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aiERY. BY B. O. W. 1 do not think I loved him—still. Whenever he was near. My heart would loudly throb and thrill I thought— a little queer. I do not think I lov'd him—though. I'll own 'twas somewhat sweet To full v feel, and surely know His heart was mine complete. I do not think I lov'd him—yet. Whenever we would part, A feeling almost like regret Would creep into my heart, I wonder if I lov’d him say. Would you suppose a friend. Could till one's thoughts thro all the day. And with her visions blend? Waiting for the Dawn. BY IRENE INGE COLLIER, Excise's Disappearance. Monday morning, a bright sun glittering over the earth, washed in ) esterday’s showers, the Academy doors open and a Duzz of voices with in. But school was not yet ‘taken in’ for Miss Albers, the principal, was somewhat disturbed. Miss Ennis, teacher of music and French, and hoafder in the Institute, bad ftot yet arrived, though it had been confidently understood that, she would return from her visit on the night be Miss Albers liked system and regularity above all things. She was greatly attached to her love ly assistant but she was undoubtedly annoyed at this deriltction on her part. The girls were disippointed. School-girls are enthusiastic over a pretty face and sweet, refined manners. Miss Ennis had all these and more, and she rul ed royally over the hearts of her young pupils. At last Miss Albers looking at her watch, de clared she could wait no longer. It was now an hour past the time for beginning school-work, and this and Monday morning. She was afraid Miss Ennis was ill. She had seemed indispos ed of late and strangely depressed. Or perhaps she was giving Carrie Farman a music lesson at ^‘iTis Carrie’s day, is it not girls?’ she asked and several of the girls replied that it was. A recitation was began.and was rather lamely proceeding when it was cut short by one of the girls, who was looking out of the window, ex claiming aloud, without fear of rules before her eyes, that Ctrrie Farman was coming riding on horseback and that Eloise was not with her. •Then she must surely be ill,’ Miss Albers said hurriedly, and getting up she went to the door, just as Carrie, radiant with exercise and happiness, rode up and dismounted saying; •Good morning, good morning to all.’ ‘Good morning Carrie,’ returned Miss Albers. ‘What have you done with your friend ?’ ‘Who?’ •Why, Miss Ennis of course. ‘Eloise—why, is not Eloise here? She left our house at ten o'clock last night with Mr. B-r- tram, who was to bring her here. Is it possible she did not come?’ ‘She certainly did not. I sat up for her until twelve. Can it be that That she and Mr. Bertram had eloped, was what was in Miss Alber’s mind and those of some ol' the girls. Carrie divining it said quick ly ‘I saw Mr. Bertram sitting in his office as I I passed. He spoke to me very pleasantly. Shall I ride back and ask him about Eloise?’ lookf x her:'It^Hbarefy possible ' may have ; ri gone ^ er r ° 0110, * back door of the huU unlocked and she may have come after I was asleep. I will go and Se She went, followed by a concourse of girls and accompanud by^the anxious^ unoccupied, the bed untouched, her clothes, books etc., just as Miss Albers had noticed them when she came up to the room Sunday morning to get the black dl a wM^lmos^contiVent she had not returned last night,’ Miss Albers said alter she had taken SSSass KtakSS? 1 ptllTbo«hr.M>e?j walks ..d th. bi. told m. .b. bad nervous he ^es Ch I knew she had been suffering with i ’Carrie said, ‘and heartache too she thought/ remembering her gloomy foreboding ,0 Du*,in° 'ttoUmf the, bed descended to the vard and began theirsearch thiouch the grounds. It was soon made with all these excited girls running hither and thither, looking into every nook ^nd shaded retreat. All in vain. Eloise was not there, and they returned to the school- changing and her voice choking with tears, she clasped her hands beseechingly. •Oh ! Mr. Bertram, I implore you, tell me what yon have done with Eloise, sweet dear Eloise. Oh ! what have yon done with her?' He seemed moved, but he smiled proud- ly. ‘Miss Farman,' he said ‘I have told you all I know. I cannot account for your friends dis appearance. I am very much concerned mvself. I will do all I can to find out where Miss Ennis has gone. Perhaps she is with some of her friends in town. Miss Albers shook her head decidedly, but she weut at once and called at the houses of all whom it seemed to her possible thatEloise might have gone to. Then she went back to the Acad emy, but there were no lessons that day. The news of Miss Enni's unaccountable disappear ance flew through the town, and all business was at once neglected. The excitement was in tense, for all admired and loved the beautiful the town, passing quite round it and coming into the highway a mile or more on the other side, then driving swiftly through the night till he reached the spot he had designated to the stage driver. There he had driven out of the road a little, and waited until the rattling stage drove up and stopped, the driver uttering a low whistle as a signal. In five minutes more he had'parted with the girl whose path he had crossed only to shadow it. She did not lyeep. She looked more dazed than anything else and half scornful, half sad. She had said to him: ‘It is probable we shall never meet again. I am going away to that retreat you offer me, partly because you will it, and, though I hate myself for it, you have a power over me I cannot resist. You wish me to go away because you have given in my keeping a secret and you re gret having done so, you are afraid of my weak ness—afraid it will escape niy lips in an impul sive moment—afraid I will oonflde it to my brother when he comes. For this reason, nod tense, tor all admired ana loven me oeauiuui urmuti»ucuuobuure». ror mis reasuu, «uu music teacher. The circumstances attending because my presence has become a reproach as her disannearance were most extraordinarv. well as an uneasiness to vou, you want me U1UOIV; Uvauucii AUV her disappearance were most extraordinary She had^iven no intimation of departure to any one. Her trunks, her books and music were UUC. uci uuuno! Ait* a/uvbd n _ none of them missing. It seemed impossible treat will give me. The secret weighs on me so I •*• ' ’ 3 cannot bear society. I*wart loneliness to quiet my unrest. I will accept yonr generosity as a loan; I will repay you someday two-fold. I am glad to retire to a solitude that I may praotice and perfect the one high gift heaven has be stowed on me—my voiue.-v. This shall be my comfort and delight, hereafter, it may bring me fame and money. I am sif to be able to repay yon at the least. I wish too>ve you nothing.’ * Eloise, can you talk so toone who loves you?' ‘You love no one but your own hard, cold self. Once, I loved you, but now though you have such power over me still, I do not respect yon, 1 feel how you have wronged me, and some day I believe yon will bitterly regret it. Your selfish .heart will writhe ugder the recollection ofthirfhour.’ These were her last words to him, the stage stopped. She put down her veil, he took her hand and kissed her passive lips and helped her to her seat and she was driven away alone in the stage through the darkness and the silence of the night. ■ , (TO BE CONTINUED.) The Gift of the Gods. BY MARY PATTON HUDSON. she could have gone away of her own accord. When it was known that she was iast with Eu gene Bertram and that he professed to know nothing of her whereabouts, ugly suspicions came into the minds of the citizens. It seemed very hard to suspect any foul play on the part of an honorable high-toned, wealthy gentleman like Bertram, but certainly the circumstances looked dark and in the course of a few hours quite a crowd of people bad gathered around the bank and the voting man was called on to tell how it came that Miss Ennis was missing and that he conld professed not to know where she was. He came out, aDd gave the same account he had given to Miss Albers—a very plausible statement its eerned too, especially when made in his calm, unexcited way. Hi's listeners were most of them impressed with its seeming truth, but a few muttered that it was an improbable story and that if Miss Eanis could not be fonnd or traced, Le would have to account for her dis appearance. Bertram himself was first to prepose that a search should be instituted for the missing girl, and offered to j >in them in trying to trace her. Meantime, Carrie had hurried to her brother’s office, as soon as she came from the enterview with Bertram. Rushing in breathless, she told her what bad happened. Eloise was missing. Eloise had never been seen or heard of since she quitted the house with Bertram. SydDev i prang to his feet. He had been think ing of Eloise, wondering what her strange looks and strange words meant; remembering that though she-said she could not listen to words of love from him. she had in a manner accepted his devotion and given him proofs of her confi dence. He remembered the promise, she had exacted from him, the fragm mt of chain hid away in his watch case, and thought of those sweet lips be had kissed. From this daydream over his unread* Coke upon Littleton,’ he was roused by his sister's startling news. He sprang to his Get F it a moment, he could not speak, then he said hoarsly: ‘ It is Bertram’s doing. He kidnapped her. ‘Or killed her’ cried Carrie shuddering. ‘Come let us do something, I cannot be quiet.’ • I will not rest till I find her. I wilt give time, money, my life everything to find her - my sweet Eloise, my darling,’ he cried, his voice trembling, his face so pale that Carrie at once knew what she had only'suspected before, that her brother loved Eloise Ennis passionately and wholly. •Compose yourself before we go out brother’ she said gently. ‘Don’t let them all read your secret. Let me get _you.sguftngflu.k ‘ "S u o oruugeft him "and locked somewhat less pale, she sat down by him and holding his hand in herssaid. ■What do you think is the meaning 0. this br °I U do not know. I am bewildered ! but I believe that Bertram i3 connected with her dis appearance.’ . ‘ Why should he want to spirit her away in this secret manner? Why did he not openly claim her if he had a right to do so ? ‘It is a mystery to me. I thought that they were engaged until Saturday. He spoke of her so in differently then. I told him, he gave me hope to plead my own cause, and he advised me to speak to her at once.’ ‘And you did ?’ .. T •Yes 1 spoke to her yesterday’. Sometime, 1 will tell vou all that passed. I am too troubled now But some of her words then and what she said to me just before we parted yesterday evening made me think she foreboded some thing of the kind wonld happen to her, and gave me the impression that she did not trust Bertram.’ , , . 0 , ‘Don’t you think she loved him t ‘I thought so <• ce, but her feeling fir him looked mote to me like fear than love yester day She seemed to shiver when she telt him looking at her. She was very unhappy about something. Did she not conhde in you, Carrie? ‘No‘ she seemed to wish to do so, but to be held back bv some influence I could not under stand. She seemed to fear I would cease to think well of her r.ud made me promise I would never be persuaded to believe evil of her, be cause of misrepresentations that might be made. I could readily promise that; I never conld be lieve evil of Eloise Ennis. . i$or I ’ returned Sydney, earnestly. Come, we are wasting time. We may hear that she is found, or we might be searching for her, while we sit here.’ . ., - They went out in the streets, and took their well as an uneasiness to yon, you want me away. I will go becanse yon will it and because I long for the retirement and solitude that re. 5 /Remain here now young ladies, be quiet and ursue your studies, while Miss barman and I wcu( , a visit to Mr. Bertram to inquire after Miss to J the bauk before which t he group of ex- ’unis I have no doubt he can inform us where | „ Ui , alia h(ll1 aat kered. They walked up he is and that all is quite right.’ h Accompanied only by Carrie she went to Mr. , 'TV.,,'; nffice He received them with grace- uTpoliteness, and when Miss Eibers stated the jbject of her visit, he seemed much surprised lD ‘I cannot imagine where Miss Ennis can be r drove her to" the gate of the Institute las sight and saw her go into the aoor. I have not seen her since cifed citizens had gathered. They walked up as Eugene was repeating to the crowd his story of what had happened the night before, and of Eloise’s going into the Institute at midnight, pointing’them to his broken buggy to account for the reason why he had been so long in reaca- inc town. Sydney shook his head as he listen ed to this recital. Called upon by some one present to tell of what be lyiew of Miss Earns departure from his father’s house the evening before he did so in a few straightiorward words. He was afraid to trust himself to say more. At- I, Audrey Aimes, barrister, rusticating in the vicinity of Hollindes, the count y seat of the Vallory’s, a notoriously proud and wealthy family. My sister, the widow Carrew, was re joiced to have her amiable brother during the heated term, and made things quite agree able by her attention to said distinguished party. Edna Valiory was our closest neighbor, and on very good terms with my sister Marian Miss Valiory was V6ry pietty; everybody said so, except other pretty women who envied the adoration she received. When I accepted Marian's invitation for the summer, I had never beheld this nondescript belle and beauty, but had seen my bosom friend, CTbaimers, rush to his doom, that culminated in her graceful ‘I am sorry indeed, but women have so few prerog atives you know, else I had told you long ago tnat I did not love yon; but you will be my friend though. I cannot losejyou in this way. ’ And he, intoxicated by iier f/icinations, added idiocy to his folly, and said: ‘Ves, I will always be happy to claim you as my friend.’ But I was a man of parts, wealth and position, and would be the last to succumb to her charms. I knew just 'where to find the poison ; and would keep my Senu'ra sr-rutcy ripe coin >ua||d. " . battle afar.*’ But 1 was saH^i. said to the ring ol smoke that curled above my head as 1 lay on the Turkish divan in the library room, after Marian had said: ‘Take care, brother mine; you have never seen‘the queen of hearts, and under this condition of things, ‘let him who .thinketh he stands, take heed lest he fall.’ A most aston ishing woman. They tell me she is engaged to a well-known diplomats, the greater need of precaution*.’ I had a slippered foot on a, broid- ered ottoman, trying to read the ‘Times, while in reality dreaming of Edna Valiory, when 1 heard a silvery voice say tc a servant: ‘Ni, 1 11 just wait here for Mrs. Carrew, I have but a’ moment tc stay,’ and a marvelous vision in muslin garb with roses in her bait was quite before me. I was completely staggered; but she received my low salaam, as I spraug tc my feet with such a look of roguish deprecation, that i laughed in spite of myself. I instinctively glanced at my neglige dress. I saw the twinkle in the marry, brown eyes; I knew she had read me at a glance. I was clearly takau at a disadvant- aa0 _bair awry, one slaeve of my dressing-gown rolled up as if 1 had just emerged from a puglts- tic encounter with my meerchaum, which lay on the floor, the ashes strewn about in a sorry plight. But she was ‘gotten up’ in all the ‘pomp and circumstance’ of conquest; I could see that. I wheeled a chair to the window for her accom modation, and excused my abseuce—I mentally thanked my patron saint without any apology for the case before us. ‘Yes, she's all my fancy painted her,’ I said to the reflection of Audrey Aimss in the lofty mirror, as I saw with satis- f mtion that I had not been particularly unpre sentable. My neglige was handsome, and my slippers a marvel of handiwork. Thanks to V l- nett, Vaughan, who had choien them as a Christ- mass gift the year before. ‘Pretty !' I repeatod, but not the siren against wh^ti I nave been so carefully warned oy Marias. *But I did not know just then the dawning powqr that lay in those soft brown eyes, and the corners of the ductile mouth. Marian was invited to tea, and as I was on y a man,’ and a guest of Mrs. Curew’s, she would extend the invitation to take me in, she laugh- companied me. Women know hist how to man age women. Marian b»l once been a beauty, and courted as much as Miss Vallery, but a lit tle less inclined to flirt for the simple amuse ment, I think. We were ushered ioto the cool, grand parlor at Hollindes, and f>und quite a company of oallers. Miss Val’ery was distract- ingly agreeable to me, ahd I was in the seventh heaven of beatitude. I was the victim of fate that was helping E Ina Vallery to make a fool of me. . ‘Have you seen my century plant, Mijor Aimes? I think the rest of the party have.’ And she conducted me away through the grounds. But before she had reached the spot where the wonderful aloe bloomed, she turned to me and said, in the coolest possible manner: ‘Why have you not been to Hollindes?^ I want the whole truth; were yon afraid of me?’ I felt verv much as I used to do when my tu tor questioned me about my misdemeanors, while I trembled in my boots, but I managed to say in an equally cool tone; ‘Afraid,’ and l affected the sidewise, wonder ing glance. ‘N >, why shonld I be ?’ It was not honest, and I was ashamed of the falsehood, but oould not resist the temptation just then. I was delighted to see a little pink flush steal over her pearly face, for I thought it proved my power to move her to pique or some thing akin to it. ‘How long shall yon be with your sister, Mij or Aims,’ she asked, holding a little hand under the daintily cleft chin. ‘A mouth longer, I answered, and we moved on to where the aloe bloomed. I wondered then what purpose she had in asking my plans, but did not question her. What she further said I cannot now remember, but it’s general air of re- sist-me-if-you-can I could never forget. •Come again,’ she said to me aside, ‘when there are fewer guests, and we will practice Mignon together.’ and I promised. I went again and again and how kinder she daily grew. Toe pres ent was so delicious; the days passed by as a j beautiful dream. I was going away two days hence, and wonld not see her but once again be fore I 8 lid good bye for ever. I meant to enjoy these hours to their full, regardless of the pain to follow in their wake and the disappointnent after all was done. The moon was at its full, and we sat in the edge of the lemon grove and thb perfume of its leaves was in the breez .*. The nightingale warbled a song in tho grove while Edna's fingers strayed over the strings of the so ft guitar, and she sung: ‘Going away, I think you said? With never a word for me; Going away, and I turn my head In vain, for the sun in the West is dead— All dead on the darkling sea. Why INever Married- The Story of An Ill-used Man. BY 8TEPHEN BRENT. The ships sail over the sea, I know, Too far for a maiden's sight.; The ships sail on, the strong winds blow, And some to the land of Orient go, Anil some to the starless night. I look, and over the sea afar. The white sails flicker and gleam, And the ship rides gaily over the bar. Hut the night is bleak with never a star. And my heart is sad with its dream. Only the rim of the sea's far strand, Only the dark I see, For he left me here, by the trodden sand. With only a rose in my little hand. Ami never a Word for me.' ‘But Edna, my darling, I am not going with out a wor.d —I will say it to my bitter cost. I know all that you will answer me, though I long ago knew your nature for this pretty tri fling, yet I must blatne yon for its determined alluring. I love you though, as you have nev er been loved before, and yon know it as well as I. ’ I saw her fac^^ l Maj. Aimes, [ am to be married ho-morrow. will you come ?' , - , ,• ■Certainly I will,’ I said, natural circulation resumed by the insolence of her revelation, ‘but I'm not the least sorry for my declaration. I even managed to smile derisively here. The hour, the mystical moonshine and the scent of the lemon grove, conspired to have me say what I knew you were duly expecting. I had touched the right chord, had shown her the meanness of her f illy, I said to myself, and then I took her guitar from the rustic seat, and arranged her wrap about her before escort ing her to the house. . . ‘Just like E lna Yallerv,’ said Marian resent fully and refused to go to the wedding, whim I laughed at her. despite my weary heart. •Who is Miss Vallery to marry ? I was asked by a score of people, to whom I answered: •We shall see, I presume, in time. They were queer wedding cards, simply ft notification of the event and hour—the bride groom's name in blank. ‘May I see you?'came on a card to me irom the bride to be She was very white and her mods were cold, while a burning light was in the soft brown ey es. She gave me a note to read. The words were few. but they meant a great deal. •Mv darliDg Elua: it will be impossible 1 >r me to be at Hollindes to-day. It is well no guests are biddeu. I will see you to-morrow eve, un til then trust me; as ever yours. John Guey. ‘And what ?' I asked, feeling a considerable amount of contempt for the delinquent lover. And then she placed her hand on my arm, and blushed rosily while she said: •But Audrey, 1 am not sorry after what you told me yesterday. But my pride is hurt by 1 And then I suggested that I might fill the part this St. John Grey had f died to play. > ‘It would save your pride, you know. ‘So you are goiDg to get married, are yon, and want me to come to the wedding? Well, well! I will see about it; for if I am an old 1 ach- elor it is not my fault, I am sure I tried hard enough to get married. It was Fate, and noth ing else that kept me from running into the mat rimonial noose. You say you wonld like to hear why I never married ? Didn’t I just tell you it was Fate? but I don't mind telling yon how she treated me. I was twenty when I fell in love with Marie Stedman, but I was unfortunate from my first visit, when I stumbled over the cat and sat down on the floor iasteid of the chair, till the last when Fate willed it that I shonld pull a pan of milk from the kitchen shelf down on my luck less head. Who can tell the agony of my feelings, stand ing there with the milk dripping from my hair and running in little rivulets down my back, while Marie and her dear friend, Rosa Black, screamed with laughter? I made a frantic dash for the door, nearly knocking my head off against a hoe handle, packed between the logs. I upset grandma Stedman in my flight, too. ‘Lord sakes alive!’she exclaimed, staring after me as though she thought I was crazy. Well, I was cured, and for two years had no desire to even see a woman. I couldn’t get over the awful feeling of that milk pouring down on me, and I turned cold every time I thought of those girls laughing at me. Then I met Matilda James. But Fate still pursued me. Oae day a crowd of us were walk ing across a field, coming from church. I was with Matilda and felt supremely happy. As yet, nothing had happened to mar the good impres sion I was making on her mind. Alas for hu man hopes! A vicious cow took the idea into her head to chase me. She came at me with a lowered head, and well, it was more than hu man nature could bear, and I turned and fled towards the fence. It was a close race, and I had just laid my hand on the top rail when she lifted me on her horns and tossed me into the air, and the next thing I knew I was dangling, head downward, from the limb of a tree. My clothes were fastened somehow, and I could neither get loose or climb back on the tree. The company came np and conversed with me rela tive to my position and prospects. They were both very precarious, I assure you, and giving a last despairing wriggle I came down to the ground on my head, leaving one coat tail still dangling mournfully at the end of the limb, and it may be there yet, for aught I know. I could never face Matilda $fter that, 'and for a long time I fait utterly disgusted with life. I vowed I’d D6vergo a-wooing again, and kept the vow until I met Dabby Jones. I firmly be lieve all would have went well if the old folks had been willing. But they couldn’t abide my coming to see their Dabby, they said, and thereby hangeth the end of my tale. I was there one night when they were all gone out but Debby and her brother Tom, who favored my suit because 1 bribed him with can dy. Well, time flew on wings of light, and bs- before we knew it the old folks had returned, and were on the porch. There was no way for me to escape but through a very small window by the fireplace. While Debby went to the door, I crawled through and slipped down, not on the around but int^ -» i * -' “ ,, There was no getting out. I heard the old man ask Debby ‘if the calf wasn t in the yard There was something making a racket out there. Well, I got out of the abominable thing at lest, and I was well soaped, you may be sure. Then I swore I never would go to see a woman . a»ain. No, not the queen of England herseli. "Now you know why I never married. There comes the wash-woman and I must darn my socks and sew on my buttons. Why did Fate treat me so ? How we Treat our Brains. Almost daily I am in contention with parents and guardians, schoolmasters and schoolmis tresses. clergymen and professors, youths ant maidens, bovs and girls, concerning the right way of building up the young brain, of npen- iug the adult brain, and of preserving the brain in age. Grievously ill do we take in hand to deal with this delicate member, and well s it that innate development overruns our schemes and brings the variety of natural good out of the monotony ot human folly- ttis dimly felt by society that the reign of bone and muscle is over, and that the reign of brain and nerve is taking its place. Even tbe Gibeon- ites now have the hydraulic ram and the steam felling-machine: the spectacled General o forces fights in his tent by click ot battery and wire, and his Lieutenant hoists an ironclad b\ thetoneh of two buttons upon his waistcoat, the patient earth forgets the tread of horse and ox, and is plowed by steam, and ere mng no doubt our ministeis will wind sermoos out ot birrel-orgau3. and our morning egg ~ broken for us by a wafer ot dynamite. ~ it comes that all classes are tor edncaaon , The village grocer's son goes to a theolOpiea college,’ and sits up by night o ver _ his evnton- ces’ with green tea in his blood and a w about his brows. The gardener s daugnter trirsx .. * ,• 1 11m T»/*K f.li ckfi i.hfi Miss Albers looked blank. Carrie, disking ue va8 atrmu w ; -y i nl otlv cried: ... . ter he had gone with Carrie to the Institute and Mr. Bertram, you left our house with Emise I bg . ed ber U p 0 n her horse, he came back and iniahtat ten o'clock. What has become of j baJ P ftn j n t e rview with Bertram which resulted ast night at ten , iPt’ You surely do know. ‘T surely do not, Miss Carrie. I repaat to yon hat I carried her to tire gate of the boarding leDartmeDt of the Institute. As it was bite, i ncTuo in- I handed her Irom the buggy, Side her good evening and saw her enter the ^°‘It*i8 b sG'fti.ge^ 1°'did ^not hear anytking-no 3 ouid Of wheels or voices,’ said ijiss Albers sus- ?i °Y°ou Bl did not H sit u p l fts^ate as we arrived it B ems U It was quite ^dnight when I droje up. ?n noThing h >w«ver, for Bertram only reiterat ed his story with grave earnestness and intima ted that perhaps Miss Eanis ha 1 reasonsTor go ing aw,iv secretly and returning to her friends in the North. ‘She may have been embarrassed, you know; debt. «“,J women fit» de.tb, ood ehe m.y have seen no way out of it, but ~~~ . S‘op’ Sydney said, sternly. ‘You cannot make me believe that Eloise Earns was dishon orable. ’ ~ ■» ait UD laid « attuou UlCio. -*■ ^ — —* , sts i o w o»“ib. r wb.x "Sm&2?m:r,v : bm.o’v^and it took me somo little time to to*to.«tb* i.od of tb. »«»« “1 m. > >f my boggy. . home by slow end It so that It would g Bnail , 8 pace You I”"see R 'the buggy yonder. I have not yet sent 1 g e b 8 e „“ke n d d e e iiberately and calmly, but his coi- He spORe ue.. j twice uu- „ changed and h«i ej» ><id ooldly . ler Miss Albers K > Mr Bertram. I am ,' T w‘il!» Enai’a f wiU h ” dly be SZOESEi Carrie broke forth fee “ suited in nothing. No tame «» foond of the missing eirl. The stage wbica had gone to the city of P was anxiously looked for. It was pos sible (Bertram had suggested) that she had gone to the city. He was f-.r irom suggesting that she had gone the other way—the Southern route being poorly patronized and the stage on thedown trip hardly ever having any passen gers, especially at this season. No one had Leu in it. the night before when he handed El oise into the empty, lumbering vehicle. He had bribed the driver not to tell of the circumstance of his stopping in the night miles beyond the town to take up a lady passenger from the, road side. He had met no one, for he had skirted exteua luw iuvuowgu — —» — , inuly Slid to my sister, aud I was ratuer pleased at'her frankness, and lack of society chic, as I considered it. That garden tea was ft phase ot f a i r « life; and yet, all the witcheries ot E'tUud would be finite indeed, compared to my ex-atic blms as I sat by ber side or listened to her flute like voice. A thousand times since I nave seen that flower-docked table again, in the lemon grove, the gleaming glass aud silver, the beauti ful fruit and flowers, above all, the queen rose that bent herselt to my amusement. She had dawned upon me, and all preconceived resist ance was forgotten. I had little to say to Marion ia the homewird ride, aud she laughed lightly as I helped her from the carriage and said again: •Your heart, Audrey, take care.’ I had no heart, I didn’t explain this to M ir- iou but every bit of it was in that lemon grove with Edna Vallery. I had sufficient mother- wit about me yet, however, to fully believe it was a hopeless passion I was nursing for the cele brated beauty. I thought of breve Fred Chal mers. I was only another fly in the spider s ‘I deliber- aieu iiuw umi ‘He who fights and rnns away,’ suggested itself but I was afraid of the mirth in those bonny eyes. No; I was a man, free to hold my own heart as I chose; my nerves were cool and calm, I not act the toward—in short, I would fliat with the tide. Miss Vallery had asked me to call again, and I would. . . •Do not go to Hollindes for a few days, Aud rey,’ said Marion. . . , . I understood her. We were seated at break fast when she said this. , . . ‘It will be a good tonic for that wonderful van ity of Edna Vallery s. . , "I lived in a slow fever in the interim, and went in the course of a week, and Marian ao- did you tease me so ? And you were a slave to the Vallery’s folly throughout, to be married ‘You were fooled and so was I, Audrey, ia lna said to me in the honeymoon. John Grey had thought it was to be a quiet wedding; no guests, but the capricious damsel changed her mind, as was her wont to do in every thing, though happily concluding to al low his name to be unknown until ike decisive b °‘But how you managed to get the necessary papers aud papa's consent within an hoar, Au drey, is more than I can tell,’ said my queen of the lemon grove. ‘Equally as mysterious to me, I answered. The recreant lover was sorely hurt to hear 0i Edna’s marriage, a matter of half a million of money preventing his prompt appearance ‘But it wouldn’t have paid me, dear, she said ‘for the love that began in that summer morn, when I came on you in your dressing sown and slippers. The gods have always la bored me, but more in that than aught besides Marian has the usual amount of curiosity, but she is baffled for once, though she cannot hide her pleasure in the denonemen.. •noctor mv daughter seems to be going blind, an? she’s Tit getting ready for her wedding, too ' 0 dear me, what is to be done ? ‘Let her eo right on with the wedding, madam, by all means. If anything can open her eyes,marnage will.’ ' ^ Marriages are not plentiful enough. The young ladies ought to get up a strike for their young *“ “ for the fires can come in af- the ot building Horn comes u’ ia His teens, ana is i U v*** ' an exhausted brain and an incurable niegrin nay, even the sons of peers are putting armor of light, and are deserting the fall tor the counting-house. To meet this demand, collages of all kinds and degrees 8 P rin f.^ p middle-class seminaries, theological colleges colleges of scieuce, university boards—even i old universities themselves are stirring * their scholarly ease, are sending ou ( t .“ 1 ^ th aries in imrtibus, and are cramming __ y ogt of twenty counties in the art of making most show with least learning. ? “ sud l no doubt, must be and should be. bl * ; t a den a voltefice cannot be J- where wrench, and it is my desire now to se ^ the strain will tell, and how to _P b social evolution with the least injury to her sons.-Dr. T. C. Allbutt, in Popular science Monthly for June. , The Prince and the American Girls. The Prince of Wales is a man both of tact and taste Paris society was much exercised in its mind as to the etiquette which won d decide the i r»f his oartner in tb@ cotillion at Lord Lvon ? 8 balf-whether the lady of the highest rank (of course it could be no other would be ra ? f roul English or French claimants to STdLttJ” Hta Royal High.es., ho.«.r, settled the question by leading out an American voung lady, Miss Natica Yznaga, the sister of Lady Mandeville. Such are the advantages of a eood education early in life. The Prince of Wes learned to dance with American yoang ladies when he was a mere lad of nmteen at the E reat New York ball in the Academy of Music, and he has never lost a chance of keeping him^ self in practice Bince.