms of the polypus. The origin is ?aid to have teen derived from serpents, a number of whom entwined themselves to gether, and whose hissing sent up the egg into the air, whero it was caught ere falling to the ground. The person who caught tho substance used a clean white linen cloth for the purpose, and was mounted upon a very fleet horse ; and having secured his prize he galloped off at headlong speed, pursued by the angry serpents, wnich stayed not their cha&e until they reached running water. If the egg wns genuine it wan encased in gold, and would then swim against the etream. The power of the egg was considered mira culou3, and those who wore it were insured against almost every known evil. Tho be liof in it was certainly sincere, for the great Druidical templesof Avebury, Stonelienge, and of Carnac in Brittany, together with many others, were dedicated to the worship of the sun and the serpent,—" Chambera's Journal." v '■

Anglo-Mania in New York.

Tna law in'dudouom, which ostracises any dude who wears an overcoat, appears to hold as fast as ever. The rule as to gloves is-getting a little mixed. Ever since the Prince of Wales forgot his gloves one day and appeared barehanded no dude tan dared cover his hands. But a rumour that the Prince has or will shortly pronounce in favour of gloves haa led a good many to put on gloves when on promenade. . The "stick"anpoarstogrowlarger,andthe slenderer the dude the bigger stisk be seems to want. The stick is not grasped in the middle now and carried horizontally, as it han been for a year or two. Now and then an imitation dude does this, but the genuine one grasps his stick about eight inches from tho ferule on the small ond, with the stick reversed, and tho head of it hanging just over his heels.

The eacred " Darby " hat still holds sway, but one of the dude leaders has mounted a tall hat and walked down Broadway with his stick unreversed. It is thought he has got a tip by cable, and the result may be a revolution in the style of hat and the man ner of carrying the stick. The current style of procedure just now is to carry the stick after the manner described, in the right hand, grasp the gloves in the left hand, with the glove-ftngera upward and spread cut, and hook the thumb < f that hand into the trousers pocket, which mußt; be a seam pocket, of courso. Shaking hands U not considered in good form, and the proper thing only when tome " old chappie " is met The style of bowing has changed under dude regulations, and the rule is strict. It does not permit any inclination of the head whatever, and the smile is not in good The dude must gaze toward the lady saluted withou'. any change of expression, and with something of what is called the " baby stare," raise his hat a few inches and put it back. It is considered from a philoso phical point of view that the salute in public is merely a matter of form, and, therefore, it is not the thing to allow with it any appearance of a sentiment oran emotion, not even of pleasure. Strolling among those imitation English men you come on Fifth Avenue to a Ecene particularly un American. The carriages fill- tha strest and the horses are clipped, and roached, and banged arid cpvered with glittering trapping. Coachmen and foot men sit stiffly in fine liveries. Upon all the carriage doora are coats of-arms. A liveried U3her Btands at the kerb to escort the ladies from th6ir carriages.

A email boy in a scarlet jacket, trimmed with gold, and blue troußers, with gold stripOß, is flying back and forth from the carriages to the house executing commis sions. Over the door of the big, brown stonebuilding, which is cloßeto Delmonico'e, is this inscription : "By appointment to her Majesty the Queen." In another place is the .name of the Princo of Wales in big, gold letters, and over all are the royal arms of England, with the lion and the unicorn rampiDg at each other on their hind legs, tho roses, and shamrock?, and thistles, the ermine, the little lions in tho quartorings, laid out like dead pigs in a market-house, and all tho rest of the royal flubdubberg. An Englishman looking on all' this must consider Yorktown avenged.—N. Y. Corr. " Cincinnati Commercial Gazotto."

A PLEA FOR THE MICROBES.

The Selfishness of Many of Their

Assailants Exposed.

A oreat deal of ill-feeling has been excited anont those unfortunate animalcule, whose size should have insured thorn protection against contumely and ineult. Thnre is scarcely a disease, scarcely a mishap, but that they are inveighed against and con demned without a hearing, and very often indeed without beiDg even called upon to put in an appearance. As an independent journal we feel it our duty to protest against the wholesale and often unfounded formu la ted more with a view tosolf-aggrandisement and notoriety than from any posi tive ill-will toward theee humble little beast?. We will not deny that a few of them have gone astray. When they engage in the 3laboration of the virus of Typhoid, smallpox and measles, to say nothing of hydrophobia, and a variety of other un comfortable visitations for mankind, it is only natural that w"o ■shouia retaliate by calling them opprobrious names in dog Latin, and by poisoning them wholesale when and where wo can bring our animosity to bear upon them. They have manifestly yiolated the statutes in such cases made and pro vided. But on the other hand, we will assert, with the courage and indepen dence that is our wont, that if there were no microbes there would be no mankind, and our disputes would be eilenced in death. As an American con temporary points out, there are about a thousand species busily engaged in the de struction of wood, and, wore it not for their intervention, all the treeß that eter grew would be standing to-day, living, or it may be dead, but in any case as solid, as sound and as firm as when they ceased to grow, and all life must have been chocked outages since. Fire alone would have relieved mother earth of the incubus thus weighing upon her, but only with the result of leaving every patch of land a parched ash-covered area, inadequate—at any rate, for gome time—to the maintenance of life, even if we ourselves h<id not at the same time been prematurely scorched off the face of the earth. They are accused of contam inating our water, but it is equally cer tain that were it not for their caaselees activity all the water in the world would be a concentrated eolution of excrementi tious and noxious product?, the disintegra tion of which ie due to these little organ isms. Our vary digestion depends upon them to a great extent, and U they were withdrawn from circulation we should very shortly become painfully aware of the fact. No, let there be no class distinctions ; every community has its black sheep, and these should very properly be branded with the mark of infamy. The existence, however, of these misconducted atoms will not justify our extending the anathemas to the count less millions ol their species in whom, and with whom, we live and move and hare our being. ________

A JAPANESE STORY.

A Quaint Fable About a Crab and a Monkey.

Onck upon a time there waa a crab who

lived in a hole on the shady side of a hill One day he found a bit of rice cake. A monkey who was justfinishing a persimmon met the crab, and offored to exchange its seed for the rice. The simple-minded crab accepted the proposal, and the exchange wqb made. The monkey ate the rice cake ; but the crab backed off homo, and planted the seed in his gardjn. A fine tree grew up, and the crab was delighted to think of the nice fruit he was to have. He built a nice new house, and used to sit on the balcony, watching the persimmons. One day the monkey came along, 3Ed being very hungry, he ex; claimed : " What a Cue tree you have here ! Could you give me one of those nice ripe persim mons ? I will not trouble you to pick it; I will go up for it myeelf." "Certainly," answered the crab. "Will you please throw down some to me ? We will enjoy them togother." Up went the monkey, but he had uo idea of throwing fruit down to the crab. He first rilled his pockets; then he ate all the ripest persimmons as fast as he could, and threw the seeds at the crab. " Ha, ha I" laughed the crab, pretending to onioy the fun, so as to outwit the mon key. " What a good phot you are !Do you suppose you could come down from that tree headforemost ?" " less indeed I" eaifi the monkey ; of course I can ;" and immediately turned round, aDd started down the tree. Oi course all the per.-immons dropped out of his pDckets. "The crab seized the ripe ruit, and ran off to his hole. The monkey, waiting till he had crawled out, gave him a sound thrashing and went home. Just at that time a ricermrtar was travelling by with several apprentices—a wasp, an egg, and a eea weed. After hear ing the crab's story they agreed to assist him. 3>j Marching to the monkey a house, affii Boding him out, they laid a plot to dispose of him when he came home. The egg laid in the ashes on the hearth, the wasp in the cloßet, the sea-wcci near the door.and the mortar over the lintel. When the monkey came home he lighted a fire to steep the tea, when the egg burst-, and so spattered his face that he ran howling away to the well for water to cool his face. Then the wsf=p flaw out and stung him. In trying to drive uft" the warp ho slipped on tho sea-weed; and then the ricsmortar, falling on him, crushed him to death. Tho waepand the mortar and the sea-weed lived happily to gether ever afterward. This is a sample of what happena to greedy and ungrateful people.—" Exchange,"

"Snow-Shoe Thompson."

One of the most remarkable mountaineers of California was undoubtedly the man known far and wide in tha Sierras for many years as "Snow-Shoe Thompson," ■ who, until the building of the railroad, used to cross on enow-shoes the trackless wild* of tho High Sierras, in the dead of winter!, carrying the overland mails strapped on his back. The achievements of thiß Nor-

wegian-born hero fall little short of the incrediblo, but they seem to bo abund antly vouched for by his old acquairit ances. Dan De Quille, the well-known editor, who was one of these, has col lected the leading focta of Thomson's life and achievements to savo them from passing away, and gives the re sults in an article of very unusual interest in the ''Overland Monthly" for October. As the author says, it is not likely that Thompson's rival in gallant feats as a .snow-" ehoer will ever bo found j and these feats are the more it nourable because they wore performed simply and as a matter of course, in the pursuit of a useful calling. Snow shoe Thompson v s no bravo, but a simple^ temperate, kintUy, and brave Norwegian;,^ who for years, with great public spirit^ discharged with positive enjoyment a public service that required skill and courage and physical powers e^ual to those of an Arctic explorer. The following are extract* from the article:— Snow-Slioo Thompson's Manner of Travel. He fearlessly set forth into the swaying and roaring pine forests, pushed across the >J snow-buried valleys, and f ac9d the towering mountains, at times when other men wosld not have ventured a mile from their homes. At that time the passes through the Sierras were little known. Even those who knew something about them and tba waggon road in summer would have failed to re cogniso any landmarks in wiater, under the disguise of a depth of snow so great thai in some of the deep valleys tha tops of tall pine trees were almost buried. Often and often was it predicted, when Thompson set out, that he would not be seen again until his body wag found on the melting away of the snow the next summer. He, however, • bad no fear. The storms that rocked the pines did but stir his Norwegian blood—the blood of the old Vikings—and aroused in him a spirit of defiance, a dssire to salty forth'andbattle with the genii of the tempest. ; The loads that'iSnow-shoe.j Thompson > carried strapped upon his back wouli have broken down an ordinary man, though wearing common shoes and travelling on solid ground. The weight of the bags he carried was ordinarily from eixty to eighty pounds ; but one^ winter;; when he carried the mails from Chorpenning, his load often weighed over one hundred pounds. In going from Placerville to Carson Valley, owing to tke great amount of uphill travelling, three days were consumed; whereas he was able to go from Carwra Valley to Placerville in two days, making forty-five miles a day. Not a house waa then found in all that distance. Between the two points all was a wilderness. It was a Siberia of enow. In wildness and dreariness, if not in-severity, it was the equal of that northern portion of Snow shoe's native country, in which dwell the j Lapons and Quaens;' while Sulitelma, Snoehaoton, Skagotoels, and Guldhoepigon, the highest mountains of Norway, are mere , pigmies in comparison with the principal peaks of the Sierra. Wnile travelling in the mountains, Snow shoe Thompson never carried blankets, nor did ho ever wear an overcoat. The weight and bulk of such articles would have .' encumbered and incommoded him. Exor- . cißß kept him warm while travelling, and when encamped he always built a fire. He carried as little as possible besides the bags containing the mail. During the first year or two he carried a revolver. Finding, how- , ever, that he had no use for such a weapon, ■ and it being of the first importance to travel. as light as possible, he presently concluded to leave his pistol at home. All that he carried in the way of pro visions was a small quantity of jerked beef or dried sausages, and a few crackers or biscuits. He never carried provisions that required to be cooked. The food that ba took into the mountains was all of a kind that could be'eaten as he ran. For a drink he caught up a handful cf snaw, or lay down for a moment and quaffed the water of some brook or spring. He never took with him brandy, whisky, or liquor of any kind. He was a man that seldom tasted liquor. :. * ' . Snow-shoe never stopped for storms. He , always set out on the day appointed, with out regard to the weather, and he travelled - by night as well as in the daytime. He pursued no regular path—in a traiikless'V waste of snow there was no path to follow— ' but kept to a general route of courso. By day he was guided by the trees an J rock c, and by night looked to the stars, as doss a mariner to his compass. With the places of many stars he was as familiar as was ever; Hansteen, the great astronomer of the land of bis birth.

Snow-Shoo Thompson on Getting Leist on the Mountains.

In talking with Thompson about hi» mountain experiences, I once asked him if he ever lost Mb way in the wilds. "No," said he, " I was never lost—l can't be lost! I can go anywhere in the mountain*, day or night, storm or chine. I can't be lost," re peated he, tapping hia forehead with his forefinger. "I've got aometbing in hero that keeps me right. I have found many persons who ware lost * dozens of mon, iiret and last —but I have never been lost my self. Tlieija ii no danger of getting lost in a narrow range of mountains like the. Sierras, if a man has hia wits about him." Mr Thompson theu proceeded to explain that he was alwsyg able to keep his course t and know his whereabouts by observing the _ " trees and rocks and the configuration of the . ground. Koilbau, the great Norwegian geologist, was not a closer obsarver of rocks than was Thompson,so far as they concerned : his business of finding his way through the mountains. Few mountain man give much attention to rocks, yet they are as good as guide-posts when understood. The central axis and crest of the Sierra range oro formed of granitic rocks. These rocks, and the slates and other rocka lying in regular order below, will always tell a man who understand* them juet how far down the slope of the range he hae gone. They will also tell him—by the moss and lichens growing on them—the paints of the com pass.' An observant man may always tell whether he is on the north or the south side of the hill by the trees. There are trees growiig on the couth side of Mill that are seldom jpon on the north eide. A difference in the growth of moßs, and in the thickness of the bark on the north and the south sides of treoß, will also be noted. - When a man ia lost in the mountains he must nob wander up hill and down hill at random. As soon as he becomes aware that he has lost his reckoning, bo matt con- - i stantly travel down hill. If ha sfart from a slope, this will lead him to a ravine, the ravine to a oanon, and the canon to a creek or river. By travelling down the river he will booh come out below the snow-line on the one side or the other of the range. He neod never be out long enough to starve to death. _%,-.'

Some of Snow Shoe Thompson's Re markable Feats.

If not the swiftest, it was universally conceded that, even up to the time of bis death, Thompson was the most expert snow-shoe runner in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. At Silver Mountain, Alpine County, California, 1870, when ha was 43 yeara of age, he ran a distance of 1,600 feet in 21 seconda. There were many snow, shoera at that place, but in daring Thomp son surpassed thorn all. Near the town web a big mountain, where the peiple of the place_ were wont ;to assemble on bright duyg '■> in winter, to tha number of tivo hundred or threa hundred. The ordinary anew shoers would go part way up the mountain to whore there was a bench, and then glide down a beaten path. This was too tame for Thompson. Be would make a circuit of over a mile, and then come out on the top of the mountain. 'When he ap peared, on the peak he would give" one of his wild High-Sierra whoops, poise his balance-pole, and dart down the face of the mountain at lightning speed, leaping all the terraces from top to bottom, and gliding far out on the level before halting. Snow shoo Thompson seldom performed any feat for the mere name and fame of doing a difficult and daring thing ; yet W t P. Merrill, postmaster at YVoodford'p, Alpine County, writes as follows in speak ing of some of Thompson's achievements:—. " He at one time went back of Genoa, on a mountain, on his Snow-shoes, and made a jump of 180 feet without a break." This teems almost incredible, but Mr Merrill is a reliable man, and for many years Thomp son was his near neighbour, and a regular customer at his store. Thompson doubtless made thia fearful leap at a place where he would land in a great drift of soft enow. I spoke of this feat to Mr C. P.Gregory, formerly Thompson's nefghbour .in cthe. mountains, but ut present a resident of Virginia City, Nevada, and he answered that although he had never hoard of thai particular leap, he did not doubt what Mr Merrill said..; "IknoW," said Mr.Ofregory, "that at Silver Mountain h« often made sl.ea'r jumps of 50 and 60 feet."

THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JANUARY 29, 1887

3