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THE OLD LETTER. •roochlng oyer the fire with wan cheek and whitened hair, And sad sunk eyes, on the embers flxed with a dull unseeing stare; Crouching over the Are, the woman, worn and old, With the dickering flame on the letter that trembles in her hold. Outside, the sleet beats fast and thick on the uncurtained pane, The wind sobs round the lonely house, as it sweeps the snow-clad plain; Inside, the ghosts of Joy, and hope, aud fear less housenold mirth Flit and whisper round the woman who sits beside the hearth. Yet the magic spell of the letter has sent, her fancies back, Flying fast past all the graves that mark the past’s long traok, Flying past change and sorrow, flying past wrong and ruth, Till the heart beats faBt, and the pulses thrill to the passionate glow of youth. Ah, duller still her life will show, harder the task-work seem, For that weak hour by fancy snatched for memory’s golden dieam 1 Put by the letter, let It share thy slow and sure decay; Patient and meek fake up again the burden the day. i Eleanor. Saturday Night. She had been but a street singer when Jack Desmond first had seen and heard her, this dark eyed beauty, who now held the world of Rome at her feet. The meeting between them had taken place some four years previously, and had been sufficiently romantic even for an Italian story. He was an Englishman, rich and cultured, making a tour of Europe for the third or fourth time, when, one evening, sitting on the little balcony jutting out from his room at a quiet inn in a small Italian town, suddenly a delicious voice had broken into de licious music. It was a voice without cultivation, but of rare and marvelous quality. He leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the songtress. She stood on the pavement beneath, a tail, slim girl, whose aark eyes were upraised to the pjace where he sat. Music was Jack Desmond’s passion. As yet, it had been the only abiding love his life had ever known. “By Jove! Such a voice and a street singer!” he thought to himself, as he listened. “Are the ears deaf which hear and do not heed ?” When the girl paused, he addressed her in her own liquid tongue. “Will you come up here a moment, my child?” he said, kindly. “Your ■music pleases me. I wish to reward yrou.” She bowed her head In assent; and soon a timid knock at the door an nounced her presence. He threw it open, and started back, amazed. The girl was possessed of wonderful beauty. Her face, oval in shape, was entirely colorless save for the rich crimson of her curved lips; her hair swept back in low rippling waves of raven blackness from the low brow; her eyes were not black, as he had fancied, but perfectly blue, large and liquid, and full of an infinite sadness. He took her hand and drew it across the threshold. “Will you answer me a few ques tions?” he asked, “and believe them not prompted by an idle curiosity?” “The signor is very good,” she an swered. “What does he wish to know ?” “Why with such a voice and such a face, you sing in the public streets?” “I have no money, signor, I sing to live.” t “ But your parents?” * “Dead!” “Your relations?” “Dead!” “You are alone?” “All alone, signor.” “How and where do you live?” “You have seen the how! Where? In a tiny room, in a poor place one must know well to find.” “It should not foe,” said the man. “It must not be!” he added to him self. » But Jack Desmond was not one to L act on impulse alone. ■ He now put his hand into his " pocket, and drew therefrom a gold t piece. W “Take this," he said, thrusting it ■ into the slim, brown fingers, “and to- W morrow night come again. I may f have a plan to propose to you." I The girl’s face slightly flushed. With a gesture, almost like pride, she offered back the gold. "It is generous, signor, but it is charity. My song did not deserve so Desmond laughed as he put back her hand. “Why, child,the day will come,” he said, “when men would pay a fortune for your smile! Adieu until to-mor row.” She beat then, and ere he could di vine her impulse, she snatched his hand a moment to her lips, then turned and fled. The man slept little that night, but when morning came he had deter mined on bis purpose. He was rich. To gratify a caprice was to give life new zest, and this, his latest caprice, bade fair to *,be an interesting experi ment. So, when the girl came, he unfolded to her his plans. For three years she was to study, at his expense, at the first musical conservatory in Europe, then under his patronage she was to make her debut. After that, if she felt her debt to him burdensome, she might repay it as she would. All that he now asked of her wa* to work hard and realize his dreams of her success. Would she do this? The next month her new life had begun. Hard and difficult work lay before her, but she never faltered. Her education in other matters she strove to remedy in every spare mo ment she snatched from her music. But in the end she triumphed. She spoke like a lady, was well, versed in all the simple accomplishment, and sang, the professor said, like an angel. They could teach her no more. She would have a continent to pay her homage. And there was prophecy in their words. In a private box, Jack Desmond on the night of her debut, listened with flushed cheeks to the enthusiastic plaudits which marked her reception, and saw the flowers rain at her feet, and her hour of trial was her hour of victory. Again and again the house recalled her. Shouts of “Bravo!” rent the air, but through it all the blue eyes nevei lost their look of sadness which so strangely marked them, save once, and then as she raised them to that seemingly empty box, auu sent one glance which said more plainly than spoken words : “It is you, not I, who are the worthy recipient of all this. It is you to whom I owe it.” At that moment, Jack Desmond’s heart beat with a new and marvelous thrill. In that moment, Eleanor had ceased to be merely the singer, she was the woman. Night after night found him in his place, and he looked for that one glance which showed him he was ex pected, and absent, he would be missed. Day after day he spent long hours beside her. At the end of the first month that she sang, she handed him a paper. It represented three-fourths of her earnings. It would repay him for one year of her expense. “I owe you so much—all! all! Think of it! Let not my debt, then have the added weight of money.” So, then to please her, month by month, he let her liquidate her claim “I will find means to make it useful to her,” he thought, and laid the money by in the form in which she gave it. At the end of six months he re turned to England. The journals rang with stories of her triumphs and successes. They could find her with only one fault. She was cold—cold as ice. She had been offered the coronet of a mar quis, a prince had sued for her hand, but all in vain. He remembered then his idle words, that one day men would yield a for tune for her smile, and wondered why it gave him pleasure to have proved them true. Could it be that he, Jack Desmond, loved this woman ? With the question, camej.be an swer—Yes ! Yet, though dukes and princes might lay i heir rank and title at her feet, he hesitated. He remembered that long ago night when she had sang in the street«, and his pride "rose up an insurmountable barrier between them. Still, he hastened to Rome, where Bhe was singing. She welcomed him as* he knew she welcomed no other, but of his love he breathed no whisper. Hla proud old name be had ever sworn should be borne but by a woman who might give equal heritage to its future pos sessors. For the first time, the sad look in her eyee, troubled him. Why did it ever linger there ? Ofoe night, after the opera, he had eqcompanied her home. They were alone In her paftlor, filled with fragrant flowers and innumerable offerings laid at her shrine. She wore a thin white dress, when, in reaching her arm upward, the material caught in the flame of a candle and blazed up ward.* She uttered a slight scream, and stood paralyzed with terrer. He tore off his coat and threw it about her. With but a few slight burns, she was unharmed ; but as he held her in his arms, close to his wildly-beating heart, he knew that sophistry and false reasoning lay in the ruins of his pride at his feet—that he was but a man, and she but a woman, with the glorious dower of her beauty and genius; and that, to gain her, he would count the world well lost. Eleanor!” he said in a low, sup pressed whisper; “my love! my wife!” But, if she had waited for these words, she heard them not. She had swooned upon his breast. The next day, she would not see even him, so carefully must she rest to be able to undergo the evening’s per- ormance. Each hour now which delayed the telling oflove dragged into an eternity. He longed to see the marvelous eyes f.»rget their sadnesa, and to hear the sweet lips murmur Yes to his wooing:. Evening came at last. As usual, the house was crowded. More lovely than ever she appeared at the stated time. The exquisite voice had lost neither strength nor sweetness. He had come to the front of the box to-night; he wished not to lose a sin gle gesture. His glance devoured her. The opera was almost finished. It was at the close of the third act of “La Somnamhula,” and Eleanor was sing ing the pean of praise and thauks- giv'ng which is so beautiful a teat of vocal skill. Higher and higher rose the lovely voice as she advanced to the front of the stage, smiling at the audi ence, when suddenly her voice broke. A man, clad in a common seafaring dress, had carelessly strolled into the building, aud strangely «nough saun tered into the aisle of the better por tion of the house. On him her glance rested. Her face grew deathly pale. Her hands clashed convulsively. Then she stretched out both arms toward him, in sight of all that won dering people. “Pierre! Pierre!” she cried, and oh, the matchless longing, the exqui site joy of those two simple words! Then recovering herself, she took up the strain where she had dropped it, and ended it in a buret of melody which seemed scarce human. Like one man the house rose to their feet, but the sailor stood as if carved in stone. Like one walking in his sleep, Jack Desmond left the place. What did the scene mean he just had witnessed? From one source only might he learn ; yet he dared not seek the truth. Merc iful heaven! even this torturing suspense were better than the more torturing certainty. But next morning came a note con taining but three words: “Come to me.” She was waiting for him. “Have I done wrong not to tell you ?” she began. “Ah, but I though* I never should see him more, my Pierre ! He loved me; but he was poor and I had no dower, so he went to sea, and I sang, that I might save enough to [marry on his return. He did not come, I thought he had for gotten me ; but last night I saw him. I am rich now—very riali. We can marry. Oh, tell me! are you not glad for me?” For a moment the man’s heart beat to suffoeation. He who loved her so well to give her to this man of the people, whom she preferred to him. Yet might it not be that she did not know her own heart ? He forced him self to calmness. “Eleanor,” he said, quietly, “re member your lover is where you left him. You have soared far above him.. May you not regret your choice ?” “With Pierre?” she questioned, proudly. “Ah, night and day through all these years I have dreamed of him.” “You love no other?” “None.” And as Bhe spoke, she raised her eyes to his ; but the veil of sadness had dropped—they were lustrous with their new-born joy. They answered him more fully than her spoken words. But going out from her pres ence, Jack Desmond knew that the sunshine had gone out from his ^fe- The shadow from her eyee had nMen upon his. Well—he had guarded his seorst thus long, he would guard It to the and. Surely his experiment had been a grand success, yet over his own life it had write* failure. Religious Intelligence. Vatican Manuscript of the New Testament. The Issue of the Revised New Testa ment has directed fresh attention to the history of the text of the New Tes tament, and, particularly, to the manu script copies of it. The two most im portant and ancient of these in the Greek language are the Codex Biniati- cus and Codex Vaticanus. The Codex Vaticanus, or Vatican MS., is in the Vatican library at Rome, where it was probably placed by Pope Nicholas V., about the time of the foundation of the library in 1448. “ This MS.,” The Sunday-Scho( l World says, “consists of 759 leaves of thin vellum, of which 142 belong to the New Testament. It has three columns on a page (except in the poetical books of the Old Testa ment, where it has two columns), and forty-two lines to each column, with no spaces between the words except at the end of a sentence or paragraph. Each line has from sixteen to eighteen letters. The MS. indicates that when the copyist began a book bis plan was to proceed continuously to the end without a break. At the end of each book he usually broke eff from the column he was writing, and began the next book upon the next column. The Vatican M S. omits the last twelve verses of Mark’s gospel, and there the the copyist leaves a part of a column and the whole of the next column blank, and begins Luke’s gospel upon the second instead of upon the first column next to where he left off copy ing Mark’s gospel. This unusual gap in this MS. is held to imply that the copyist was conscious of an omission of matter belonging to Mark. The ornament and the ‘ kata markon ’ ‘ ac- sording to Mark,’ at the end of the last column, are not by the original copyist, but were probably added by a later hand. This makes the unusual blank space more significant, and i. ives a stronger indication that the original scribe was conscious that be had not reached the end of the book. . . . The Vatican volumn is bound in red morocco, is ldj inches long, 10 wide and 4J inches thick. The >rigi- nal MS. breaks ofl' in the middle of a word, katha— (Hebrews ix., 14); the rest of the Epistle of the Hebrews, the pastoral Epistles and Revelation being added by a eomparatively recent hand. In his recent ‘ Commentary on St. Mark,’ Mr. Rice remarks that this MS. ‘ has never been accessible to scholars generally ’ ; while The New York Independent, in a notice of the * Commentary,’ holds that the MS. has not been as inaccessible as that language would imply, and adds, 1 not only have they (scholars) been per mitted to consult it, but now we have the magnificent reproduction of Car dinal Mai.’ The history of the futile attempts to collate the Vatican MS., if written, would prove, as Scrivener truly says, 1 a very unprofitable his tory.’ Birch’s imperfect collation of the MS. was made about 1780. ‘Cer tain it is,’ says Scrivener, ‘that since Birch’s day no one not In the confi dence of the Papal Court has had fair access to this document.’ In 1843 Pro fessor Tischeudorf, after months of waiting, was allowetefr^^e the MS. for six hours. In 1844 Muralt was permitted to look at it for nine hours In 1845 Tregelles, armed with strong letters from Cardinal Wiseman, went to Rome for the special purpose of ex amining it. They would not allow him to look at it without first search ing his pockets to deprive him of pen, ink and paper; if he looked too long at a passage, the book was snatched from his hand. In 1866 Tischeudorf boldly asked Pope Pius IX. for per mission to edit it as he had the Codex Siniaticus. This was denied, but he was allowed to consult it on points presenting special differences. He attempted to copy some pages, when, after eight days, the MS. was abruptly taken from him; but Verce^ne, of the Papal Court, procured permission for him to examine it for six more days, the Italian being present all th time watching his examination. From this examination Tischendorf was enabled to put forth his quarto edition of the MS. in 1867. In regard to 1 Cardinal Mai’B magnificent repro duction,’ it appeared some y^rs after Mai’s dfkath (in 1854), and of Mb merit Scrivener, one of the foremoel textuat critics, si%s : ‘ The plan of ne work exhibits all the faults such aAerform- ance well can have; nor is^he exe cution at all less objectionable.’ Tis- chendorfs criticism of it 1b scarcely less severe. Professor E. C. Mitchell (and presumably Professor Abbot, as he carefully revised this part of Pro fessor Mitchell’s work) unsatisfad was begun in 1868; but Vercellone died in 1869, leaving the completion to other hands, Five volumes have been issued ; the sixth, the most important in many respects, and which is to con tain the notes on the alterations made by various scribes, is soon to appear. This edition was also severely criti cised by Tischendorf. Scrivener credits its general accuracy in contrast with that ot Cardinal Mai’s, which he unqualifiedly pronounced untrust worthy ; but in Verceilone and Cozz’s edition later readings are claimed to be mixed with the original text, with no distinguishing marks, impairing the accuracy of the work. These facts lead to the inference that critical scholars still need to examine the M3, itself on points of doubtful or disputed reading, to insure accuracy. Writing for Protestant readers and of Protest ant scholars, in view of these facts, it would seem that Mi. Rice understated rather than overstated the inaccessi bility of the Vatican MB. to critical scholars.” A New Musical Instrument. The London 1'imea describes a re cent trial of a new musical instrument invented by Mr. Bailie Hamilton, which resembles in shape and in the means of producing sound the hai> monium or cabinet organ. There is, howevei, one important difference. Mr. Hamilton employs what is tech nically known as “free reeds,” butin- stead of acting on them Bingly, he divides them into groups of three con-, nected by a bridge, which so modifie their individual sounds as to emit single note of great sonorous beautyl and power. To each group of reedsj belongs a sounding-box or cavitl through which the air passes much the breath in singing passes throujj the throat, the intention being topi duce a quality of tone resembling thj human voic6. In this attempt Mi Hamilton has been remarkably su< cessful by means entirely differenl from those employed in the “vox hu- mana” stops of ordinary organs. The timber of the new invention jayesj somewhat between the voice am softer wind instruments, suchl French horn, clarinet, etc., partalj of the qualities of both, the beaui the sustained notes being, inden^re- markable. The chief defect of tfie in strument is its slowness of speech, which makes the execution of rapid passages a matter of extreme difficulty, if not impossibility. This drawback, however, does not appear to be struc tural, and may no doubt be remedied in subsequent specimens. The Latest Fashions. Sicilienqe is much used for spring dresses. Partridge feathers are used to cover parasols. Terra-cotta gloves are among t! novelties. “Patience” pokes young ladies. In some quarters Doll revived. Braidin^fiRWWEge increase in ularity. Red parasols are now sometinJ! made of velvet. White muslin dresses are embroil ered all over. The new bustle resembles a largJ pin- cushion. English costumes of cloth have^ swallow-tel coats. A turtle of Sardonyx, set with dia monds, makes a fashionable breast pin. Large Rembrant hats are covered with ostrich feathers and shaded roses. Embroidery should match the dres9 goods instead of being contrasted with it. Marguerite dresses of white or pale blue cashmere are in favor with youni ladies. A poke, fan and parasol ai^papoi ed with country dresses of cretonne^ foulard and percale. 1 Maroon or Egyptian red in combi- ion with porcelain blue is muoh d in lawn tennis goods. lawn will this, ort prince ad: Drd^^f fine Fr summ^^^jnadej style, th dicular s tion, and th] embroider A novel dress is ma rah, cut princesse shape, pletely veiled, with black diamond open- work patterns A of the chenille, bordered with a chenill® fringe, Is laid In ti _ e folds across the skirt in fron , being caught up in the back wi e Jet clasp*, falls in double ts over the back b