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WILD WORK; A Study of Western Life. BY MARY E. BRYAN. CHAPTER XXXYI. Kate came to see Zoe in the afternoon, but there was other company and the two girls had no opportunity for a word in private. ‘I will call round this evening with Roy,’ Kate said as she wasgoiDg away. iCome to tea,’ Mrs. Melvin urged, not caring to add that she had planned a kind of family- party, having invited Hugh and Winter Larean whom she met on the street to come and partake of oysters and champagne. Later in the after noon,. she invited another person, no other than little Florence Taylor he self, not as properly belonging to the family party, but fora purpose of her own. Quite unexpectedly, Miss Florence called just before sunset, sending her card to Zoe who received her cordially and did her best to put her at ease. ‘She was curious to see Roy’s betrothed,’ thought imaginative Mrs. Melvin, and she was sure it was jealousy that made the girl watch the face and follow the movements of the beautiful woman with such intentness. Zoe saw otherwise. She pitied Florence’s embarrassment, she saw dejection in her intent look, and she felt the quiver of hopelessness in the girl's voice when taking Zoe s offered hand at parting and looking inte her face she said: ed at last that a friendship, warm and true , though it was, was hardly the basis a marriage j ought to be built upon. It was better to have found it out before than after the irrevoca ble vows had passed; was it not ?’ I ‘Zoe, you are not in earnest surely ?’ came i indignantly from Kate, while Hugh stared at ! his sister in speechless amazement, j ‘Never more so. Come my friend, turning to Roy, ‘We must confirm this doubting maid.’ j Is it not so that by mutual consent and in all amity we have set aside our proposed partner ship and agreed to remain only friends?’ She went up to him and held out her hand as Rhe spoke. He took it, got up and stood by her. ‘It is,’ he said. ] Before he spoke, his eye had fallen on Flor- i ence, had met her eager, wistful eyes looking | at him from a face white as marble aud leant for ward in her unconscious intentness-. When be said: ‘It is,’she drew her breath quickly with a little convulsive exclamation. Then recollec ting herself and fearing she had betrayed her i secret, she colored crimscn and buried her face ' in her hands. Zoe went np to her and kissed her on the forehead. Dr. Melvin was on his j feet making a playful little speech to the effect j that he was greatly relieved to find his ‘queen rose of the rose-bud garden of girls, ’ was not go ing to be plucked by the ruthless hand of Hy men. He had long had his eye upon Miss Zoe as a second partner, in case Mrs. M.’—nodding his iron gray head over to his wife—‘should accom modatingly leave him a fascinating yoang wid ower. He congratulated the pair on their mor al courage and good sense in drawing back even As she looked down into the dark water hope looked up to bar from the reflection of her own figure. She cculd see its outlines there—faint but still fair. The beautiful need never despair. Reese made her acquaintance one nightand won j had been wronged and foully dealt with here! her lasting gratitude by being equal to a great emergency and fixing the refractory train of a Worth dress that refused to work well at the last moment. They became inseparable. The Dnprez thinks she couldn’t make a stage toilet j There is always love for them, love which is without, her friend's taste to direct it. Miss I power and hope. Because she had failed more Re ise came with her to all reh' a Sals, and most.! than once, must she despair of success while she have paid strict attention tothis.part, for she | had that face those resources of mind, that strong claims to have learned it at these rehearsals, j nerve this will-force that even Alver had bent to ? They went out driving this morning and stop- ; She would not give np. The world was wide; ped at a restaurant. M’lle Claire drank some, there were inaDy doors that would open toconr- beer or some lemonade or something, and ate some German kuchen. that must have been too buttery, for immediately after she was taken ill, and had to send word to the manager that she. coulii’nt play tonight. It was too late to sun- age, to cunning and persistance. She would begin a new career; she wonld crash oat this passion for a man that had shown himself weak and nnworthy the prizes that are to be won by the bold. She had next to nothing in her ply her place; too late to chinge the piece for : purse; no matter, her brain was rich in schemes another. Old Knox was in despair, when in j and inventions, fertile in resources that might comes Miss Reese with the quiet assertion that j be coined into money. She would succeed. ‘lour picture is like you only you are much ^e altar’s foot, he might say, when they be- lovelier. No wonder Mr. West loves you so. came convinced that a marriage would not pro- ! ‘Have you seen Royal to-day, Zoe asked. mote their happiness.’ Aes, he dined with us. He nad promised j Then he opened a bottle of champagne on the j several days ago. This is my father’s birthday, ‘And did he tell yon anything—anything very particular?' Zoe asked, looking at her and hold ing the little gloved hand between her warm, kind palms. ‘He told me you had come and he had seen you ’ ‘Nothing else ?' She shook her head. ‘He talked but little; be said he was not well.’ ‘Tnere is something more that he ought to have told yon—that he will tell you,’ Zoe said smiliDg caressingly into the wondering young face. centre table by him and proposed the health and prosperity of the two who had dissolved partnership. ‘Oh, Zoe, how could you ?’ asked Kate, re- I proachtullv, when she could get a moment apart ! with her friend. •He did not love me, Kate, he loved another. J Could you not see it?’ ‘That Taylor girl ? So she is the cause of j this? I thought so. I shall always hate her for it. ’ j ‘No, you must not. She is a sensible, affec- | tiouate girl, just suited to Iioy, and she loves j him dearly,’ She is unprincipled, or she never would have to She would have said mor6, so sorry was she tempted him away from you—tempted him „ to see that lair lace clouded with a despondency (, rea |j his honorable word and wrong a girl worth which the young creature was evidently stnv- j a hundred Florence Taylors.’ ing against, thinking it sinful for her to feel, but Mrs. Melvin came in at this moment with her invitation for Florence to come to tea. ‘There will only be two or three friends,’ she said. ‘Mr. Lareau, Royal West and his sister. Zoe and her brother are only home folks.’ The girl hesitated. She knew it would give her pain to see Royal's devotion to this lovely lady, but the human heart, especially the heart of the young, has a perverse, morbid dssire to inflict pain on itself. Then she could not help wishing to see the betrothed pair together, and watch Roy’s manner to the lady of his love. Could his looks be much more tender than some he had bestowed upon her? ‘ I will come, Mrs. Melvin,’ she said, ‘if I can get any one to accompany me. My father never goes out. you know.’ ‘I'll send my Doctor,’ Mrs. Melvin said, gaily, ‘and a handsomer beau cannot be found in the city.’ Florence laughed and thanked her and so the question was settled. There was a spice of malice in Mrs. Melvin's motives for this cordial invitation. She was Zoe’s devoted adherent, and resented in her behalf, the attentions Royal had lately paid to Miss Taylor. ‘He looked glum this morning when he came to see Zoe, she thought. ■The temptation was unconscious on her part. Don’t be nr just, Kate. And Roy has not wrong ed me, dear. Let me tell you a secret. I w-as the first offender. I loved some one else better than Roy.’ ■You ? Zoe, I don’t believe you. It’s impos sible or I should have known it. Why who is be?' ‘Some day I may tell you—if I ever meet him again. If I never do, whv then: ‘Dear fatal name, rest ever unrevealed.’ she quoted, laugning. CHAPTER XXXVIII. Zoe had been several weeks in New Orleans. Pleasant weeks they were, though she felt a lit tle queer at seeing Roy, to whom she had al- reays been a first considerati in, now giving to another that unobtrusive but graceful and de lightful homage that she had so long been ac customed to receive from him. The November waather was as mild as spring, just frosty- enough to give sparkle to the brigtit autumn sunshine. Amusements were plentiful and Zoe eDjoyed the opera and theatre, as well as the drives to the lake and the walks through the public gardens and parks, where the evergreens were taking on the rich golden tinge, their win- ‘Tbe.new face has someth ing^tp ! Uu--;* ~ tv-si,*, J j f do with it. Like mbst men he is a ninny over j samines'were to be seen starring the thinned lo- every fresh, new face. Can’t he compare these [ Hage of hedges and boshes. In one of these two and see how superior my Zoe isto the other? walks, Zoe encountered her old acquaintance He shall have an opportunity to make the com- j Floyd Reese, handsomely dressed, aud accorn- purison to-night. Mr. Lareau is a fine singer panying a showy woman, highly rouged and and the Doctor is a splendid conversationalist. He will draw Zoe out into talking as she can talk, and she and Winter will sing together, and Miss Florence, who neither sings nor talks well, will be eclipsed so far that Roy West will see what a simpleton he is to waste a thought upon her, when such a girl as Zoe has condescended to love him.’ They all came. Zoe was radiant, and con tributed greatly to the pleasure of the evening by her quick tact in amusing people aud making them feel pleased with themselves and at ease. Bnt she set herself quietly against being ‘drawn out' in order to over shadow Miss Taylor. She was very attentive to Florence; took pains youthtnliy dressed, but no longer young. Floyd, with a nod of her superb head aDd one of her sugary smiles, passed on. •Why that is Miss llsese, Col. Alver’s govern ess. said Kate. •Do you recognize the lady she is with?’ ask ed Winter Lareau. ‘Yon saw her last night in East Lynne, but these stage stars look quite dif ferently by daylight. SheisM lie Claire Duprez, the leading actress at the Varietb s.’ ‘How came Fioyd Reese to know her so well, I wonder ?’ ‘I have seen the same lady with M'lle Claire several times. Lance tells tells me she is p.u en thusiastic friend of M’lie Claire s—writes poetry to lead her into conversation and make her ap- ! j a }j er praise for the morning papers, aDd super- pear well. Roy had not rxpeeted to meet Flor- I intends her stage toilets. Pity she could not •e here, had not prepared himself to be the room at the same time with the woman he was expected to marry and the girl who had stolen into his heart and to whom be felt his manner had been over tender for a pre-engaged man. He whs in a dilemma. He half believed Zoe would retract what she had said, that she bad been prompted by pride and jealous pique to break off with him as she had done. He thought this lover of the ‘romantic dream' a myth, or a by gone delusion brought np now to make him believe she was not hurt by his unfaithful ness. He had adroitly sounded Hugh on the subject and found that he knew nothing of any mysterious lover of his sister. He was not fully prepared to give Zoe up. Her attractions had never seemed so great to him as now. What j a pride a man would feel in having such a band- some graceful creature at the head of his estab lishment ! And then if the marriage was brokeD off, it would create gossip, and he had a proud man's dislike of his affairs being talked about. Yet dear little Florence; how sweet and loving she was ! Zoe understood pretty much what was passing in his miDd, and she determined to put an end to his indecision. She would take the initiative herself aud let it be known that the marriage was not to be. An opportunity presented itself. Hugh was describing an elaborately designed piece of sil ver plate tUat L ireau had ordered as a gift to some lriends—a fruit dish—the design a chariot drawn by doves and ornamented with wreaths of myrtle and grape, with embossed flowers and fruits, scattered also over the salver of solid j „ raee imaginable, silver on which the chariot rested. 1 8 — ‘ A wedding present of course and we can guess for whom intended,’ Mrs. Melvin said, looking from Zoe to Royal give her some of her freshness and her fine physique. They would be worth far more than dress accessories to the Claire.’ The next evening they went again to the Ya- rieties—the play was still East Lynne, and being then a new and popular piece, tne house was full. When the heroine of the play came on the stage, the sudience were too much surprised to greet her with the applause usually given to a star on j her appearance. They saw, instead of M’lle Claire with her carefully made up lace and form, a new face, fresh and beautiful, the neck and arms of a Greek goddess,hair in sun-hned waves over her superb shoulders—a shape at once se ductive and commanding. Zee let fall her opera glass in her surprise. ‘It is Floyd Reese,’ she said to Kate. ‘How in the world did she manage to get in here ? a leading part too. I can’t understand it,’ said Roy, who was with them. ‘Hush,’ whispered Kate, -she is speaking, she has enough of the debutante to make her voice tremble a little.’ There were other signs of the debutante—signs too, of being new to her part—a want of ease and readiness, a hesitation and nervousness,but her natural grace, her self-reliance, her fine voice, and her btauty tided her over these draw backs, and her acting was successful, The witchery of the woman triumphed over the inex perience of the actress. Her pow er increased as her nervousness wore off and when the curtain fell on the first act, she was loudly called for, and coming forward, bowed with the sweetest ■ She would show Alver that she could live in spite of his cruelty. His scorn should not kill her. She did not see him as she turned in an oppo site direction and signaled a solitary, rnsty cab that was passing. As she was getting into it, Alver walked rapidly towards her. ‘Floyd’ he called again. She saw him, fierce resolve nerved every feature. ‘I said to you just now, farewell forever. .1 I shall never step across your path again.’. The cab drove away. He was left standing on | the wharf hardly knowing which he felt the most, relief or disappointment at being thus ; freed from the woman who had exercised such control over his head if not his heart. He found afterwards that she took up her abode at a fashionable hotel. He wrote to her 1 and enclosed a bank note. Letter and money came back to him. Sue would scheme in vari ous ways to get money, but she would not ac- ! cept it from him. She won her place on the Varieties’ boards by stratagem as he suspected, j But she had not meaut a crime this time; only a trick. It was not poi*on, but only tartar emetic —a poisonous drug it is true, but not fatal in small quantities—which she had dropped in her companion’s drink. She had determined to do this when she insinuated herself by flattery and ! delicate service into the actress's confidence j and affection aud when she had studied with j secret assiduity and rehearsed in the privacy of her own room the favorite role of M'lle Claire, j She was radiant with triumph to-night. Even small success like this stimulated her intel lect and filled her full of electric power. Plot and intrigue were vital air to her. ‘She was born without a conscience,’ thought Alver as he watched her. Another watched her. Her Nemesis was there i and she did not know it. Had she lifted her j eyes to the gallery, they would have met a pair 1 peering from under a slouched nat—that would have made her quail and falter in her most tell ing speech. Cobb had remained in conceal ment until the news came to him that the Co- : hatchie prisoners were released, and then, un able longer to restrain his impatience to get possession of Floyd, he had followed her to the : City, hiring as a deck hand on a steamboat aud sitting heretp-night in the red blouse and wool ! hat of the roust-a-bont. He chewed his tobacco fast and fiercely as he watched the stage. He shifted his feet restless- j ly; drops of sweat stood on bis forehead. He would h>ve liked to have leaped on the stage and torn her away from it—this white-armed syren, that men were fliDging flowers to an I j adiuiriug through their jeweled lorgnettes. If ; they dared to interfere with him, he could turn on them and say ‘she is mine’ and defy her to j deny it. She would not, in th6 face of the hold I he had upon her—his knowledge of her true name and the crime in which she was implicat- 1 ed. He believed now that she had been deceiv- ■ too him: he believed that it was she Devrayed ms niuiiTg piftCe tcry Jb cavairy ana iea r him the closest race for life he had ever had; i but he never thought of giving her up for this. It only stimulated him more in his pursuit of j her. He was as fierce in his resentment, as in the brute passion be called love. He said to himself that when he bad her in his power he would make her pay dearly for all this. He would carry her olf to the wilds of Mexico or the Indian Territory where there would be no men to take h6r part aud go mad over her, and she should see no one but him, know no will but his. He would laugh to scorn her intel lectual pretensions and make her feel himself her master. She had better have lain low if she wanted to escape him. He had huute ’ for her through the City, wherever he dared during the two days he Pad been here. He had dogged Alver’s steps without daring to speak to him, and he was here to-night to look out for his prey, and lo ! there she was flashing behind the footlights. ‘What cheek she has!' he said grimly. •Wouldn't it cut her down at the knees though, if some Texan or Louisianain in this crowd that had knowed her in times paBt was to get up and hollow out ‘‘Mabel Waters.’ The thought had scarcely past through his mind, when a voice behind him—a gruff voice that was familiar to him, said: ‘If I didn’t know that Mabel Waters was d6ad and paying the penalty of her sins, if there is any punishment hereafter, I'd say that woman was she. You've heard me speak of her Hirne— •Jim Waters’ wife, that helped a fellow to kill her husband, they say, after they refugeed to Texas the last years of the war. She and a young Texan and Waters’ overseer that went off with them from Bayou Teche were all implica- detain her. ted in the deed. The young man was lynched, ‘Flovd he cried,’ but she had passed out of I the overseer ran off to Mexico, and the woman the hall and down the steps of the hoarding S got drowned in trying to make her escape; but house and was hurrying down the street as \ that actress jnst gone off the stage is almost her she can take the part. The manager stares in credulous, Miss Reese persists, a rehearsal is hur riedly called and it proves that she can go through the part more than creditably, as you see to-night. It may end in an engagement if the young lady has aspirations for the stage,and is not too devoted to her dear friend to supplant her, which I think possible, as the manager tells me she refuses to be paid for playing to night, says the money must go to M’lle Claire. He is delighted with her, swears she is the handsomest woman in the world, and worth a dozen of poor, jiassee M'lle Claire. Such eyes and shoulders may dazzle even a manager, and make him see talent where none exists, though I am far from saying ’ ‘Excuse me,’ said a voice. A gentleman leant forward from the seat behind and touched the dramatic critic on the arm. ‘Is the actress— Mille Duprez—dangerously ill?* Zoe recognized the voice i.tnongh there was a bnskinessae of emotion :#tfc)and turned round to speak to Col. Alver, noting that though he bowed to her with his usual graceful smile,there was a troubled look on his lace. She thought it cleared somewhat, when ho heard that the ill ness of the actress was not thought very serious — an attack of cholera morbus, tne physician had pronounced it. ‘What should it concern Colonel Alver ?’ thought Zne. She could not guess that, knowing Floyd Roese as he did, a suspicion had entered his mind while he listen ed to Lance’s story, a suspicion that she had schemed to get the place she occupied to-night, aud had got it by foul play. Had desperation at being repulsed by him d.-j^en her to commit a new crime? For he had shaken her off at last. She had followed him to New Orleans. When the trial was over and the prisoners set free on their bond to ‘appear when called for’—equiva lent to an acquittal—she came to him with her congratulations and hersuggestionsofambitious plans for the future. He listened to her with anger and impatience. How utterly heartless she was! He owed the darkest regret of his life to her. She it was, he now knew, whose schemes had given a bloody ending to his plot for rid ding his parish, perhaps his state, of Radical rule. He would have no more to do with poli tical scheming. The recollection of that bloody tragedy which he had unwittingly inaugurated was like a smouldering flr c within him and dried np the springs of ambition forever. When she intimated that she knew for a surety that Witcbeil would be killed before six months, he turned upon her, scornful anger flashing in his eyes, and forbade her to speak to him on such a subject. •Cursed be the day that I ever dipped my hands —the clean hands of a gentleman—into the foul stream of political intrigue,’ Lesaid. And then looking at her coldly: ‘You ask what I am go ing to do now ? I answer, I am going to return to my senses if possible; I am going to attend to my legitimate business tjift.t imglect has near ly ruined. I am going tojwe ‘$>r the interests ,la-.j.f.iA—'A' _•«aiv:« itfirt «it more to me than all the World, i am going to pray them and my God to pardon me for having followed ai ignusfatuus that I now know was kindled at the tires of eviland waved by a temp ting fiend.’ His words fell as blows upon her heart. In his angry scorn of himself and her, he did not dream what terrible force his words possessed, withering as they did the hopes that had fed her feverish existence so long. He had come to think of her as a hardened adventuress, unscru pulous as to crime, caring only for money aDd power. He thought her passion for him was a mere pretence to gain her ends, as he knew her professed regard for Cobb to have been. He had no conception of its reality and intensity —that it was the one true thing in the woman’s nature. She had felt death trampling behind her in hot pursuit; she had faced threats and insults and horrible fears of discovery and ever recurring torture of remorse, but despair had never seized her as it did at this moment, when she felt her self scorned and condemned by the man she loved and had sinned for. Yet crushed and wrecked as she felt herself, she did not lose her self-command or she lost it for a moment only. For a moment she stood white and speechless as stone, then she smiled in cold derision and made him a mocking obeisance. ‘Include mein your prayer, pious sir,’she said. Then with a bitter sarcasm in her tone, she flung him the rebuke of Mephistophiles to Faust. •The devil that acts, commands respect, the devil that repents, I know of no more mawkish thing.’ She gathered up her shawl and rose. ‘Fare well; I shall never trouble you again’ she said, aDd she was gone from his sight before he could ‘Family ! You don't mean to say you’re mar ried, comrade ?’ ‘No, I’m not, worse hick for me, bnt I shall have three children to keep me company—two 1 fine, stalwart boys and a little girl with dark, j sweet eyes and a rosebud mouth —a little beau- I ‘y-’ ‘Not your own children, surely ?’ v>*No, their fathers were better men tbaD I ever was or will be. Two of them are poor Parkin son’s boys—you remember he fell at Eikhorn at the head of his company. My Jeannie’s father was a young adjutant who was killed near Rich mond in the last year of the war. Her mother died a few months ago.’ ‘Yen’ll have to marry some good woman for : the child’s sake, if for no other. I know you’ve no use for the craft since the one you had in ; tow wrecked yon and—-—I beg your pardon, | comrade, I didn't mean 1 remember ’ i ‘No harm done,’ said Hirne gently. ‘I’ve got over that since I knew you. And I'm not a wo man hater any more, Lawrence.’ ‘I almost wish I was,’ headaed in thought, as at that instant, Zoe turned her face to Royal and replied to something he had said with a little graceful nod and u smile so sweet that Hirne inwardly groan ed in bitterness of heart. (TO HE CONTINUED ) Yonder s Lance, coming to us with Lareau,’ Roy said. ‘Now we shall hear how it comes that we L-ave a new star instead o* M'lle Claire.’ Lance, a slender long-limbed \cuDg fellow, •And when is it to be presented, may we ask?' j witb jjgjjt hair parted in ihe middle, and fuzzy questioned Dr. Melvin taking off his gold rim med spectacles and smiling benevolently around. ‘We are all in the family, as it were and lake a family interest in onr two young friends here, may we not know when the hap py day is to be Rot al ?’ Roy colored and looked confused. •I refer you to the lady sir,’ he said, I shall abide by her decision.’ ‘Why is it not yet decided? Zoe are you another ‘bailie of the Valley’, who had, ‘So great a mind It took along timemaking up?'” ‘Yes; it is decided,’ Zoe said leaning slightly forward, her elbow resting upon a stand, bear ing a vase of cut flowers. Her cheeks had flush ed, but her mouth though pleasant, almost smil ing, expressed firmness, her look was clear and earnest. ‘It is decided that it is not to be at all.’ She waited until the exclamations of surprise and disappointment had subsided, and contin ued. ‘It is not to be at all. Such is the mutual ! and amicable agreement. Both of us discover moustaehe, came up, following Lareau, and was immediately questioned about the new appear ance. He was dramatic critic of a daily paper, and occasionally earned a few dollars by polish ing np or pftring down plays to suit manager's requirements. Hence he knew all theatre peo ple, sympathized with the managers, was per mitted behind the scenes, where he offered sug gestions to the actresses about their ‘make up,’ and drank beer and sherry with the leading lad ies and gentlemen between the acts, when the ‘heavy agony’ of the play necessitated a replen ishing of exhausted forces. Usually, Mr. Lance’s printed opinion of these leading ladies and gen tlemen was regulated by the amount and quality of the wine, or of the supper to which he was invited after the play. He took pride in being familiar with all green-room gOBsip. •Plays pretty well, does'nt she,’ he said in ans wer to Roy’s questions about Miss Reese. ‘Won derful well when you know that she has had but one rehearsal of this piece, and never acted before in her life. Fact. She and M lie Claire are Dauion and Pythias in petticoats. The swiftly as though pursued. He cangnt up his hat and followed her. A revulsion of feeling had come over him. He had not meant wholly to abandon her. She had devoted herself to his interest. For the sake of this devotion, he would not Jet her suffer through want; and though he was no longer controlled by tne spell of her intellect aDd her physical fascinations, these had not wholly lost their power over him. At a turn of the street lie caught sight of her fig ure flying rapidly before him in the gray No vember twilignt, and its sinuous grace appealed to bis heart. A picture of her face rose before him as he had seen it just now, when she bent to him in mock reverence, her beautiful mouth quivering with anguish more than sarcasm, her eyes wild and woful behind their flashing mask of scorn. The kisses promised him from that perfect mouth bad never yet been given or claim ed. The black wraith of retributive remorse and self-rebuke had risen between him and white-armed passion, but though he had shaken off those white fetters, he was still weak image. Cobb trembled and slouched his wool hat farther over his eyes. In spite of his disguise— j the black dye on his red hair and whiskers and \ his changed appearance, he was afraid he might be recognized by the eld steamboat captain who bad known him on the Teche. But nobody no- | ticed him. The play proceeded and absorbed the attention of the two behind him, or at least of the sailor, for the former steamtoatsman had since taken to the sea and had a steamship ply ing between this port and Honduras and Brazil. Hirne’s eyes wandered often from the st«ge to the profile of a lovely woman occupying one of . the choice seats below. He had come here to night hoping to get a glimpse of her. He had seen her walking with Royal and Kate the day before—the same day of his arrival, and though he believed her to be Roy’s wife, be could not resist the longing to look at her agaiD. On the next day but one, be was going away. He saw them go into an ofiice where tickets were for sale, found out that they bought tickets for the from their thrall. Though he believed this wo- j Varieties that night and got one for himself and man to be a beautiful incarnation of evil, he still followed tier in the dim, drizzly twilight, ' and felt a keen uneasiness when he saw her steps ' were directed towards the river. He was de tained a moment by an acquaintance; he broke | from him unceremoniously, bat he had lost her, and for a time he looked for her in vain; when I — -• 0 at last he caught sight of her, she was standing dow n and turning granger 6 8° oa J° on a dilapidated, unfrequented part of the whaif Honduras tn the bouthern }aeenwithme. We looking down at the black water below her feet, j uext Thursday. He stood off and watched her. The wind that j ‘Don’t you think it’s time I was done sow- moaned round the pier lifted her hair and drove ; ing wild oats ? returned Hirne. ‘I saw a gray another for an old friend who was with him. lie chose a seat in the gallery; there he could see her with little fear of being seen by her. When the curtain fell on the third act, Cobb heard the grufl-voiced sea captain say. Hirne vou’re not in earnest about settling a tine mist of rain in her face. She stood motionless. A wild impulse to end her life had led her here, but this impulse had been quenched as it had many times before by a fear of deatu or what might possibly wait behind death. It was probably nothingness and rest, but whaf if it were not, and if one might meet in the Beyond the rebuking eyes of those who hair in my beard this morning. If you bad seen the money I paid out for farm supplies, imple ments etc. to-day, you’d think I was in earnest about turning granger. My farm—stock ranche and grain plantation combined—cannot be beat in the section where I live. Settle down ! why a man with a family can’t play the Wild Rover well, can he?’ 11 ELIO DO LIS. nr philip schaff, d. d. On a sunny afternoon in Maroh I made, in company with several American, English and Scotch fellow-travellers, an excursion to the ruins of Heliopolis, the City of the Sun, one of the most ancient cities of the world. It lies about eight miles north east of Cairo, and can be reached by carriage or donkey over a good road, through rich grain fields, meadows and vineyards. Heliopolis is the Greek name for the Egyp tian e i-n-re (i e., ‘the abode of the sun’), from which was derived the Hebrew On or Aon (Gen. xli. 45), translated Beth-Sh&mesh( ie., the house of the sun, Jerem, xlni. 13). It was the Rome and Oxford of ancient old Egypt, the capital of its hierarchy and it6 university. Here Hero dotus, ‘the father of history,’ acquired most of his knowledge of Egypt laid down in his second book, where he calls the Heliopolitans ‘the best skilled in history of ail the Egyptians.’ Here Plato, the prince of Greek philosophers, studied, and the house in which he spent several years was still shown at the time of Strabo. Every Pnaraoh brought his rich offerings to this place and bore the proud title, Lord of Heliopolis. Here was the sanctuary of the worship of Rah, or the sun, and of the sacred bull Muevis. Here arose the legend of the wonder-bird Pbcenix, which the early fathers employed to illustrate the doctrine of the resurrection. Here Joseph the patriarch was married to Asenath, the daugh ter of the High Priest, Potipherah (i. e., dedicat ed to the Rati). Here (according to Josephus) the family of Jacob flist resided on their arrival in Egypt. Here Moses was instructed in all the wisdom of the Egyptians. But the glory of Heliopolis has long since departed, as Jeremiah predicted : He shall break the images of Beth-shemish, that is in the land of Egypt; and the houses of the gods of the Egyptians shall he burn with fire (xliii. 13.) Strabo visited the city twenty four years be fore Christ; it was already a heap of ruins. Noth ing remains now of Heliopolis but some traces of the massive walls, fragments of sphinxes, and an obelisk of red granite (58 feet high and bear ing the name of Osirtasen 1., the second king of the twelfth dynasty. It was one of two obelisks which stood before the Temple of the Sun at the inner e^od of an avenue, of^phinxes.^ Lepsius discovered in the Necropolis of Mem phis, the most ancient specimen of Egyptian sculpture. It is nearly four thousand years old. There it still stands in solitary grandeur and unbroken silence. Had it a mouth to speak, it could tell of the visit of Abraham and Sarah, of the wisdom and purity of Joseph, the inquisi tiveness of Herodotus, the sublime speculations of Plato, the mysteries of Egyptian learning and idolatry, the rise and fall of ancient empires. The vandalism of travellers has hacked the base of this hoary monument with a sledge-hammer to steal some pieces. The bees have built their cells in the hieroglyphs of two sides and made them illegible. Heliopolis is called in hierog lyphic inscriptions ‘the city of obelisks,’ from the great number of those square monolith columns terminating in a pyramidal apex. They represented the rays of the sun, and were spec ially adapted to the worship of the sun and the City of tne Sun. The two obelisks of Alexan dria which are inappropriately called ‘the Need les of Cleopatra,’ stood originally in Heliopolis, whence they were removed in the reign of Tib erius. One of them, which I saw lying in the mud last February, is now floating on the Med iterranean on its way to London, where it will hereafter adorn the court of the British Museum or the embankment of the Thames, as the obe lisk of Luxor adorns the Place de la Concorde in Paris (since 1834). Mehamet Ali had long ago presented the Needle of Cleopatra to the British Government, but it was not though worth the cost and labor of removal. The an cient Egyptians floated them on rafts down the Nile, and raised them by inclined planes of wood and ropes with the aid of thousands of men. About fifteen minutes’ walk from Heliopolis is the venerable sycamore which is called the Tree of the Virgin, because Mary, according to the Coptic legend, rtsted there with Jesus after her flight from the wrath of Herod. It is cer tainly a most remarkable tree for its size, and gnarled and j tgged appearance. The Khedive presented it after the inauguration of the Suez Canal to the French Empress Eugenie, who had it surrounded by an iron railing. The Roman Catholics, however, assert that the real tree of the Virgin died in 1(5(55, and they show its last fragments in their convent at Cairo. It is one of those superstitious legends which nobody can either prove or disprove. Close by this tree is the Miraculous Fountain, which was once salt, but turned sweet when the Virgin Mary bathed the Holy Child in its waters. In the same reg ion are the gardens where once flourished the balsam tree which produced the famous Balm of Gilead. Now the cotton pl.-.nt is cultivated. Heliopolis reminds me of an amusing speci men of ignorance. A rich Californian, travell ing with some Methodist ministers, when in formed that in this place Joseph got his wife, the daughter of a priest, was quite astonished, and indignantiy asked, ‘Was Mary Magdalene the daughter of a priest?’ The same gentle man, when crossing the Delta, remarked* ‘We shall soon pass the Jordan.’ ‘No.’s lid his friend, ‘the Jordan is a river in Palestine.’ ‘You are right,’ he replied, 'it wan the Danube I meant! I met this traveller in the Mediterranean Hotel in Jerusalem, when he gave the company at the dinner-table the important piece of information that he visited Akeldama, ‘the famous place which Judas sold for thirty pieces of silver ! I felt quite ashamed of America, but was some what relieved when I asked an English travel ler whether he had passed through the Desert and visited Mount Sinai, and was told he real ly did not remember, aDd must first look up his journal! Maggie Mitchell, has concluded the purchase of AI. Louis Vider's new play, with which she will commence her season in San Francisco early, in the autumn.