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Jean’s Winter in the City. BY STEPHEN BBENT. CHAPTER VIII. The days slipped by, each one a golden grain in the honr glass of Time. The Christinas holi- d:yg passed, and January came in, with sleet ana rain, and howling winds; bnt the weather was no check on the pleasure seekers. Morning, noon, and nigLt, there was something to do. The season was an unusually brilliant one, and Folly, and Ftsbion, were the order of the day. Of our friends, each one played his part in thedruna well. Jean’s wordly knowledge en- creased each day, but she remained as free from the evil in 11 uences, that surrounded her us when she first came. She acopted the good, and rejected the bad, and went her way, untainted by cynicism, or coquetry, which blight all the flowers of love, ana trust in the human heart. She was faithful to her drawing, and never failed in visiting Meg and Cacile, keeping them supplied with necessary comforts. Cecils wau slowly, but surely slipping out of life. Each day she drifted nearer, and nearer, the shining shot es oi the great Beyond. Even inexperienced Jean could see it, and knew that when the early fiiwers began to bloom, on sunny hillsides, she would lie down in peace, and sleep. It was patent to all New York that Sir Angus Lynn, slow, heavy, and thoroughly English, would soon lay his atc«trel name at Miss Rivers feet, aDd no one entertained a doubt, that she would accept. Lennox Holmes would net pet his fate to the touch. The stakes were heavy, and he grew cowardly at the thought of losing. To all appearance, Palmer was still liv ing an idle purposeless life, standing eloof and sailing in cynical amusement, at the follies, and miseries behind the scenes. He was still Jean’s guardian, and friend, nothing more, nothing less, and no one ever thought there could be deeper feelings under the surface. He was too proud, and fastidious to ever really love any one, and then there was a large fortune in the balance. Mrs. Danleath must be pleased with bis choice of a wife, and it was absurd to think sh9 would give her consent to his marrying the French artists daughter; who had neither name or money to recommend her. So things stood when a new character appeared, Mis. Wilton. She was a large lair woman, of nine and twenty, with blonde hair, milk-white skin, and large light blue eyes. ‘I saw her to-day,’ said Lennox, walking into his friend's room. ‘Who?' p.sked Palmer, knocking the ashes eff his cigar. •Mrs. Wilton, end sho inquirea about you.’ ‘I am much obliged to her, and by the way Lennox, did 1 ever tell you that Mrs. Wilton, widow of the late lamented Matthew Wilton, millionaire was the heroine of my love story ? yes she played a very important part in that little drama.’ ‘Thunder !' exclaimed Mr. Holmes with more force than elegi.nce, and came very near upset ting the table in his surprise. •You seem very much surprised, I am sorry I didn't break the news more gently/ ‘I am surprised.* To think/^met her last year—’ , *-~r— V- •Tile year before y m mean'* ‘Well, and I talked about her a hundred times, and yon never said a word. By Jove ! what a strange world this is.’ •Yes, strange indeed my young friend, learned that years age. Lennox gathered up his scattered faculties •Mis. Wilton is very hands ime,’ he said slow ly, but not the woman I thought you could ever fall in love with.’ •There is no accounting for taste. A man may be wise in all other things; but show himself up a perfect idiot in selecting a wife. I never will be a vain man. Even if 1 could climb to the last round of the ladder of fame, that piece of youthful folly would keep me from being puff ed up with pride at my greatness. My blind ness and idiocy will always be a reproach.’ Lennox was not the only one that spoke to Falmer about Mrs. Wilton. When he went to Mrs. Carroll s, on his regular morning visit, Mrs. Danleath said : •Gordon I have seen that woman this morn ing. She had the assuranco to call on Grace as an old friend.’ When a woman wishes to crush any one with contempt, she always puts the word that before their name. Palmer knew perfectly well who she was alluding to, bnt with an amused smile he said: ‘How am I to tell who that woman is. ‘Mrs. Wilton of course,’ with a sharp glance to sea bis face changed. It remained unmoved. •Ah yes, I met Mrs. Wilton abroad and found her quite as charming as ever.’ Mrs. Danleath looked at him keenly. ‘Perhaps after all you didn’t get over that—’ she hesitated. ‘Perhaps I didn’t,’ was the calm reply. She watched their meeting; but it only quietly, conventionally polite. Mr. Palmer went up to her, and held out his hand. •M:s. Wilton this a plea.-ant surprise. When did you arrive?' Something like a flush passed over her face, and the soft jewelled hand trembled slightly. Only yesterday,’ she answered looking up into his face. ‘I grew tired of foreign faces, and foreign tongues, and longed for home.’ Her voice was smooth, and well modulated, but lacked the subtile charm of truth, and sweetness. Wnile commenting on the people around her she spoke of Jean. ‘Mis Dtlare seemed to a favorite in society,’ sbe said fanning herself with slow grace, ‘and that is a mj sfery. She is passably good look ing, but ber face is tuo childish, and her man ners too unformed, to be attractive I think.’ •It is that very childishness that attrac s,’ said Palmer. ‘You know we always look on tbe days of childhood as the happiest*, and when we meet anyone like Miss Delare, it brings back the freshness, and inncoance of our own early youth.’ He spoke in a perfectly dispassionate tone of voice, and looked at Miss Delare with no more interest than he would any other young lady. His heftrt was not piin d on his sleeve. Jean was introduced to Mrs. Wilton some time during the evening, and with one glance into the light blue eyes, she felt an instant aversion to her which sue knew was returned. ‘I cannot account for it,’ thought Jean, ‘but I could no more trust her than—than—’ she could not find a suitable comparison, and she dropped the thought. ‘Who is Mrs. Wilton, Del'a ?' she inquired as they stopped in the upper hall to say goodnight. ‘She is Mrs. Wilton, and Gordon Palmer’s old love my dear, and that is all I know.’ The faint color waned, and left Jean's face. ‘I did not know I only thought—’ •That Mr, Pal tier could be so foolish as the rest of us poor mortals. Well he has been,’ and in a few brief words, she told the story. ‘You see, Mrs. Wilton has more Eense than anyone weuld give her credit for. You lock tired,’ suddenly noticing the white, weary, young face. ‘Go to bed and to sleep or you will bi s'ck.’ Safe in her own room, Jean knelt down on the hearth rug and laid her head in a chair. Her cousin’s words were a revalat.cn of her own feelings. In a flaih her whole heart lay revealed and she fonnd that it was forever gone from her own keeping. Oh the pain, the shame and hu miliation of knowing that she had given her loveunsuught. Her oheeks burned at the thought that perhaps he knew her folly and was amused at it. All at once she stepped from the borders of girlhood iDto womanhood and left the lest of her free, careless life behind. It was useless to struggle against that which could not be un done and all She could do was to bury her secret from all human eyes. Her woman’s pride would carry her through and for the first time she was almost glad at the thought of going back to dull Cross Corners. Days pushed. One afternoon Jean filled a bas ket with dainties and went to see Cecile. The child welcomed her with a glad smile and put ting aside everything else, the girl read and talked to her until the shadow's began to fall. ‘Have you been on a charitable mission again, Jean ?’ asked her cousiu carejjpts y when she re turned. ‘I have been seeking knowledge,’ was the re ply, with a smile. •You went to a queer place to find it,’ said Della. They were going to the theatre and from there to a ball that evening, but J#an decided to stay at home. The thought of the poor patient, lit tle cripple slowly dying, made so much gaiety distasteful to her. ‘Do as you like, my dear,’ said her aunt care lessly. ‘You had better go, Jean, Mr. Carew will bo bitterly disappointed,’ said Della. Jeon blushed. ‘You are mistaken, cousin.’ ‘No, I am too wise for that.’ Jean stayed in her own room until nine o’clook, then went down to the library for a book. She did not know anyone was there, so she pushed open the door and went in. Her uncle and Mr. Palmer were sitting at a table looking over some papers. Jean would have re treated, but it was too late. •Come in, child,’ said Mr. Rivers. ‘I thought you had gone with your aunt and cousin.’ Jean bowed to Palmer and walked to the book case. •No sir, I thought I would stay at home this evening.’ Tbe gentlemen concluded their business and Mr. Rivers drew on his overcoat and glasses. ‘I must be at the Merchant's Exchange by ten o’clock, so I hope jou will excuse me, Palmer.’ ‘Certainly,’ said Mr. Palmer with willing grace. •Jean will entertoia you,’ and the master of the house disappeared. •You heard what your uncle said, Miss De- lare,’ smiling. ‘Yts sir, but I am not vain enough to think I could do it.’ •Why not?’ he placed a chair before the fire and seated her, then leaned against the mantle and repeated his question. •Why, am I so hard to entertain ?’ ‘No sir,’ meeting his keen eyes with a frank gaze, though it cost her a good deal to do it, ‘but a country girl could not be very entertain ing to one who has seen half the world.’ •Yet I may prefer your conversation to that of the most learned in the land/ Jean shook her head with a skeptical smile. •That is hardly probable.' Whatever rash words trembled on Gordon Paimer’s lips remained unuttered. A brief si- fell. I- ^ into tbe fire. The light flickered over her dresi and face and Palmer gave himsdf up to the pleasure of looking at her. He remembered the time that he first saw her, his own hurry to catch the train, the darkness outside, the dim light in the car and the slender, pale-faced girl, quietly asleep on the seat opposite him. Even then he had taken an interest in her beyond anything he had ever thought possible and now looking down at her, he felt for the first time that he could willingly resign anything to have her for his wife. •Are you so soon tired of fashion and folly that you stay at home tc-night/fcesaid abruptly. ‘No, I am not really tired of it, but I am not in the mood for music and dancing to-night,’ and something like a shadow stole over her face. ‘I met Monsieur Ferrial to-day and he in formed me that your artistic talent is wonder ful. Will you show me some of your sketches.’ ‘I am afraid when you see them you will be disappointed,’ said J«an laughing. She brought her sketch book, then they drift ed into a pbamnt conversation on art and ar tists and Jean forgot her last gloomy thoaght in her eager interest. The clock struck eleven. ‘It is later than I thought it was,’ said Jean in surprise. •Yes, I promiied to drop in at Madame Lind- ly’s and it is lime I was on my way. All pleas ant things have an end.’ •Was it pleasant to you?’ ‘Certainly. Would I have remained if net?’ ‘I thought perhaps you did it out of kindness to me,’ lighting thos6 frank clear eyes. ‘Never have such thoughts again, child, and now you must promise me to go to sleep and win some color in your face. You are looking entirely too spirit like.’ For the first time he lifted her hand to his lips and left a light Lis on the white fingeis and the next minute she heard him close the front door. She had just settled herself for a long, idle reverie, when there was the rattle of silken dra pery on the floor and Delia came up to the fire. Jean uttered an exclamation of surprise. •Why, Della, is it r»ally you.’ ‘Yob, are you so astonished V 1 was tired and so came home.’ She let her cloak fall on the floor and held her hands to tbe lire Cousin, you are shivering, are you sick?’ asked J.an gently. Sick? no, I am only rejoicing over my bril liant conquest,’ she held up her left hand. ’See the deed has bean done and Della Rivers will soon be merged into Lady Lynn.’ Jean looked at the glittering circlet, then at ber cousin’s beautiful, mocking face. ‘Della, Della 1 you have not accepted Sir An gus Lynn.’ •You innocent, ignorant little lamb 1 did you think I would refuse him ? Why, It would be sheer madness.’ ‘Oh Delia 1 don’t. You don’t love him.’ ‘Love him ? of course not I would as soon think of loving a clod of earth.* •Then, my cousin, you will never be happy as long as you live,’ said Jean solemnly Mist Rivers moved impatiently. •What a foolish, romantic child you are. Young ladies of the nineteenth century are not expected to have such a useless organ as a heart. “ You must marry well, ” are the first words rung in their ears and the refrain is re peated, over and over again, until it ia indeli bly impressed on their poor, weak brains. Love is never mentionel.’ She turned the ring on her finger with a bitter smile. ‘Poor mamma! how she has longed for this triumph.’ Jean was. shocked and wounded. To her, marriage had always been such a sacred thing, ratified ia the courts of hta /en and approved of by God, that she recoiled frem the thought that people male it the stepping-stone of their own selfish ambition. She made one more appeal to her cousin. ‘Della, do you know yon are committiog a deadly sin, for which you will be severely pun ished, here or hereafter ? Dear, think better of it and return the ring.’ ‘It is too late now, even if I wished to do so. ‘ ‘It is never too late to do good and then what of Mr. Holmes? 1 very softly. Della sighed drearily. •Poor Lennox !• she said with a tenderness very near akin to love, ‘I have treated him bad- *ly, but it is too late to be sorry now/ she rose up and shook cut the rich, shining silk, her jvwels catching the glow of the firelight, send ing out brilliant rays of prisoned fire every time she moved. She walked to the door, then turn ed and said: ‘Don’t let what I have done trouble you, Jean. Ramember it is my own choice.* The next morning at breakfast, Jean could plainly see that her uncle and aunt were pleased at Della’s choice. Mrs. Rif era beamed compla cently and was unusually affectionate towards her daughter, whose pearl-fair faee was as calm as if no ripple cf passion ever passed over it. ‘Come up to my room and read some, will you, Jean?‘ she said. 83.they roso from the table. ‘Certainly. Wh^t shall it be, poetry, history, or romance?" * •Poetry, if you can find anything worth read ing. ‘ ‘Fancy our great authors hearing you say that, Dalla/ said Jram laughing. ‘Why, I believe they would almost burst with indignation. ‘ Miss Delare had jast commenced reading Queen Meredith’s exquisite poem, Lucilie, when a servant brought up Lsnnox Holmes’ card. CHAPTER IX. Miss Rivers hattpsaid ‘No’ to a great many lov ers, sanding them off without any feeling of pity for their despair; but she shivered at the bare thought of the cruel pain she must inflict on Lennox Holmes. She went into the drawing room nervously conscioas that she had lost her usual calm self-p-usession. With an insane desire to keep as far as possi ble from the subject of love and marriage, she began to talk about the weather, the last ball, and the unusual number of brilliant people in New York, but the usually talkative Leanox was silent, and an awkward pause ensued. ‘Miss Rivers—Delia—’ But she put up her hand. ‘Lennox please don’t,’ she said entreatingly. ‘But I must—I)uil],’ he said with more firm ness than he had ever displayed before. ‘You must know—you must see how much I love you, and will you be my wife? I know I may seem presumptuous in asking you, but dear, you have been so kind to me.’ Yes, so cruelly kind. How bitterly Miss Riv ers regretted her foolish coquetry. How could she teil him the truth. He suffered the torture of silence for a minute, then said: ‘Please look up and tell me, may I hope ?’ She raised her eyes, their brilliance dimmed with tears. ‘I Lave been very weak, very wicked, Lennox, and I date not hope that you’ll ever forgive me; but I could not help it.’ A very weak argument, but the only one sha could think of. It would never do to tell him that it was the pleasure she took in his society, that made her act as she had. He rose up, his face very white. ‘Then there is no hope, in a low, quiet voice?’ ‘None,’ she answered, locking her trembling fingers, and unconsciously bringing her engage ment ring into full view. Lennox saw it, and felt his last hope crush and crumble into dust. •Forgive me ||r troubling you,’ ho said in the same slow, quicg»j»,y, ‘but hope blinded me to t* n ‘r.u.rlfc' ‘What truth? » h6 asked. ‘That you are engaged to Sir Angus Lynn/ There was a faint ring of scorn in his voice, harder to bear than angry reproaches. ‘I deserve all that you can say or imply,’ with a tired sigh. ‘I hold my otfn self in contempt at times, that I am so weak. Lennox, will you forgive me ?' ‘There is nothing to forgive. My blindness in supposing that you could care lor me, is alone to blame, and now good-bye, oh my love, my love 1 he said, almost breaking down. As the drawing room door closed, Della felt like somebody had rolled a stone, and closed the sepulchre of her happiness. So U{fuch for false teachings. eat crimson, and her eyes flashed angry fire. ‘What an unpardonable mistake you have made,’ in liquid, scornful tones. ‘Women are not supposed to be troubled with so light a thing as a mind.’ He bowed. •Thank you for correcting me. I see the er ror now.’ ‘I am glad that you do.’ ‘I hope though you will not look down on me with contempt for my ignorance.' ‘Certainly not.’ •For there is a chance that I may learn/ Sir Angus Lynn came up, his heavy face flashed with heat, and looking unmistakably ill-tempered. ‘I don’t see why s > many people come to these things,’ he said impatiently, ‘just see what a crush! ‘They come for the same reason that wo do, Sir Angus, said Palmer. ‘To see and be ssbd/ ‘A sorry eight/ grumbled Sir Angus. He turned to Della. ‘Wouldn’t you like an ica ? It is so miserably hot in here, it is enough to melt one’s brains. ‘ ‘Provided one has any/said Palmer with a peculiar smile, that Della folly understood. ‘I suppose you have no fear of youts melting,' she con’<’ not resist saying as she took her lov er’s arm. •No; none of us need have any fear, Miss Riv ers. I thick we are all singularly free from such a useful article.' Palmer looked across the room to where Mr. Carew was making himself agreeable to Jean, and a stern line came arouu l his lips. If he could not wear the woodland flower, no one else should. Very selfish, but, very natural. Della's wedding day was Sit for the twenty- third of April, and Jean was to be first brides maid. •I must go home then, cousin/ she said grave ly- ‘Why, I think mamma and papa will want you to remain with them. Think of the glories of a season at Long Branch, or New Port. • ‘I know it would be very pleasant, but I must go homo/ •To that dull, lifeless place ? Why ? I asked you just now/ •Because Aunt Dehly will be very lonely with out me, ‘ a tender chord in her low voice. ‘Indeed 1 I was mistaken in thinking you had no vanity. How calmly and confidently you speak of people being lonely, doprived of your society.’ The sensitive color tiug6d Jean’s cheeks. ‘I never think of any one's missing me but annt Dabby. Dear aunt DjbOy, she loves me,’ with a little sad undertone of heart pain, in her voice. Della looked at her curiously. ‘Yon speak as if no one else loves you but this aunt’ ‘Then I didn’t mean it, dear. You are all too kind for such ingrntitute as that, still, no one will ever love me as she does.’ Mins Rivers sighed. Ia a worldly point of view her future was unclouded sunshine, yet she sometimes thought that she, so blessed by the gods, had missed all of the real pleasures ol life. Jeon was half hidden in a velvet chair, her chin resting on one slim hand, the other idly holding a book. She was pale and dark, with a deep shadow in the lovely dark eyes. ‘Are you sick bonny Jean?’ Della suddenly and anxiously asked. ‘You look like a ghost.’ *<My ghostly looks are my natural ones, cous in. I am perfectly well.’ One rooming when the mail was brought in thefo wtlio two leuerk ior o fan. (faeYfom^aiss Gray, and one— •Who is it from I wonder,’ she said, 03 with a laugh Dalla handed it to her. ‘Break the seal and see, * her cousin suggested. ‘You remomber the flowers, don’t yon?’ With the traitor color rising in her face, Jean slipped the letter in her pocket, and leaving the breakfast room, went up stairs. She had a presentiment of what it contained before she opened it, and the thought brought her no piers ure. She read it slowly, then laying it on the table folded her hands and looked soberly at the line of pale winter sunlight on the carpet. Mr. Carew had offered his heart and hand to the country girl and she was thinking how best a fragrant havana to comfort him in his search. Lennox had ju«t turned the key in his travel ing satchel, whsn Lit friend opened the door. Ooe fciglt of his grave, pale face, and Palmer knew that he had failed. •You were right, Gordon,’ he said, with a faint forced smile.’ why her perverse heart would not be satisfied with his love. ‘It is vary strange,’ she said with a sigh. Ev erything seems to go wrong, and I the worst of all.’ If Jean had been taught in the school with _ . , ...... ,, the young ladyhood of the day, her head and ‘It gives me no pleasure to think so, was the I no t her heart would have been consulted; but swer. Heaven knows, I wish it bad been R h« had missed all such ad van times ; so nor honrt. otherwise.’ ‘Thank you cla fellow, but it couldn’t be, and I shall leave ia an hour.’ ‘I am sorry for that. Where ar8 you going?’ •Home, and thax., do you remember the par ty that wanted us to join ihem in a tour through the East? Well, 1 have made up my mind to go with them. Then,’ with a short, bitter laugh, ‘I don’t know what will become of me.’ ‘Don’t talk £tat way, Lennox,’ said Palmer gravely. ‘Be too proud to let a woman gay she ruined your life. Believe me, I would m>t give one that much pleasure.’ she had missed all such advantages; so her heart was judge and jury, and passed sentence in the case. Mr. Carew was profoundly astoniihed at her reply to his letter. Ha was vain enough to be certain of success, and I think his pride was hurt worse than anything else by her rejection. ‘By Jove;! doss she mean it?’ She evidently did, and when he thought of all he had lost, surprise gave place to pain, and he bowed his head with a heavy sigh. Important business culled him from the city at this time; so he told his friends, and as no one believed that a girl would be mad enough couraging. , , .. ‘I may be a veay foolish old woman: she said after a pause, ‘but I c innot rid my mind of the presentiment, tLat there will come a day when you wili give up fortune and all for your There was the rustle of silken garments and Mrs. Dunleath entered the room. Her cold, proud face brightened at the sight of her nephew, and she held out one white, aris tocratic hand. ‘I see you remember your engagement.’ ‘To drive out with you this morning ? My memory would not play me such a trick is that.’ ‘I wish you would join us, Grace,’ said Mrs. Dunleath. ■Not to-day, thank you, Valeria. Miss Delare is coming to spend the morning, and-take lun cheon with me.’ Jean came came true to her promise to spend the day with her friend, and Mrs. Carroll wel comed her with true, motherly warmth, and etjen Mr. Carroll left hi essay on Fossils and tafcked to her. Jean always enjoyed her visits to tbe two old people. They treater) her with the tender, lov ing kindness* that touched and warmed her whole inner nature. Mrs. Dunleath and Mr. Palmer returned neat luncheon time, aad the gentleman was easily prevailed upon to remain. It was two o’clock At three Jean put on her wraps to leave. ‘Don’t leave, dear, it is early,’ said Mrs. Car- roll. ‘Thank you, but I must go. Monsieur Ferri al will think that I have deserted my painting.’ ‘Have you been promoted to that dignity ?’ inquired Painter, with a small show of inter est. •Yes sir,’ answered Jean briefly. Mrs. Dunleath lifted her cold eyes languidly to the young girl’s face. ‘Ah, I suppose you intend to teach,’ with something very disagreeable in the flue, smooth tones. ‘Miss Delare is taking lessons simply for amusement,’ Palmer said, as he also rose to go. ‘Excuse me, Mr. Palmer, but you are mistaken. I may teach, indeed it is highly probable that I will,’her clear eyes fixed on Mrs. Dunleath’s face. Mr. Palmer walked dawn to the studio with her. ‘When do you think of returning home,’ he asked as they reached the step3. ‘The last ot April.’ ‘You have some time to stay ye; then.’ ‘Yes, but it will soon pass. ‘More quickly than you wish :* with a keen, searching look. She turned her face away, ga/ng down the crowded thoroughfare. ‘No sir, following the old adduge, that ‘bless ings brighten as they take their flight,’ Cross Corners appears almost interesting to me now/ ‘Bat your friends here, are they nothing to you ?’ •Yes, I shall always remember their kindness to the country girl, and then some day we may meet again.’ They were now at the top of the third flight of stairs, and was at the studio door. •I suppose new friends are not like old ones and tue^country lover particularly.’ Jean turned with an indignant flash in her eyes. ‘Mr. Palmer how— He took her small gloved hand in his warm clasp. ‘Good-bye bonny Jean, and do not be angry with m-e.’ %■ * ' t He was gone, and with a sigh half pleasure, half pain, Jean went in to her work. TO BE CONTINUED. The Boston Whittling Schools. A NevvDeparturc in Deference to the Taste of’ Yankee Hoys. ‘I will remember your advice alter awhile, I j to rt j ec t hjjn i no suspicion of the truth oocured am too reckless now to care what becomes of me. Palmer had always looked on Lennox in th’ light of a younger brother and was honestly very sorry for hire. He knew the wound struck deep, and that it would take years to heal it. •Confound women,’ he thought, with Bternly compressed lips. ‘There never was nor ever will be any trouble in the world that a woman is not at the bottom of it. From Eve down, they have proved more a sorrow than a j >y to poor man.’ Poor man indeed! It was well that a woman was not there to hear him; or there might have be6n a warm argument on the 6ubjec‘. The time would never come again when Mr. Palmer would believe that women were all angale. With the untried faith of youth, he had once believed it; but his eyes were very rudely opened and hia faith in woman’s angMio qualities melted away like a morning mist, and ojuld never again be fully restored. Miss Rivers received the congratulations of her friends with the calm self-possession be coming in a young lady betrothed to a baronet. There were no sudden flatters or so;t blushes. If the young lady’s heart was not altogether her own, it certainly was net in the possession of h6r lover. If her fae.v honors were already proving Apples of Sodom, no one kn6W it. Sir Angus did not trouble her with too much atten tion. He held her promise and was satisfied. Mis. Wilton drew a sigh of relief when she heard of Della‘s engagement, aad turning to her mirror surveyed the fair, plump reflection very thoughtfully. •Why shouldn t Iwin,’she said at last. ‘There is no one in the way aDd I look very near as well as I did that summer;’ and she wore pale, rose-colored satin and pee.rls to the reception that night, and when Palnlfer came up to speak to her, she tried the oharm of one of ber old time smiles on him. They were once very af fective, why not still? Della wrs standing near a window and was for a wonder alone, when E*aimer spoke to her. ‘Allow me to congratulate you on your sensible choice,' he said with keen sarcasm, ‘although I could wish for my friend’s sake that yon could have made up your mind earlier.’ The girl s fair, perfect face flushed to deep- to them. Mrs. Carroll discovered the truth froieu Dalla, who had guessed from her cousin’s very silence how matters stood. ‘I knew I would not be disappointed in the child,’ said Mrs. Carroll to Palmer. ‘WEat oth er girl would have done it ?’ ‘Perhaps she aspires higher, like her cousin,’ remarked Mr, Palmer with due gravity. ‘How can you make such remarks, when you know they cannot be true. When my Joan mar ries, her whole heart will be freely and fully given to her husband and it will be worth pos sessing too/ ‘That in a matter open to doubt.’ ‘Not to one that has studied her lifea3 Ihave.’ ‘I fear love has blinded your usual sound, clear judgement, Mrs. Carroll; you know it hides all faults.’ Mrs. Carroli was indignant, ‘I once thought—I don t know what I thought; but I see I was mis'akete’ Mr. Palmer threw baok his head and laughed, in a pleasant, genial way. ‘Will you allow me to make a remark?’ he asked at last. ‘Certainly. What is it ?’ ‘That the clearness of your speech is, to say the least, remarkable.’ Mrs. Carroll rais3d her eyes to his face. ‘Would you like to know what I really thought ?’ ‘If you will kindly tell me.’ ‘That you would lov9 this brown eyed, true- souled little girl youise’f. Mr. Palmer smiled S6renoly. ‘Are you aware how much it would cost me ? ‘I do not know, but 1 can guess.’ ‘Then I hope you will appreciate my pru dence.' •Gordon, would you allow that to influence you?’ ‘The question is, would I ba reckless enough to throw away easo and comfort for so small a thing. I am entirely past the age of romance, and can view these things by the calm light of j reason,’ j Mrs. Carroll resumed her work. She lal (learned nothing; still her defeat was not die- Formerly, al! the American schools were whit tling schools; but the art was practiced surrep titiously, the sott pine desks aad benches furn ishing the only whittling material. With the advent of highly finished, hard-wood echool furniture, all jack-knife practice in school was rigorously suppressed; and for a generation or so, the art has fallen into decadence. It has re vived, however, under improved conditions, the natural spirit of constructiveness—usually call ed destructiveness—incident to boyhood, being made the basis of systematic training of the most enjoyable and useful art. The pioneer institution is the Boston whit tling school, a private enterprise housed by the city. The school room has been fitted up with work-benches, divided into four feet sections, and each boy is furnished with such tools as he may need. Thirty-two were admitted the first year, their ages ranging from 12 to 1G Tue school report 3aya that perhaps twelve of them had rscaivjd some instruction in the use of the jig-saw and knife, but none bad any previous training in wood carving or the use of the chisel. There were more applicants for admission to the school than could be received. If any boy was absent two successive evenings, his p’aee was taken by another. A rank list was kept and pasted upon the wall, and each boy knew how his work was estimated by consulting the list. A course of twenty-four lessons in wood-carv ing was prepared with special reference to se cure the greatest amount of instruction with the least expenditure for tools and material. It was only designed to make finished workmen in wood c rving, but to take f d\cntp.ge of the natural in clination toward handicraft,the Yankee taste for whittling which belongs to most boys, and to develop it and guide it to useful applications. The experience of the founders leads them to believe ‘that it would be easier to ts.abiisb, in connection with all our grammar schools for beys, an annex for elementary instruction in the use of the half-dczen universal tools ie, the ham mer, plane,saw, chisel, file and square. Three or lour hours a week, for one year only of the grammar school course, would be enough to give the boys that intimacy with tools, and that en couragement to the inborn inclination to handi craft, and that guidance in its use, for want of which so maDy youcg men now drift into over crowded and uncongenial occupations, or lapse into idleness and vice/ Northern and central Europe have been doing this or similar work for years; and such teach ing has done very much to hasten the industrial development of the countries that have tried it. The proposition to erect a monument to Major Andre, hanged as a spy by order of General Washington, does not meet with popular appro val. The Baltimore Sou exp:esses our senti- menls as to the matter when it says: ‘There cannot be a doubt as to the justice and equity of ms sentence, and such a monument as Mr. iislds was origDaliy supposed to suggest would have impeached both. A memorial of the criti cal event c tn offend nobody. Bnt first let us f memorial « ** tell where Nathan Hale, of Rhode is and, was ex:cuted, aud where Isaac Hayne, of South Carolina, died a felon’s death tor his love ot country. These men have at least an equal title in this country with And r0 to monuments. His motive was at least a mixed one theirs is beyond question, but their tombs aie still unmarked, while Andre’s monument may be seen by Mr. Fields and all other visiters to Westminster Abbey,’ The property of Pins IX. is being sold at the Vatican. Everything, from superb j swelled crucifixes totmpty bottles, iscffrrel at the stile. I