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very mysterious manner, “and if you knew what I know—” “And what do you know about my friend that I do not know?” I said, begin ing to lose my patience. “Take the Niagara, for instance.” “The what?” I exclaimed. “The Niagara!” he repeated. “What do you mean? "What is the Niagara?” “Oh, I know very well what I mean I The Niagara is—well it is the Niagara.” Joe had succeeded in exciting my curi osity, if that had been his onject. As I looked at him I could only come to the conclusion that if he was not losing his senses, he was entertaining me with some creation of his prolific brain. “See here, Joe, will you explain what you are trying to get at?” “Can you keep a secret?” he asked, ig noring my question. I shrugged my shoulders with annoy ance; my patience was at an end. My manner, which was not wholly free from contempt, seemed to hurt Joe’s feelings. “Maybe you think I do not know what I am talking about, but I can convince you.” “It will take more than mere words to make me believe any such stuff as you have been telling me.” “Come, then, and see for yourself!” he exclaimed ; and taking a key from one of his pockets he went hurriedly towards my friend’s private room. In another moment he had unlocked its door and, opening it to its fullest extent, he stood on the threshold as he pointed towards the rear of the room, in an attitude that was highly dramatic. I looked in the direction in which he pointed, and saw, stuck upon the wall, a large sheet of paper upon which was a drawing, made in ink. Notwithstanding the fact that I knew I was committing an act of impropriety in thus prying into my friend’s private affairs, my curiosity was such that I could not restrain myself. I went quickly up to within a few feet of the drawing and examined it. It appear ed to me to be nothing more than a fishing float, such as is used in angling, drawn perhaps twenty times its usual size. “Well,” said I, looking inquiringly at Joe, “what has that got to do with my friend’s loss of reason?” “Don’t you see what it says on the top of it?” “Certainly it says Niagara', but what then ?” Joe seemed to grow angry at my want of penetration. He ran close up to the drawing,and with a rapidity of speech I had never thought him capable of, he went on, his index finger in turn touching each component part of it. “You see this top is on hinges, and opens and shuts as the lid of a trunk; this sticking out of the top is a tube to let the air into the inside; these rounds are bull’s eyes of glass a foot below where the lid closes, so tight that nothing can penetrate the in terior; this band just above the bull’s eyes, or windows,is to be of rubber, which, upon being inflated with air will expand in shape, like a life preserver; these two pad dles, one on each side, in shape like the fins of a fish, are to be used to propel it back wards or forwards; this ball at the bot tom is to be of solid iron, for the purpose of keeping the machine in a perpendicu lar position ; to this ring here, on the side just below the lid, is to be attached the rope that holds the anchor; the inside is to be lined with thick woollen stuff heavily padded with curled hair—” he paused to take breath, and looked at me with staring eyes, as if in wonder that his words did not affect my calmness; for, beyond the indisputable fact that the drawing was treated in a masterly way, I could see nothing in it, or in Joe’s vivid description, to justify his fears in regard to my friend. “But what on earth has all this got to do with Inigo’s loss of reason?” 1 asked, making a movement towards the door. “Do you not see I” he exclaimed as he held me back by taking my arm with one hand, while with the other he pointed to the drawing in a manner more excited than ever, “that that is an invention for going through Niagara Falls ? Do you not understand that this being drawn to a scale of one quarter of an inch to the foot, the other one will be just four times the size of this one and that it will easily hold four persons ?” “The other one! what other one?” I asked, quite bewildered. “Why the one that the boss is having constructed —the one that he is going to make the first trial in himself —the one which he claims will render the shooting of the falls a delightful pleasure trip !” Before I could get over my great as tonishment the noise of ascending foot steps on the stairs was distinctly heard. “Quick, quick, the boss is coming back,” said Joe, pulling me out of the room and then locking the door. Joe’s words proved true, In another moment the studio door flew open with great violence, and Inigo entered, with anger depicted on every line of his pale features. He took off his hat with an angry jerk, and banged it down on the drawing table with such force that it sent pencils and brushes and papers flying all over the floor. He was too angry to speak; he paced up and down the room, his eyes darting wild, passionate glances. Poor Inigo I how sorry I was for him. After all his work, his enthusiasm, his hopes, to be so suddenly, cruelly disappointed ! I saw clearly that Joe’s information had proven but too true. “The work is gone then ?” I asked my friend when he appeared to be a little less excited. “Gone ? gone ? Oh yes, of course it is gone I” and stopping right before me, his eyes flashing with anger, he recounted to me in loud, vehement tones how ill fortune had always followed him relentlessly through his miserable life! Then he spoke of his present disappointment. He would never more place any faith in the promises of the rich; he had ever worked and toiled for them, to surround them with what is beautiful and true. For what ? He had been asked to get up their de sign ; he had spent much time and patience upon it; his idea had been admired and warmly approved by the lady who had ordered it; the work had been given to him; the lady had promised that no one but him should doit; and then, without a word of warning, without any reason, she had cruelly, heartlessly given the work to some one else! Perhaps to some man who was not even a painter ! Oh it was enough to make a man go mad! Then he directed his words against all those who had of late years come into the profession. He was loud and bitter in his arraignment of those men who, with noth ing but audacity and humbug, backed up with other people’s money, were gradually and surely driving the legitimate decora tive artist from the field ! “What kind of art could such men ever give creation to? Men whose sole ambition was money? Men who did not know that decorative art had any other mission on earth than that of filling their pockets? “Shame I shame! on those to whom the creator had given the means to encourage art, to permit such a crime! Shame I shame ! to the press of the land which did not cry against such a desecration of art principles 1 But neither the former or the latter'bad any real sympathy for true art I They whose solemn duty it was to en courage only what was true and elevating, chose rather to encourage harlequin istic effects, and tin and putty smeared over with cheap bronzes and what not? Such, and such alone, was received with open arms, and the crafty men who were responsible for all this were paid with ridiculous generosity, while the true artist, looking for nothing beyond the ele vation of his art, the man content to work night and day to surround his wealthy fellow beings with his best efforts, he who gladly devotesjhis life,” he cried in the climax of his rage, as he suddenly grasped his design from the drawing table, “to pro duce such work as this—he, I say, can go to the dogs for all the rich care!” and seizing one corner of the design, he tore it madly from the board upon which it was gummed and then flung both to the floor. Joe and I, who had divined his rash in tention at the same instant, it seemed, sprang simultaneously towards him, but not quick enough, alas! to prevent its con summation. Just as I was remonstrating with my friend for his abject folly, and Joe had begun to put things to rights, we heard the noise of heavy footsteps coming in the direction of the studio door. Was it a policeman, I thought,sent by some of the tenants to discover if some violent altercation was not in progress ? The footsteps stopped at the door; then followed a number of unceremonious knocks upon it, such as might be given by the knuckles of a tough hand. TO BE CONTINUED. It has been said: “The fireside is a seminary of infinite importance.” Few can receive the honors of a college, but all are graduates of the home. The learning of the university may fade from the recollec tion, its classic lore may moulder in the halls of memory, but the simple lessons of home impressed upon the heart of child hood, defy the rust of years, and outlive the more mature but less vivid pictures of after years. Those of you who are best acquainted with the world, or who have read most extensively the histories of men will allow that, in the formation of charac ter, the most telling influence is the early home. It is that home which often in childhood has formed beforehand our most celebrated heroes, our most devoted missionaries, and indeed, the faitfifql toil ers in all worthy vocations, WOMAN’S WORK. Fer Woman’s Work. ANSWERING AN ADVERTISE MENT. Two girls sat in their bed-room in the sleeping department of a large boarding school. The rain was falling heavily out side, and the occupants of the room looked listless and disconsolate. Maria Lewis sat by the window, idly looking at a newspaper in her hand. Kate Somers was beside the fire, with an un read book upon her lap. Presently she got up, and yawning wearily, came to the window and gazed out at the muddy street. “It’s too provoking,” she said. “Here it is, the only day in the week on which we are allowed to go out, and it must pour down all day, just to keep us indoors. It is enough to anger a saint.” “And Kate Somers is no saint,” said Maria Lewis. “No, and don’t want to be,” answered Kate. “I’m just dying for some fun. I wish something would happen to make a break in this horrible old school life.” “As to that, so do I,” replied Maria. “I feel o that if this day after day obedi ence to rules and consciousness of being all the time watched, lasts much longer, I’ll stagnate or petrify or some thing—l don’t know what,” said Kate, with more force than elegance, as she watched a wet pedestrian tramp along the sidewalk. “I’d be willing to trudge all the way from here to Jericho in the rain, to hear something beside the tiresome prating of the teachers about propriety and improve ment.” Kate’s eyes fell casually upon the paper in Maria’s hand as she finished her complaint. Her face brightened with in terest as she read. “Why Maria,” she cried, “here’s the very thing, and I don’t have to go out into the rain to do it, either.” “ What is it?” asked Maria. “Look and see.” Kate pointed to a card in the advertising column, and then read aloud: “A young gentleman wishes to enter into correspondence with a young lady for mutual amusement. Address Harry.” “Would you dare do it, Kate?” asked Maria, startled. “O! I’ll answer through the paper. It is in the reading room every day. I’ll just sign ‘Kate,’ and nobody will be the wiser. It will be lots of fun.” . So, with out a moment’s thought she sat down and answered the advertisement, bribing the housemaid with a small present to mail the letter. For a few days the girls scanned the paper eagerly, every morning. At last they saw: “Harry has received Kate’s answer. She will please tell where a letter must be sent to her. Harry.” The girls carried the paper to their room, a little embarrassed how to proceed. Maria was frightened and wanted the whole affair stopped, but Kate vowed the fun had just begun. “You know the little dressmaker around the corner, who does our sewing,” she said to Maria. “We are allowed to go there once a week to carry the clothes we wish mended or altered. I’ll write to him to send the letters there. It’s only a little fun,” she urged to the evidently uneasy Maria. “I can stop it any time I wish, and nobody will be hurt.” So the answer was sent, and the girls waited until the next afternoon they were permitted to go to the dressmaker. She was by no means a suitable associate for them. Herself ignorant and romantic, she entered readily into the plan of re ceiving and delivering the letters. The first one was already in her hands—an epistle full of poetry and high sounding phrases, and reading very much as if copied from "The Model Letter Writer." The three read together, Miss Pinson, the dressmaker, declaring it “was just too lovely for anything.” Kate took the let ter home, replying to it and again receiv ing the services of the maid in mailing it. As this went on for some time the maid soon came to own nearly everything in the way of ribbons, laces, etc., which Kate possessed, her demands growing more ex tortionate with each request for aid and secrecy. Each letter that came contained less and less of “the Letter Writer,” and more and more of Harry, himself, as he became bolder. At last there came a photograph of a flashily gotten up young man with an unmistakable air of vulgarity, and with it a request that “Kate” should send hers in return. Even Kate did not need Maria’s earnest protestations to keep her from doing that, but with a thoughtlessness which could not be excused, she took from her album a picture of one of the teachers, and sent it, laughing gleefully at the thought of what Harry would say when he saw the wither- ed face and corkscrew curls. When next the girls went to Miss Pinson’s for a letter she told them there was none. “But O !” she said in a flutter of delight, “Harry has been here himself, and he is the most beautiful young man you ever saw, with such lovely clothes and rings and a diamond breast-pin. He says he knows that wasn’t the picture of the girl who writes to him, and he was real mad with you for sending it.” Then she began an earnest talk with the girls, which, although there was no one to hear it besides themselves, she felt im pelled to utter in a whisper. The amount of it was that Harry had determined upon seeing the Kate of his letters, and before the girls left she had secured a promise from Kate to meet Harry at her house the next Friday afternoon. Maria, though vowing never to betray Kate’s escapade, was too frightened to take any part in it. - “I think it has gone far enough, Kate. I am afraid you will get into trouble.” “O! no,” laughed Kate. “Besides, this is the last of it. I know ‘Harry’ is some green, awkward youth, who will be fright ened to death when he sees me. I’ll just see him once, and then turn him over to Miss Pinson. She’s evidently in love with him.” At the appointed time Kate was in Miss Pinson’s parlor, that lady waiting with nervous delight for the coming of her hero. Kate smiled as she thought of the timid youth she expected to meet, and at whose greenishness she would find vast amuse ment. The door opened and Miss Pinson ushered in, not a timid, awkward youth, but a bold looking man, who, advancing to Kate, seized her hand and exclaimed with mock adoration: “At last, at last, the Kate of my dreams!” The amazed and thoroughly frightened girl wrenched away her hand, rushed from the room and out of the house. At an unfortunate time, she thought, but perhaps a most fortunate one for her fu ture good. The maid, irritated at Kate’s refusal to accede to some of her demands, had betrayed the whole matter to the princi pal of the school, and told where Kate was in the habit of going. Accompanied by .another teacher she had hastily gone in search of the misguided girl, to meet her just as she ran from the house. She was taken home, and no excuses or protestations on the part of Kate or her friend Maria availed to prevent Kate being sent from school. The principal believed that the girl had meant no wrong, but wisely concluded that she who could be so easily led into imprudence, had best be at home under the control of her parents. Kate had said lightly that it would all be fun and no one would be hurt. Apart from the injury to herself, there was a wrong done the innocent teacher whose photograph she had sent away. The man, who was an adventurer and a well-known gambler, was one day exhibit ing the picture in a spirit of ridicule, when it chanced that some one knowing the lady, recognized it and reported the mat ter to the principal of the school. Only by the man being compelled through threats to tell how the picture came into his possession was she enabled to escape blame and retain her position in the school. M. E. 8. One fretter can destroy the peace of a family, can disturb the harmony of a neighborhood, can unsettle the councils of cities, and hinder the legislation of na tions. He who frets is never the one who mends, who heals, whorepairs evils ; more, he discourages, enfeebles, and too often disables those around him, who, but for the gloom and the depression of his com pany, would do good work and keep up brave cheer. The effect upon a sensitive person of the mere neighborhood of a fretter is indescribable. It is to the soul what a cold, icy mist is to the body—more chilling than the bitterest frost, more dangerous than the fiercest storm. And when the fretter is one who is beloved, whose nearness of relation to us makes his fretting, even at the weather, seem almost like a personal reproach to us, then the misery of it becomes indeed insupportable. Most men call fretting a minor fault, a foible, and not a vice. There is no vice except drunkenness, which can so utterly destroy the peace, the happiness of a home.— H. H. A silent look of affection and regard where all other eyes are turned coldly away—the consciousness that we possess the sympathy and affection of one being when all others have deserted us—is a hold, a stay, a comfort in the deepest affliction, which no wealth could purchase or power bestow, 3