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ORIGINAL STORIES. —— ■» lNOW JIRST PUBLISHJCD.J THE ONE THING NEEDFUL. By Misl M. E. Braddon. Author of "Lady Audrey's Secret," See. To SIUHT or TRACTS LATINS is R8SERVED. CHAPTER XUt. A Yoraa PBOTO WOKAK THAT HAS WILr, TO SAIL WITH. She had gone, she had shaken tho dust of that anfriendly home from off her feet, and bad gone jut into the more unfriendly worl d, penniless, without so much as the means to buy* a loaf of oread. She had left a house that had become in- tolerable to her after that scene on tl\e terrace. Those brutal speeches of Lashmar's had s.v.nng her hke scorpions. She had not been clever enough, rusie enough to understand that such unreason- able anger from such a man was the highest tribute man can pay to woman—the tribute of passionate, unwarrantable jealousy, which implies love as passionate. She only felt his scorn, his injustice; and her dominant thought was to escape fwm him for ever, never to see that dark, imperious face again. What a face it was She had pictured Achilles with just those eyes, that dark, bent brow, those icornful lips, those quivering nostrils breathing age, the very incarnation of anger—and Achilles, ihough she could but think him an unreasonable person, was her ideal hero. Hector, with all bis virtues, had never so deeply moved her. While Lashmar was talking to Verner, the fugitive was .ar upon the voai to Brumm, carrying her little bag, with a change of linen and half-a-dozen of her most cherished books—Homer, Virgil, Shake- speare. The books made the little bag a heavy burden for so long a distance, She shifted it from hand to hand very often, and sometimes almost groaned under the weight. She was tramping on .0 Brumm. knowing not how sh should act when she got there. But Brumm was the city in which her father had lived and died. He had been known here, and had been popular among the lower classes. Somewhere in that great town, perhaps, she would And some one who remembered che demagogue, and who would bo kind to his daughter. Hubert had told her once that her -'ather had been a great orator, that but for the violence of his opinions he might have been a great politician. It did not, occur to her tiiatshij would be pursued or hunted for by any one belonging tu the Castle. h6 fancied herself secure in her insignificance. Nobody had ever cared for her there, after the last Lord Lashmar's death. She had been useful to her ladyship as a reading machine, but that was 111. She Lad left the Castle in a tempest of angry feeling; had left without any scheme for her future, without thought of what, she would do with herself wrier she was outside the doors; she had ilsd as a captive eagle escapes to the wild sky and the trackless mountains, like that Siberian eagle to which Lashinar had comparad her but in :he long and weary walk to Bruinin, upon the onesome country road, under thd dark October sky, she had ample leisure to consider her future. The outl00k w, n0t cheerful. She haù nu one iti the world who could help her, unless "he s!I<JUlcI stocp to appeal to Mr. Nestorius, and he was just the one person to whom she felt she could not appeal. He nad asked her to be hig witj, had been eager to devote his life to her, and she had rejected lim; she could not ask him to provide for her uture. Her good old friend, Verner, was as help- ess as a child; she not burden him, nor ould she have accepted a home under the shadow f Lashmar Castle. Her easer desire was to escape altogether from that 'old life and its asso- ciations to hide hersdi, to lose her identity, if it were possible. Her chief hope for the futuvu W:13 in liar pen. If Nestorius had not boon ueceivud by his regard for her, she had written book which must sooner or later win her fame and money. lIe fQl that it was in her to write many such boosts—:o write jpon many subjects. Her pen had her friend and confidante for the last seven years. It as natural to her to write as to live. Secure, therefore, of bein able to earn money in the future, to win for herself that snug Httie home she had so often discussed wkh Belay Barber, she bad only to bridge ov ;r the difficulties of the nre.sent,to earn or beg a h >m<; and a crust. Lash- mar had told her that but for his mother's chanty she woui 1 in ;ili probability have been a factory girl. Even that thought did not aupal her. She was ready to work in any factory that would find her employment. She would have her evenings or her books and her pen. Life would be harder, nit. not mora joyless than it had heen at L-tshmar a;1tle, At last the sweet odours of the country-side, he perfume of wild flowers, the cool freshness of ewly ploughed earth, gave place to tite tum"s of urnaoes, a pervading taint of "not and sulphur. The flaring lights uf Brumm shone yellow against the dark blue 1)£ 11¡ht-t,he OWtl was neara.t hand- There the wildernesses of tild suburb! the inbuilt-upo:i building lots, the waste places, the desolations', the fields that were no longsr fields, he I¡¡if,finisi"d streets to puss; and then C<i.IlI., goal, a stubby street that seemed endless, a .travgiiiigr, sordid, hopeless-looking street, stamped for ever as the abiding plaee of labour and poverty, with here a poor little shop, and there a bloated fuzing pubhc-hou.se, with factories, looming large md black, factory gates shut for the night, lamps vcTingui-hed, labour JJnt). and groups ot men and women clustered here and there, weary after the day's Work. ft not. a pleasant plneis to coma to for a soul that loved the country, and had dwelt amidst j woodlands and the ripple ot a river. Here was the same river, flowingulaygi-diiy under an old smoke- blackened uriuge, which Stella had to crosa on her way to the heart of the town. What a murky, ■ hideous river it was, that stream she had so loved i ten miles nearer its source. Could tan milee make I sueh aditfereiics ? She had bt'eu only tour years old at the time of the fire, yet she had an instinct that told her in; which direction that great block of buddiags had stood, the big house from which she had looked out of a window high up in the very sky, as it had seemed to her then, a window that looked straight out at SUM or stars. She had loved to look out of the window in those long, lonely days. It had been her only joy when her father was away. She had dim memories, too, which helped nar to find the place of her infancy. She recalled the prospect sue had saen from that window in the ky, A little way off across a field or two there had been a place full of white head-stones, and funeral urns, and weeping figures in white ularble-liosts, they had seemed to her in the twilight. She had been scared hy those white phantoms sometimes, and had left the window shuddering. Shekiuw, therefore, toat the huge barrack-like lodging-house had been on the same side of the town as the cemetery; and it was towards the cemetery she made her way. It was after eleven o'clock, and most of the shops had closed by this time but at the corner of a narrow street she found a shop-door open, and the light shining on the pavement in front of iL, She 1 looked in tiauidly, alad:5aw two women, one eiuerly and stout, a.nd the other thin and waspish looking of that doubtful period between ei^ht-and-twenty and eight-and-thirty, in which unmarried woman- hood is apt to turn to shrewishness. The shop was of tile humblest order, koownas a general shop, furnishing almost everything except butcher's meat, and of exceeding usefulness in a poor neigh- bourhood. Stella looked from the thin daughter to the stout mother, and it was to the latter she addressed her questions. u There used to be a large lodging-house for working-people near the cemetery," she faltered, It was burnt down a good many years ago. Was it ever built up again ? Of course it was," answered the youDger woman sharply. If you had gone twenty yards further you'd have seen it straight before you. It was rebuilr, and it was made twice the size it was at che beginning." Was shop here at the time of ttte fire ? "Yes, twenty years before the fire," answered the mother. My daughter was born in this very house. I've*lived in it nearly forty years. It was a new house when my husband came into it, and he had to make the business bit by bit." As you have lived here so long perhaps you may remember man called Bold wood," said Stella tremulously. It was tho first time she had ever pronounced that name to a stranger. It seemed a kind of sacri- lege but she felt t her only chance of finding t a friend in this great dreary town was through her father's memory. Boldwood—Jonathan Boldwood; yes, I should think I do remember him, drat him ? My husband was almost cracked about that man, and used to go to bear him at every meeting, and come home with a pack of nonsense in his head. I hate your Radicals, always knocking everything down, and never setting anything up. Radicals have driven all the country gentry away from Brumm and there aren't half the carriages there used to be in the streets when I was a girl. Radicals have brought in Co-operative Stores and ruined small tradespeople. Radicals have sent the English | nubility abroad to spend their money, because hey don't get the respect that's due to them at home." What's this, old girl, off again ? I never did hear tutfh an old 'ooman to talk politics, and knows no more of 'em than a baby,"said a round, good-natured voice from within,and a round-faced, ffood-natured » looking man in shirt-sleeves and linen apron rolled in from the little parlour behind the shop. What's sent mother into 'high-strikes' to night ? he asked his daughter. This young person has been asking abcut Jonathan Boldwood." Why, what do you know of Jonathan Bold- wood, lass ?'' He was my father." Your father What, are you the child Bold- wood tried to get out of the burning house when he lost his own life, poor chap, in trying to save the ¡ little one ? ¡ Yes," sobbed Stella. And then the young hunchback lord saved you, j and took you off to Lashmar Castle, and 'dopted of you. I know there was no end of talk about it at .the time." Yes; but he has been dead for many years, and I have been very miserable in dependence upo fine people." n "Ah there spoke old Boldwood. No dependence for him. He was a free and noble spirit,God bless i him! They say it's only Papists that pray for the dead. Now I'm no Papist, and I'm no churchgoer; but I aay wheievor Boldwood is, Gild bless him. And so you've got sick of your fine home, lassie, and you've come to look up your father's old friends in Brumm? Had he friends here--many friends ?" Yes, many friends—there wasn't a working man in Brumm that didn't call him friend but not such friends as could be of much use to him. Most of loin was poorer than himself. He was proud to, and wouldn't have taken a favour from any of U3. Ws all knew that he had been born a gentleman. Let's have a look at you, lass," scrutinizing her keenly under the glare of the un- shaded gas; "no, you're not like him-there's a look, perhaps, only a look of him somewheres in the face, but it so much as a likeness. Poor Boldwood-yes, he was a grand talker, be was. If he'd been alive now we'd have got him into Parli- 'ament. Wouldn't In have astonished the milk- and-waterv genJeuitsn who grind in that mill, And what are you doing ia Brumm at such an hour as this, my lass ?" I have come to look for w ork." What kind of work ?" Any kind tha.t will give me food and shelter- time to find the work I can do best." What kind of wnrk is that "Writing. I want to be a writer." She answered this strange shopkeeper as frankly as she would have answered an old friend. The man had known and esteemed her father and there was something in his blunt, unpolished friendliness which gave her confidence. Perhaps in all that big populous town sha had crossed the one threshold in which s'1e was safest. The grocer's daughter lo 'ked somewhat critical and suspicious. but his wife had a kindly, motherly air, which promised help. writer, aye, Boldwood was a writer. He used to write letters to the hidepeadsnt. Such letters! Thay lashed the Conservatives like a cut. o'-nino-tails. And so you can write, my h;II, Story-books, I suppose, and auch iiko." YO-1, I h;v'j wrilten a story; but till I can livo by my pon I want to get work in st factory. Ah. my girl, you don't look much like fac- tory work. Why, you look so slight one could blow you -.tw ty. Yott look too much the lady, You'd better have stayed at Lashmar Castle than turn factory girl." M I could not sta.y there." "They turned you adrift, perlwps." Xo, but the place became 1.00 hateful. Don't i question me, please; I have done nothing wrong. unless it was wrong to come nway from a house in which I was miserable." Cozii,- now, they ill-treat you, baat you, starve you ?" o, they only made me wretchad. I suffered patiently enough for many years; suffered the want of all kindness and sympathy i but the time came whan I made up my mind not to suffer any longer; that bread-and-water in a garret would be better than dainty food in a grand house where nobody loved me. I am quite a stranger, and I i shall be quite alone in this big town but I shall be able to live my own life, to win independence I shall cease to eat the bread of charity." I see you have a proud spirit. Well there's some factory work that's iiifhter than others, though It's all hard. I'll see if I can get you work to-morrow, if you like- It oughtn't to be very tiirScull, for there isn't a Had in Brumm that wouldn't befriend Boldwood's daughter." I shall be very grateful to vou," said Stella, j and then turning to his wife she said, "If you would be so kind as to tea me where I can get a respectable lodging. It must be cheap, for 1 shall have no money except what I can earn." A lodgit,g! Do you mean to flay you have no home in Brumm ?" No; I only left Lashmar Castle this evening. I walked all the way here. I have no money, and unless people will trust me with a lodging I must walk about in tha nf'ds nU nia;ht." Or go to the casual ward at the Union. Jona- than Boldwood's daughter shall do neither," said the gi-oct-.r. "Look here, mothtr, there's Bill's room. You give this young woman a shakedown ia Bill's room. It's too late for her to be looking for a lodging. Time enough to think of that to- morrow morning." You are very good," faltered Stella. She had been standing until this moment, her feet aching after her long walk, her arms strained by the weight of her little carpet bag. There was a stool in the shop, and now she ventured to seat herself, feeling that solie was really among friends. Chapman, her new protector, shut and bolted the shop door. It was a very small shop, crowded with small-wares; odorous of eheese, j bacon, herrings, and even of onions, a rope of which hung in a corner, in friendly neighbour- hood with a pile of quartern loves. Pickle jars, j cheap jam, and every variety of tinned provisions j with bi-illiatit pictorial labels filled the shelves. There was an air of rude plenty, which hinted at a brisil trade, small profits and quick returns. By this time even tha old-maidish daughter had assumed a friendly air. J Cone into the parlour and rest yourself," she said. We've had our bit of supper, but perhaps you'd like a crust of bread and cheese." "Of course she would," said Ciiapman; "can't i you see how white and tired she looks, poor child, —reg'lar done up. Bring out the loaf, Polly, and a bit o' pickle, and a mug o' beer." Not any beer, thank you, just a little bit of bread-and-butter, if you please." The little parlour was neatly kept. There was a stand of geraniums in front of the window, with a bird-cage banging over it. The room had a curious look to Stella after the stately splendours amidst which she had lived, but it was more home-like than the still-room at Lashmar, and she liked tha Chapman's better than the upper and under housemaids with whom she had spent one weary period of her life. ¡ Polly's heart softened to her as she sat there in the gas-light, looking so pale, and faint, and help- less, so utterly different from the robust young women and tho obese matrous who patronised Mr. Chapman's shop. Sho looked like some wan, white flower that had grown in the depths of a wood. remote from the sun. Polly was a devourer of periodical literature, and she began to imagine a romantic history for Boldwood's daughter, who had come in among them in such a sudden, myste- t% rious way. The name and history of Jonathan Boldwood were not unknown to Miss Chapman. She had gone with her father to hear the dema- gogue at open-air meetings, when she was a young girl She had been moved by the enthusiasm of the crowd, and had felt that this strong, rugged- looking man, with the deep sonorous voice, waa in some wise a hero, and had admired him hardly knowing why. And now she looked with interest at this srirl with the large dark eyes and small pale fac*, which in its delicate fashioning bad a deeper charm than mere sensuous beauty. She eeated herself on the little horse-hair sofa beside Stella, and drew closer to her, while Mrs. Chapman was bustling about between tha table and the cup- board where the provisions were kept. It must have been very nice living at Lash- mar Castle," she said, devouri4 --Stellt with her keen, inquisitive eyes, MI saw the place on the outside, and the gardevs.- and statues, and foun- tains, and things, one Bank Holiday, when a lot of us drove that way in a break. and tea'd at the inn in the village. What a lovely old house! I don't think I should have wanted to run away from such a home as that." "I don't think you would have been happy in a house where nobody cared for you." Ah, but didn't somebody care for you- wasn't there someone who cared too much, per- haps—someone above you in station—a lord, per- haps—someone you could have loved with all your heart, only you durstn't ?" "I don't know what you mean," answered Stella, drawing herself up haughtily, and begin- ning to think that Miss Chapman was even worse than the housemaidii at the Cantle. The only person I ever loved in that house was the last Lord Lashmar, who died when I was a child." 1, Ali, be waa good to you, wasn't he? I've heard the story many a time-just like a novel, only it goes to one's heart more. But the present Lord Lashmar. Hasn't he been kind to you ? What a fine man he is! I've seen him drive his four-in-hand through Brumm. Such a handsome fellow, just what a lord ought to be. Wasn't lie kind, like his brother ? He was the very opposite of his brother in every way. Please don't talk about him." Don't tease her. Folly," said the mother, cut- ting a slice of bread and butter "don't you see how tired she is, poor child ? And she don't want to be worried. Now, my dear, try to eat, a bit of supper, while I go up and get your room ready. It's clean anyhow. That I'll answer for." The little bedroom on the half flight, which had been the son's room-SGn now away on a big engineering job in the Mediterranean—was as clean as soap and water and unstinted labour could make it. Stella lay down to rest in the narrow bed, so utterly weary that she felt like a child in its mother's lap, helpless, careless almost of all things except that sweet sense of rest, un- anxious as to what the morrow might bring forth leaving all to Providence, which had been so kind to her to-night. The room was very small; it seemed to Steila like a box, the sides of which were close enough for her to touch with bar out- spread hands; but it was a friendly shelter, and the wad too tired to wonddr at being in a strange nlace. She slept deliciously till seven, when she was awakened by much movement in the house. She got up and dressed herself and went downstairs, where she found the Chapman family breakfast- ing in a snug little kitchen, with whitewashed •vails and a dresser rich in cheap crocfcery. Stella was welcomed to the breakfast-table and intro- duced to the family cat, which was a personage of of distinction in the household, and which took kindlv to the stranger. "They know their friends," said the good- natured Chapman. "I've seen that cat swell nut his tail as thick as a German sausage at the sight of a stranger; and spit and snarl he do, as bad as a rattlesnake. Don't you Tom ?" Tom rubbed himself against his patron's lags in aeknowledgmant; of this idiosyncrasy. Ho was black and big and sleek, and had white stockings of miraculous purity, considering that ha spent most of his life under the s: ate. Do you know. Mi3s Roldwood," began tha j grocer, in a hearty tone," rae and my missus and Polly here have just had our little mag a.bout you, and we've come to the conclusion that their ain't no use in your worriting about factory work? It ain't in your line, and you wouldn't do no good at it. What is there now as you could do? There's pens—and there's pinot-ind there's lucifers. Fancy them pretty little fingers toiling at lucifers You wouldn't be half as clever at it as the Brumm sirls, who've done it from their cradles. You'd find you wasn't in it, as the saying is, and you'd teel humiliated and disheartened." I must bear that," said Stella firmly. 141 have to ararn my bread somehow." Somehow, yes, that's where it tj. You ain't bound to earn your bread in a factory. If you feel I it's in you to write pretty stories, and make your name as a writer, why not begin at it ? I Stella sighed, and snook her head. I've read over and over again of the difficulty of beginning such a life," shs said. It is almost impossible to earn a living at, the firat. There must be years wistod-t long apprenticeship to labour, disappointment and dependence. Now, I have no one to help mo. I must, earn my bread while I am trying to write something that may bring me money later." I Ah, but vou can't do tint while you're earning voiir bread in a factory, my lass," said Chapman don't dream of such a thing. It ain't to be done. A factory will take it out of you. There'll be nothing left in you for inventing pretty stories. Now if you could get a bit of copying to do, it 'ud be different." Th«re is a common idea that money may always be in.ade by copying or translating. Peopla have the vaguest notion of what there is to be trans- lated or copiad. No one asks himself or herself why this perennial flow of French novels or legal ilocumentg-wiienee they coma and thither they go--blit tiio idea prevails that the woman who can put French into English. or copy a manuscript ia a fair round hand, may atways fiud gaotesl employment. Yas, I could d.) copying or translating," answered Stella. I know two or three lauguiigaa -French. German, and Italian." "Lord a' mercy on us "One languago helps another whjii one is fond of languages," said Stella modestly. Lord Lash- mar taught me the beginning; and when he was goae I taught myself. My boo!u were my only friends." Why, you ought to be able to make a fortune." "And you have written st,)ria-i ?" asked Polly, deepiy interdste,l-" regular novals ?" "Not so long as ordinary novels. Storius about as loug as one volume of a novel. They are very foolish, I dare say, but it was a kind of happiness II to me to write them. Thay took me out of my own life." "Yes, I can understand that," said Polly thay ¡ lifted you up into a different world, where all things were beautiful. 1 hava felt that often when I have lis, .jading—sitting here in this little kitchen-I have fancied myself in lovolv dra,wing-room where tbe curtains were all velvet and lace, and where the ladies threw out a cloud of perfume as they glided about—and where there was the sound of a fountain from the conservatory and palms, (d;, so love pa'ms I never saw one, but the very look of tha word is lovely. And then when I look up and see this old kitchen or our", and the Dutch clock, and tha warming-pan there, all so common and homeiy, I feel as if I had awakened out of a delicious driJam," "Yes, and that's how you neglect the house work, or let. any one stand in the shop till they're tired o' waiting to ba served," said the practical Mrs. Ciiapman. I do think &3 how novel-reading is the bane of a young woman's lite." There's times for every tii ink,;tnd novel-reading ain't no harm at the proper time," said the more liberal husband. Of an evening, when the day's i work is pretty well over, I'd rather sea my daughter with her noae in a novel, than hear her wag her tongue about her neighbours, and talk of t hings which she didn't ought even to know about, i much less talit of. A novel's safer reading for a. respectable young female than a newspaper any day." I Have you your stories with you," asked Polly. Stella, blushed at the questioa. Yes, I brought all my papers with mo in that little carpet bag." 11 Would you mind letting ma read one ? I'm not much of a judge, but I've read a good many novels that I've got from the Free Library," pleaded Polly. If you would like to raad ono-" u I should of all things and, father, don't you j think Jem Barsoy migiii help Miss Boldwood in some way. He's a el.v,r young man, and they think a lot of him at the office." Jem Barsley was a hangsr-on or admirer of Polly's, who was not actually engaged to her, had not been promoted to the proud position of keep- ing company, but who was allowed to walk out with her occasionally as a worthy young man, who knew his place and might be trusted, which con- fidence, seeing that Polly was seven years his senior, was not uodeserved. I Jem was a printer's reader and factotum at the office of the Independent, and ranked as a literary man among the Chapman's and their circle. Now it seemed to Polly that Jem's influence II ought to smooth the path of literature for any beginner. Do let me have a read of one of your stories," ontreated Polly. I tell you what it is, Miss Boldwood, you'd better stay with..us for waek or two, while you look about yoniaimid hOriest Chapman. Jonathan Boldwood's daughter shall never waofc for a home while I've a roof over my head. We're hemety people, mother and me; but Polly there has culti- vated her mind a bit, and she'll be company for you. Stay with us as long as you like, my dear." Mrs. Chapman added a kindly word of her own to confirm the invitation, and Polly put her arm round Stella's neck and kissed her. I don't often take to anyone, but I have took to yon," she said; "and I think it's because you've got a mind. I worship mind." Stella's eyes filled with sudden tears. You are all so good to me," she faltered, and I value your kindness all the more because it is given for my father's sake—my dear father, whose face I can hardly remember. Till yesterday I used to hope and dream about seeing him again- that he would come back to me from the other side of the world—and yesterday I was told how. he died in the attempt to save me." She burst into a passionate fit of sobbing, and it was some minutes before she could tranquillise herself even with the aid of Polly's comforting hugs. "Yes, I will stay with you, if I may, kindest friends," she said; I shall be happier-more at peace here than I can be anywhere else." More at peace, yes! It was peace she sighed for. At the Castle she had not been at peace, There had been a passionate revolt forever going on in her soul, a revolt against that servitude which she bore so meekly, a sense of wounded pride which a princess of the blood Royal might have felt. And she had never suffered that agony of inward shame so acutely as when Victorian was at the Ca.stle. His very presence under that roof moved her to rebellion. So the friendly compact between the dema- gogue's daughter and that honest and somewhat mild Radical, Mr. Chapman, was sealed. Stella was to occupy the little room on the half-flight as long as she liked, and was to have as many little stone bottles of ink out of the shop and as many of those steel nibs, which Mr. Chapman bought at seveopence a gross and retailed ac four a penny, as ever she chose to consume she was to ba free from the burden of sordid daily cares, and might scribble away to her heart's content, filling the little room with spirits as vast and wonderful as the Genii that came out of the fish man's bottle. Polly spent tha whole day devouring a manu- script story, and wholly absorbed in the fiction, and even offering the writer thd tribute of an occasional tear. Jem Harsby dropped in at tea-time—not the elegant five o'clock tea. of polite life, but a solid seven o'clock insal which marked the close of the day's labour, and served at once for tea and supper. At this autumnal season sausages were supposed to bo in their prime, and bloaters still meritorious. Vary savoury was tha board which Mrs. Chapman spread in her cosy little kitchen where the family meals were usually eaten; with one ceremonious exception made in favour of Sunday tea, which was always served in tho parlour. Jem listened intently to tha account of Mis3 Boldwood's literary proclivities, and to Polly's glowing description of toe story she had just been reading. We ought to be able to find something for you to do at our place," said Jem grandly, with the air of a sub-editor at the very least. Do you think you could manage a London letter ?" Lor', Jem, why she's novar been in London in iier life." "All," sighed r, Birsby, "that's against it, ain't it ?-or elie if she had a nice smart way of cutting any little bit of news or scandal she could pick up, I might get our folks to start a Lounger at the clubs,' doa't you sae ?" The Chapraans s:tw the possibility of this, had Stella been altogether a different person. Or if she'd been thoroughly up to trap about the theatres, now! Half a column of greenroom gossip three times a week would go down like butterscotch with our subscribers." 1, But. my daar Jaua," remonstrated Polly, vexed at her admirer's obtuseness, "Miss Boldwood is a novelist—a born novelist. Sili:) has written the loveliest story I have read for ever so long." "Ah! but that's a big line. I don't see a chance for her with that game. Wiiy, our proprietors give their thousands and fifteen hundreds down for a fooliton, and they waut big names. If she were only to make a success now, they'd have her to-morrow. Perhaps if she was to knock off a tittle story tor the Christmas number, I might get our chief to look at it, and if he were to like it, aud could tizid room for it. thore'd be a fi'pun' note in Miss Boldwood's pocket and it would be getting in the thin edge of the wedge into the bargain." I'll try," said Stella; it is very kind of you to interust yourself for me," (To be continued.)

_r. (ALL UIGHTS PFSEitVLDj THE DEFORMED PAINTEIt; OR. THE AVERTED DOOM. By Kate Dodd, Merthyr. CHAPTER I. I belonged to a doomed family; for generations the taint of inidness had been in our blood; I was tha last of my rilee and would probably have endured tiie fearful malady and become a maniac, as my father and my two brothers, aye, and my grandmother and great aunts and unclei had before me, had not the merciful hand of Provi. dence interposed and saved ma from such a terrible living death. My father committed suicide in a paroxysm of madness just before I was b )rn. My poor mot her only lived to bless me, and implore the Almighty to care for me, when she died of a brokau heart. My two brothers, Felix and Wilfred, were twins, iftmen years my elder; they were my father's sons by a former wife. Folix was always wild, rambling, and filled with strange, unnatural fancies, and lie poisoned himself, at the age of nineteen, in a bitter, reckless mood, because a fantastic, eerie poem of his had been rejeotod, alia" sarcastic reviewer had denounced it as ravings and rubbish. Wilfred's grief was great; hit was a fine, hand- some, manly fellow, and the bond between the two brothers wis rojnackztble. He was never aroused from the melancholy into which lie was plunged by the fearful death of I113 brother; and the terrible family doom, together with his father's sad ending, so preyed upon his mind that he, poor boy, succumbed to the mÜady, and for years was an inmate of a lunatic asylum until his death. I was committed to the care of a maiden lady, a kind of cousin of my mother's, but I was altogether unmanageable. I was a child of rare loveliness, as far as face and feature constitute beauty, but my poor form was contorted and deformed, my feet unnaturally large, mlles twisted, and my joints bproad, awkward, and ungainly. Altogether I was a wretched specimen of humanity, and at an early age was deeply alive to the mortification and disgrace of being an object of pity. I shunned all society; I htlted children of my own age. I never played, or romped, or laughed in my life. 1 knew I was a cripple, repulsive in form, and hated and loathed myself accordingly. My life in childhood was a long agony, a slow torturu to myself and all who were in any way connected with me, for I was bitter and malignant to all my fellows, and crooked in mind as in body. Some- times I used to view my face in a, mirror, with a strange exultation at its beauty, and then would burst into wild, passionate weeping, and fling myself on the ground in sulleu anguish and anger and r.emain tor hours brooding over my wrongs. Mrs. Sylvester, my mother's relative who had undertaken my charge, wished to send nu to school at the age of nine, I flaw into a violent rage, aui sprang at hefand at her staid, elderly maid, Martha, and kicked and bit like a little demon, and then in bitter resentment I threw her pat poodle through the window, when they managed to lock me up in a room and leave me to myself. The poor old lady declared she could not stand me any longer. She sent for my guardian, a busy barrister, a friend of my father's, and solemnly renounced all claim to me. He laughed, declared it to be childish pasiipn, "rid, seeing Mrs. Sylvester was in earnest, he settled matters by taking me himself to school. Th" school he selected was a prim, orthodox propriety seminary for young ladies. Never shall I forget my feelings of anger, mortificatioq, and spleen whan I found myself in a long diniug-hall, where I was exposed to the curious gaze of some forty pairs of eyes. onagirl, no doubf meaning to be kind, patting me on the head, said, "Poor little thing, what is your name ?" I flung her hand from me, scowled, and made my way out of the hideous gaze of eyes as fast as my halting gait would permit me. I flung myself on the floor of my own tiny apartment, and there lay indulging in morbid sullenneae and evil passions. I refused to move or speak, and the consequence was in two days mv guardian was requested to remove me. I cared not whither I went. I was a hateful, deformed, unloved creature, with wild, dark passions, and an evil crooked nature. Finally, to my guardian's infinite relief, he found a clergyman's widow, reduced in circumstances, who agreed to undertake my education. She was a refined gentlewoman, and perhaps some ray of compassion for my miserable self urged her to accept the charge. I cannot say I loved this sweet, Christian woman, for never but once in my whole wretched existence did I love a human being, but I did not dislike and distrust her. I was moody, sullen, morbid, and melancholy, but I was never unreasonable and violent with her. I was endowed with quick perceptions and unusual intelligence, and rapidly advanced in my studies; and in time they became a solace to me, and, in some measure, filled the great aching void for human sympathy or love which in my bettter moments I experienced. So years sped. I never atw a human being save my gentle instructress and her maid, and to the latter I never opened my lips. Four hours each day I spent with Mrs. de Courcey in study, and the rest of the time I hid myself in my own apartments. For one hour she insisted I should walk in the open air; so I usually paced around the garden in the early morning, or in the evening. At the aze of sixteen my family circumstances were made known to me, and I became aware that, in addition to being a wretched, twisted cripple, the fearful curse of madness was my doom. I brooded over this in solitary bitterness, and cursed the day I was born. Why should I have been brought into the world at all, to be heir to such horrors ? It was useless to reason with me I would take no comfort. I was only a miserable, crooked cripple, with an evil temper, a malignant disposition, and the taint of madness in my blood. I often gazed in my mirror, and beheld, when in a calm mood, a fair and beautiful face, were it not marred by evil looks and distorted by passion. My hair was rich, abundant, luxuriant, and of great length; it was of a bright golden hue; my eyes were large, and of a liquid black, with a wildness at times almost alarming; my complexion was delicate and pure, and my features well cut and finely moulded. Had I only had a tall, straight figure I should have baen a beautiful girl; but, alas a curse was mingled with my destiny, nnd I could never be as other women were. I hated the rest of humanity because they wore happier and better than myself, and I loathed myself for my deformity and doom. It would come upon me some day, I knew, and I shuddered as I lay awake at night and wondered how I could endure it. In wild agony I prayed that death might release my poor sih-burdened soul from my ugly, deformed body ere the curse fell upon me. I had one pleasure in life -1 loved painting, and in the dark, wretched days, after the secret of my family was made known to me, it was my only joy. I neglected all other studies to wield my brush. Yet even in this art my morbid tendencies clung to me. All my subjects were mystical, horrible, weird, supernatural, fantastic, and ghastly. If the human form divine grew under my brush I only rendered it hideous and distorted in the shape of fiends, demons, imps, gnomes, monsters, and other creations of a disordered fancy. I now took long walks, sketching Nature, but even here my eye ever sought the unnatural and exaggerated, and I found delight in pourtraying goblin oaks gloomy taverns, frightful chasms, and cruel waterfalls. My "beautiful" was always wild and unnatural; my perturbed, evil spirit never left me. As I grew older anatomy became my favourite study, and at this I worked as though my daily bread depended upon it. To better attain my object and to acquire knowledge I went to London as soon as I became of age and obtained possession of my property. I engaged rooms near one of the hospitals, and enrolled myself as a private student. Fvery day at a certain hour I drove in a close carriage to the place, ind, attendod by my waiting woman, made my way to the dis- secting-rooms or the dead-house, set up my easel, and worked away, drawing from natural and abnormal subjects. The doctors and students thought me mad, and humoured me accordingly but I never spoke to any of them, but worked away as though the true aim of my life was attained. Seated amid corpses, painting calmly some hideous subject, no wonder I gave rise to strange ru niours and odd reports. I concealed my real name, dreading that my family history might get abroad, and I called myself Deborah Pope. But my poor, contorted little frame, my huge flat feet, my awkward shambling gait, my beautiful face, with the glorious golden liair. which I yet wore floating loosely around me, from feelings of bitterness aud pride, perhaps; my solitary life, my terrible occupation, all tended tl1 make me an object of interest, distrust, and dread. A fancy for painting skeletons next took possession of me, and after covoring my walls with drand sketches of churchyard horrors, which terrified my land- lady, I took to painting the dead in their shrouds. Many romances were set afloat concerning me, and it was with a secret, savage exultation that I perceived the impression I had produced, and by odd, startling conduct and my wild horrible pur- suits I strove to increase my unholy ropute rather than diminish it. CHAPTER U. My whole soul was bound up in art, and after long months of ghastly study in dead-houses I resolved to prepare a picture for the Royal Aoadtcny. The subject I selected was Tennyson's poem, The Sisters," and tho last three stanzas wore sufSjiently horrible and unreal to satisfy my unnatural craving. I liisaed his eyelids into rest. His viiddv cheek upon my breast. 'i'lij wind is raging in turret and tree. I hated him with the hate of hell, But Lluved his beauty pai&ing well, 0, the Earl was fair to see. I rose up in the silent night; I rnndj mvda^j»er ahurp and brlgllt, The wind is raving in turret and treo, As half nsleop his lit-eatli he tirevr4 Three t.imps 1 stabbed him ti,rci, aii4 thro, O. the Earl Wis fair to see, I onrled nnd combed his comely head. He looked to grand when he *as ft The wind Is blowing In turret, nnd treu* I wrapt, his bcidy In the sheet, And laid him ab his mother's llet. 0, the Earl was fair to see. My picture represented a beautiful girl with a diabolical expression of hatred on her faee plunge ng the dagger through the heart of the handsome- slumbering Earl. I devotod my whole energy to the work, and brought to bear upon it the result of my study and all my wild imagination. It Wits my first laboured composition^ and I was deter- mined to make it a success. It was with a grim feeling of exultation I read, when the answer came, that my picture was not only accepted, but commended. On the day of the opening of the exhibition I went into the crowded rooms, accompanied by my faithful waiting woman, and I at onoe made my way to my picture. Au elderly lady and a young gentleman were standing before it, and the gentloiqan was reading from his catalogue No. 149 The Earl was fair to see.' Deborah Pope." A curious subject for a woman to paint," the young man continued. "It is certainly a masterpiece of art, but it is a couel, horrible subject, don't you think so, mother?" And the two moved on. I gazed after them; lid w:is tall, slight, and graceful, with a ploasant, kindly voice, and a genial, amiable expression his hair was fair and his eyes light blue. From his clerical coat I inferred that he was a curate, or, at any rate, a minister of the Gospel. The mother was evidently very proud of him, and I forgot even my picture in watching them. My usual feelings towards my more favoured fellows were egvious, bitter, and spiteful, but for the first time in my life I felt interested, and longed to know this young man and converse with him. During the following days I visited the exhibition, and liagered near my picture, listening to the criticisms passed on it, and watching anxiously for the re-appearance of the young man with the fair, almost angelic, face and the large blue eyes, but he never came. After my success I determined to make a profession of painting, and to win re- nown in spite of my physioal deformity and the awful doom which overhung me. Mrs. de Courcey pressed upon me the necessity of giving up my strange London life, so I agreed to take a house in the quaint little cathedral town of L- and have the gentle instructress of my youth to live with me. I grew calmer and quieter, and devoted myself almost entirely to my art, forgetting even to be morbid and miserable in uy ardour. Mrs. de Courcey was delighted with the change in me, while I could not quite comprehend myself why I should become contented and almost happy for the fifst time in my life. One day I was out walk- ing with Mrs. da Courcey; it was a lovely sum- mer's afternoon, and we had been strolling leisurely along the river's bank, when the sweet strains of musio from the cathedral tempted us to enter. I had never been inside a place of worship in my life before, and something akin to awe fell upon me as I entered. Presently when I arose from my kneeling polture-fpr 1 imitated Mrs. de Courcey in going down on my knees on entering the pew—I was struck with a peculiarly sweet and persuasive voice reading the grand old prayers of our Liturgy. Something familiar seemed to strike me, and, glancing up into the reading desk, I beheld the same tall, fair gentleman who had so interested me at the exhibition. In his surplice, standing there reading those holy words, he seemed to me more angelic looking than ever. 1 knew very little of Scripture, but I had some dim conception that St. John was an Apostle of a singularly sweet, gentle disposition, and our Saviour had loved him, and at once I likened this young man to the favoured Apostle. Evety word he uttered seemed to go straight te my heart. I sat like one entranced. His sermon was on Christian liberty, and in simple, pleading, eloquent, persuasive words he showed how glorious a thing it was to be a Christian. Nobody can he absolutely free," said the young preacher in those deep, earnest, sweet tones which seemed to stir the very depths of my being. If we do not serve another we serve our- selves. The service of Christ means free- dom from the enslaving conditions of life. It raises us above them, and shows us their true value. It teaches us that our life is something outside and beyond all the petty cares of this world; something infinitely better, higher, nobler than the earth can afford. Let me ask you to look into your lives boldly. Is there no darling sin which, cancer-like, is eating its way into the vitals of your life and poisoning the sweet, fresh sources of the better and purttr impulses of your being ? When these cry out to you, urging you to stand upon your feet and work out the character God has planned for you, why do you hold back and en- deavour to persuade yourselves that the voices you bear are meaningless echoes; that the glimpses of a nobler self which flash meteor-like before you are visions of a deluded brain. Little children have a wonderful gift of making believe,' and I often think that it is something like this we want in our lives to divest it of its grim bareness. II We fancy that if our conditions and circumstances were changed we could lead good, holy lives, but, brethren, it is not so much our own peculiar cir- cumstances which require to be changed, as our way of looking at them. Says John Ruskin I —' An Academician said to me,talking of the curvi- linear forms in a piece of rock, "If you look for curves you will see curves; if you look for angles you will see angles. This saying is infinitely sad; it was the utterance of an experienced man, and In many ways is true, for one of the most singular gifts or weaknesses of the human mind is the power of persuading itself to see what it chooses.' 14ut it is so in life. Those who look for the crooked will see the crooked, and those who look for th6 straight will see the straight. The conditions of your lives were ordered by an all-wise Creator; I therefore, brethren, rest assured— Thou cam'st not to thy place by accident. It is the very place God meant for thee, And shouldsb thou then small scope for action ize, Do not for this give way to discontent." The young preacher ceased, and bowed his head in prayer, and I sat like one in a dream. The mellowed rays of sunlight came through the painted window, and seemed tb transfigure hit fair young face into an angel's. He seemed to my fascinated gaze a thing too pure, too good, too holy for this earth. Mechanically I went on my ¡ knees, as did the rest of the congregation, and the first prayer I had ever prayed for1 another rose from my heart, and, unbidden, escaped my lips. It was short and simple, but, nevertheless, earnest. God bless tiie young preacher" was all I said. There was a stir in the cathedral. The congre- gation rose, the glorious tones of the organ pealed forth, and presently I found myself out in the sunlit streets. I was strangely silent and strangely moved. For the first time in my 24 years of existence a conception of something good and holy had entered my darkened soul. The human heart consists of a thousand chords," says a great man, "and by touching tho right strings we may make it play any tune we wish." Certain chords in my heart were touched at last, and I felt a new being. My mind was full of the young disciple of Christ; his face haunted me, and a sweet, strangely Bad pain tuggod at my heart. Strange, distant longings and vague dreams filled my bosom. If it might be! If I were only some sweet, pure, gentle girl, straight of limb, fair of face, with an inno. cent, holy mind, wherein lurked no thought of evil, then, perchance, this earnest young apostle of Heaven might have given his earthly love to me, and I might have been permitted to be his coun- sellor and help-meet. I dashed away the tears which welled into my eyes, and endeavoured to put away such dreams. Strangely sad was my life. and such liopets wore not for me. Alas I what had I done with my life ? Not one human being could say they wore one whit happier for my existence. My nature was evil; my heart was filled with hatred, envy, malice, and all uncharit. ableness until this young, earnest-hearted preacher had shot rays of light into my darkened soul. I had been totally selfish and sinful. I went often to the cathedral, and I heard Cecil Cuthbert preach many times. When others were conducting the service it did me good merely to look upon his pure, spiritual face, or listen to his sweet and strangely thrilling tones as he read the lessons or the prayers. Cecil Cuthbert was the son of the late Dean. I soon became acquainted with his family history. He was an only son, and had been the joy and pride of his father's heart. For four years he had been in the town of L- aud was exceedingly beloved by old,young, rich, and poor. A great change had come over me in these tiziys. I went among the sick, suffering, and poor, for I had ample wealth at my disposal, and everywhere I went I heard the praises of my hero sung. Indeed, miss, he is too good to live," said one aged dame whom I visited*; his very face seems fitter for the land beyond the skies, and when ha speaks I almost fancy that Jesus Christ is again on earth." I pressed the old dame's hand, for in truth I felt much the same about him. My pure, beautiful Cueil, he was too holy and pure for an earthly love. CHAPTER III, Though I sat in the cathedral daily contempla- ting Cecil Cuthbert's beautiful face and listening to his sweet tones, I never once met him. I did not wish to; he was too far beyond me, too pure and saint-like for contact with so vile a creature as myself. But I loved him. Ah, heaven I how I worshipped that man. AU the affection of my whole life was concentrated and lavished on that one being. I thought of him by day, and I dreamt of him at night. But there was a straDge, sad, sweet melancholy in my love. I knew it was hopeless, but I loved him as one might love some departed saint, and I worshipped him as a pagan might worship the sun. All that was good and generous in my nature came out now, and all that; was evil was repressed. Truly love does much for the soul; it is the great cleansing, humanising element that keeps the hearts of men and women fresh and pure true love, noble love, high-minded love is the highest and holiest thing in the world—God's greatest gift to man. Cecil Cuthbert rarely visited, and he had very few friends; his whole life seemed to be devotod to the Church, the poor and suffering, and his mother. It was January, one bright, frosty afternoon, I was putting by my painting materials and think- ing of preparing for the cathedral, when Elspeth, my waiting-woman, entered. There has been an accident on the line, miss," she said; the Northern express ran off the line at the curve beyond L- Station." I trust it is not serious, Elspeth," I remarked. "Several are wounded, miss, and poor Mr. Cecil Cuthbert is dead they have just taken him home to his mother." Dead!" I shrieked In one of my old paroxysms. The room seemed to swim, my heart stopped beat- ing in my bosom, and I fell on the floor in a faint for the first time in my life. When I opened my eyes I realised that the world was bare, bleak, bitter, and desolate to me again. My pure star had been snatched away; how could I take up the weary burden of life without the cheering presence of Cecil Cuthbert ? I My holy, saint-like love, God's angels were fitter company for ye than the earth afforded, but it was hard, dreary, and bitten to be left behind. Would that I could die too," I moaned ia the solitude of my own chamber. After a sleepless night of anguish aid grief my mind was made up. Next morning I drove in my close carriage to the home of Mrs. Cuthbert, where the remains of my dead love lay. I asked for Mrs. Cuthbert, sent up my card, and urged private and urgent business. The sweet-faced widow, wan and worn with grief, entered the room. Madam," I began, o. pardon this intrusion, but when you know all you will forgive me. Your son was the only human being I have ever loved, and I loved him—ah! heaven knows bow deeply and truly. God only knows all that he has done for me-unconsciously, madam," I hastened to add," for we never exchanged a word in our lives. He is dead, and life to me seems unbearable. ITWs ia a toot. Grant me One booh—I am an artist; allow me to make a picture of your dear, dead son, that I may treasure it while 1 live." "My poor child," said the widow, taking my hand. My poor child, it will be a comfort to me to hiyre his portrait. Come and see him." I followed her into the darkened chamber, and gased while she gently drew back the curtain that concealed the face of the dead. There he lay, my idol, the only being in the world I had ever loved. his face was infinitely calm, and he seemed more like one asleep than one dead, but his face was too fair and too beautiful for a creature of this finite world. Death had left on it Only the beautiful. I might have painted him as a slumbering angel, but nothing tainted with mortal life could look as he looked. On his left temple was a slight bruise; the pure white skin was tinged with purple, that was the only outward sign that he had received any injury. Pale, pure, and calm, he lay with a holy, transfigured expression on his fair, young face. I pressed a kiss upon his pile brow, the only kiss I had ever bestowed in my life, and, burying my face in my hands, I wept unre- strainedly while his mother stood by. 1 I All day I worked at my picture, and the next day. until the fair, beautiful countenance of this pure young saint was upon my cauvas, and then they took him away and buried him from my sight, and I was alone—more than ever alone in the world. My life ended there. I lived with his poor heart-broken mother afterwards, and we two women, sharing between us one great sorrow, I tried to bear it patiently. I am getting old now, no taint of my race has appeared in me, I have buried Cecil's mother, and am indeed desolate in the world. My picture of the holy young saint is my good influence; it saved me from my fearful heritage. Every day I look upon it, for I love it, and when I die it shall b# buried with me. 111

"THE MINISTER'S COO." By Njord. I flatter myself we've got a bargain," said Mr. Timmer, as he entered the parlour and found his good lady sitting by the fire. 111 heard that Souter had a cow to sell, made careful inquiries of the neighbours as to its breed and pedigree, then went over and bought it right off. Nothing like prompt- ness in business matters." The Rev. Mr. Timmer smiled a pleasant, self-satisfied smile, as if he was the boy for a bargain when it came to cattle deal- ing, then dropped into his easy chair. "Did you feel its back ? 11 ask 3d the Rev. Mrs. Timmer, gently. She had a vague notion that this was indispensable in such cases. Rather," replied Mr. Timmer, complacently, putting up his feet on the fender, and settling him- self comfortably. He had considered that the coup de grace of the whole thing, and he recalled with a thrill of pleasure the professional and artistic flourish with which he stuck his finger into the ribs of his bovine quadruped. The evening wore on, and Mr. Timmer talked incessantly of the cow. His mind was full of it, and when the time came for family worship, he turned Instinctively to the chapter about Pharoah's dream of the fat kine, and dwelt with a special relish on the word fat." He passed the night in dreams of his own on the subject, visions of un- limited milk and hutter and cheese, for he had very hazy ideas as to the capacity of a cow, and in the morning sauntered out to see what grass he had by him in the garden, and in the little park behind the house. In the garden old Robbie, his man, was digging, and Mr. Timmer approached with a bland smile, and accosted him. The cow was to be sent home in the afternoon, and he anticipated the surprise in the afternoon, and he anticipated the surprise old Robbie w ould get when he saw the progress his master had made in agricultural matters during his short residence in the country. Good morning, Robert," he said. "You're at work, I see." Guld morninl," returned Robbie, flinging up a ¡ spadeful of earth then sticking his spade in the ground and leaning on it. "I was doing a little business yesterday," Mr. Timmer went on, anxious to get to the subject. I bought that cow of Souter's. It's an excellent bargain, I think." Mr. Timmer stroked his chin placidly, and looked round the garden. I daursay," said Robbie. There was a queer twinkle in his keen old eyes as he contemplated the" minister." He had a grim humour of his own, old Robbie, and a very small respect for Mr. Timmec's bucolic attainments. A splendid animal, in prime condition, and per. feet in wind and limb," said Mr. Timmer, speaking j like an advertisement, and endeavouring to be technical. I daursay," said Robbie again, and the corners of his mouth began to twitch as the possibility bf a big practical joke dawned upon his mind. He guessed that Mr. Timmer, like a good many other folk, would not know that a cow has teeth only in its lower jaw. Did he buy her yersel' ?" he queried, gravely," looking up at the clouds for rain. "I did," said Mr. Timmer, pleasantly. I'm beginning to get into the way of things a little now, I flatter myself." u Och, ay ?" said Robbie, naively. I don't think I could be deceived easily now," Mr. Timmer continued, looking plaoidly rouud on the universe, Mand| besides, Souter has a capital farm, which should produce a good animal every way." "I dinna ken," returned Robbie, slowly, and with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. to I dinna ken aboot the fairm. I've kenn'd Tain Souter noo this dizzen year, and he's neaer been able to raise a Idnllle coo on It 'at didna want her upper teeth." His voice quavered a little as he spoke, and the twinkle In his eye became more pronounced, but Mr. Timmer did not observe. Yod don't say so," he ejaculated, in sudden surprise. He stopped surveying Nature and our. veyod IRobbie. dae," said the old man, solemnly. It's a fack, but nae fear he looked at the beast's teeth afore yebocht her." He shot a glance at the parson, then began slowly to dig again. 11 Wall, really." said Mr. Timmer, hesitatingly, "I'm afraid I forgot." He began to feel that he wasn't quite up to the niceties of the trade yet. H Souter's a lang-heided chiel," pursued Robbie. It Nae fear, he's seen ye dinna ken muckle aboot it. an' that was a' the better for him." This was touching a tender point, and Robbie knew it. Mr. Timmer's reverend eye flashed with a baleful light. He forgot for the moment charity and the forgiveness of enemies. He realised that he had been" sold," and that old Adam predomi- nated. If Souter thinks," he said with emphasis, "to impose upon me with his defective cattle, he'll very soon find his mistake." Ay," said Robbie. "I am glad, Robert, that you have mentioned this. The animal was to be sent home this even- ing. When it comes we will examine it, and if there is anything wrong I shitll certainly talk to Souter very plainly about it," said Mr. Timmer, abruptly, and he turned and walked rapidly towards the houxe, leaving Robbie shaking with suppressed laughter. Evening came, and an urchin arrived towing the cow with a piece of rope. They approached the kitchen door, and Mr. Timmer came out and contemplated his purchase with a fierce and criti- cal glare. He fixed his eye on her mouth, but from her external appearance lie could learn nothing. ü was a tall cow, one of those cows that stand erect and sniff the air frequently, and she glared back at Mr. Tiinmer with a ferocity equal to his own. Mr. Timmer felt impressed, but the teeth were in his mind. The cow wiivod her j ears spasmodically, stretched out her neclr. and uttered a prolonged bellow. Mr. Timmer was a man who pridod birnaelf upon his quickness of perception. He saw his chance for the teeth, and bent down suddenly to see in while her mouth was open. The cow did not comprehend Mr. Thinners action. She thought: he was offering a "head," and she responded with pleasure, and took Mr. Timmer a bunt" on tI ridge of his cranium, causing him to sit with great violence on the step of the kitchen door. Mr. Timmer was shocked and pained. Away," he said, retreating to the doorway, and addressing the grinning urchin, put her iu i: the stable." The cow switched her tail from side to side, and uttered another bellow that seemed to fill up I the whole neighbourhood, and was evidently in- tended to notify to her friends and the public that she was at home, and that all orders requiring head" would be executed with neatness and despatch. Then she stalked solemnly after her guide into the stabl, Wjiidh Mr. Timmer was com- pelled in the meantime to use as a byre. The urchin fastened her up, rgceiyecl his etgiolu* ment, and l*f$. :'c". ii From the kitchen door Mr. Timmer heard strange utterances through the stable window as the eow inspected her surroundings and made comments, but he thought it safest to hold his peace till Robbie came in from the garden, which would not be long, for it Was near six o'clock. The hour struck, and at the first stroke Robbie shoul- dered his spade, and came tramping up to the kitchen door. If Mr. Timmer had seen the grin that embellished Robbie's countenance as he entered the kitchen he would have guessed that something was the matter, but he had gone ben," and Robbie sat down to dispose of his tea. Mr. Timmer sat in his study, impatient and In- dignant. He had been insulted by Souter's cow, in addition to having been probafbly swindled by Souter himself, and he felt fearfully human. He could hardly give Robbie time to finish his tea. Now, Robert," he said, coming through the passage, "if you're finished, we will proceed. I must get my mind satisfied on that point." Ou, ay," Mid Robbie, rising from the fire and coming out to the door. Then he followed Mr, Timmer out, and when they were gone Betty, the servant, remarked to the mistress, who had come into the kitchen, that she didna ken fat was the maitter wi' Robbie, for he'd sitten an' lauched till himself' the maist o' tha time 'at he was takin' his tea." I made an attempt," said Alr. Titntner. as they crossed the yard to the stable, when the creature arrived, to see into its mouth while it was roaring, but I did not succeed." He did not tell Robbie the particulars. They reached the stable door and entered. It was dark now, and Robbie took down an old lantern that was hanging on the wall, and struck a match. There was an uncertain sound about the scratch which hinted at the state of Robbie's nerves. He was shaking with laughter, but Mr. Timmer was oblivious. The match flared up all right, but just as he applied it to the wick the cow gave her tail a swish, and sent lantern and every- thing on the floor. Dash!" said Mr. Timmer. "Ay," said Rabbi#. He picked it up and lit it, with another match. It burned dimly, serving only to render darkness visible," and Mr. Timmer bent forward and peered at the cow. Souter's quadruped was Hungry. She had had only a scrap dinner that day, for Souter saw little guid in feedin' anither man's beast, and she expected that the entrance of Robbie and the j minister would mean fodder, but she soon saw her mistake, and a feeling of disappointment took possession of her. She waltzed about, uttered a prodigious bellow, then shook her head violently and snorted. Ouss-a, cuss-a," said Robbie, approaching slowly, sliding his hand gently along her back. Mr. Timmer drew near. There was something very satisfying in the bellow. It seemed to give tons to the establishment, and Mr. Timmer mentally hoped that the teeth were all right. "There ia certainly nothing wrong with her lungs," said Mr. Timmer, "she has a capital voice." Imphm," said Robbie, struggling with his emotions and the cow's head. The cow was exas- perated at his familiarity, but Robbie made violent though ineffectual efforts to open her mouth. Then all at once it dawned on her that he was wanting t" see her age, for she had seen Souter do the same with horses. Like all females she had a decided objection to give information on the point, and she put out her hind leg with considerable emphasis, and took Mr. Timmer, who was in the rear, a very definite whack on the shin. "Woa! you boa-t," ejaculated Mr. Timmer, choosing the least objectionable appellation, and skipping with considerable alacrity to the other side of the stable. He, hah remarked Robbie, unable to hold in any longer, relaxing his grip on the cow. M&'Timmer observed the laugh. "I do not see, Robert," he said, with dignity, and scraping the dirt from his leg, "on the present occasion any special cause for merriment." I daursay," responded Robbie, and he took a quiet wink to himself, and seized the cow again by the head. After a ferocious struggle he got her to open her mouth, and Mr. Timmer put on his spectacles and eWe near. I thocht as muckle," said Robbie, looking in not a single upper tooth in her heid." Mr. Timmer bent forward, and peered with critical attention into itMoriflae presented to him. ae saw only a wide extent of Cam, and his heart sank within him. Not a single solitary tooth. It was a terrible blow. It meant more than was at first sight apparent. Mr. Timmer felt that he had been swindled, from a commercial point of view, and this was galling to him as a man; but, worse than that, the thing bad been done by Souter, one of his own members, a man who had sat under his ¡ godly administrations for two years, and was now I actually trying to pawn off on him a toothless cow. Mr. Timmer's blood rose to 97 in the I shed. The unprincipled scoundrel! he said, furiously. If his farm could not produce com- t plete cattle, why didn't he tell me ?" I He wis wantin' a coo wi' upper teeth, an' if I ye'd kent, ye likely widna 'a bocht her," suggested Robbie. ( I certainly should not." said Mr. Timmer;" but I I'll see him to-morrow without fail, and lot him know what I think of his conduct." Ay," said Robbie, bending down to conceal his amusement, and trying to conquer the big laugh that was going off inside of bim. He slipped the cow, and went to the end of the shed, where there I was some corn on a rack, brought a sheaf, and threw it to her. Souter's quadruped gave a satisfied sniff, hauled the sheaf towards her, and proceeded j to demolish it, evidently in no wisy incommoded by her dental deficiency. "Astonishing," said Mr. Timmer, regarding her iqtently. "She doesn't seem to mind." Gotten used till't," said Robbie, abruptly, and coughing up his laugh, They left the stable, Robbie chuckling at the utter ridiculousness of the whole affair, and Mr. Timmer fulqaioating anathemas for the unfortu- nate Souter. I have no yrords," said Mr. Timmer, with em- phasis, reaching Souter's farm next morning, and finding him in the hqiy-loft, with which I can i express my disappointment, and, I may add, my indignation, sir, at your unwarranted and unprin- cipled conduct as evidenced by the transaction so lately concluded between us." Souter was taken aback. He was a plain man, unversed in dictionary language, and he didn't exactly see the drift of Mr. Timmer's address. "The what?" he said, sharply, leaning on bis hayfork, and regarding the parson. I "I repeat, sir," said Mr. Timmer, in an awful voice, and looking Souter dead in the eye, that I am amazed, and. I may add, shocked and deeply I grieved, to find that a man occupying your posi- tion in the church and in society should be guilty of conduct so utterly inconsistent with the profes- I sion you have made. I refer to the fact that upon examination I have found the quadruped sold to me by you lamentabjy defective in a denti- cular sense." Souter was bewildered. He had never coma across so many big words at close quarters before. "I diana oxac'iy see it," lie said, cautiously. ''Could ye no put it into stait 'or wirds ?" He soratohod his head and put it a little to one side, while his eye twinkled at what he considered the humour of his remark. Words 1" echoed Mr. Titiiwer. "Certainly. I have no desire to conceal from you the facts of the case. On the contrary, I am here for the express purpose of stating them in language which you cannot fail to comprehend." Weal V" said Souter, expectantly. Well! repeated Mr. Timmer. It is veryjfar from well, I assure you. Deception in any man of this place would have grieved me much, but this, coming as it does from you, who have for two years sat under my—ahem—ministrations, is doubly painful and humiliating. I mean this, sir, that your cow has not a single tooth ip the upper part of its head, and I ask you, as a man and as a professing Christian, to tell me what you think of that." Mr. Timmer pronounced the last words with triumphant emphasis, and glared through Souter's eye into tha depths of his soul to see if there was the slightest atom of excuse upon which he could pounce and expatiate. But he saw none. Souter was evidently in a corner. A-a.-a," he said, opening his mouth, but emitting nothing satisfactory, and beginning to back slowly towards a yiDdpW at the end of the loft. During the interview ha had been getting 1 more and more puzzled, but now he was quite 11 certain about what had happened. The minister had gone mild, he thought, and he would need to do his best to pacify him till he could get to the window and jump out. Ay, ay," he said," that's right;" as Mr. Timmer i < advanced, getting angry at Souter's. plain attempt'' to escape, and his eye glittering with a baleful light. Souter reached the window, It was ten feet from the ground, but that wasn't a circumstance as things stood, and he flung himself out, landing among a lot of hay still lying beneath. Without waiting a moment, he took to his heels *nd dis- appeared into the house, He could not imagine a sane man looking for upper teeth in a cow. Mr. Timmer wis exasperated beyond measure. He could scarcely contain himself. He turned and climbed slowly down by the ladder from the loft, then paused a little in tha opee air to recover his breath, which he had expended in his vehement declamation, and to consider what next. He hac just determined to proceed to the house and forcibly unearth Souter. when he saw one of hi., elders approaching on the road, and he resolved that,before doing so,he would intimiate to the new comer what had happened. "Guid mornin", sir," said Elder Mackie, coming near; ye're oot takin' a walk to yersel'. Ya look het. Hae ye been far awa' ?" In rapid sentences Mr. Timmer recounted the story of his wrong, and Elder Mackie took hold of himself and sat down by the wayside. Oh, oh," he roared in convulsions of laughter, a hoo. hoo, hoo. He dinna say it. Ye've been ower jaw 'n' Souter 'cause his coo hedna upper teeth. »0dsake3, it's ower guid to be true. A hee, hee, hee!"and the tears ran down Elder Mackie's cheeks. He had not believed that a joke of such magnitude could exist. Mr. Timmer was appalled. A spirit of levity had evidently seized his whole congregation, from Robbie, who rang the bell, to Elder Mackie, who stood at th9 plate, and no words could adequately express hi< sentiments. But the elder recovered after a little, and was able to speak. I'll tell ye ttid way o't," he said good- humouredly, "an' then ye'll no gae wrang again." They spoke for a while, and Mr. Timmer re gained his temper and his dignity. Well, well," he said, "you see how far wrong a man may be led through the non-observance of some matter of detail." I think it waina sat muckle i maitter o' "detail" as a matter o' dq heid," responded elder Mackie, who was an incor. rigible punster, laughing immoderately at his owi joke. Then they parted, and Mr. Timmer went home a calmer and a wiser man, and next time h< visited Edinburgh he purchased a book on The Science of Agriculture," and another oa Anima Physiology;" but yon night old Robbie and Mackie and Souter almost burst their shiris over the joke, when they had compared notes and ob- tained a complete narrative, and, as Robbie would say, they never laid it dooo till him," the "him referring to Mr. Timmer so for years the story of the minister and his teethless coo was a stan- ding joke in the parish.-People" Friend.

HE FORGOT SOMETHING. American steamboat passenger, just landed: I say, Cap'n, these here aren't all. I have left something on board. Captain: Them's all the plunder you brought on board, anyhow. Passenger: Wal, I see now. I grant it's O.K. accordin' to list; four boxes, three chests, two bandboxes, and portmanty; two hams, one part cut three ropes of inyens, and a tea-kettle. But see, Capn, I'm duborsonte; I feel there's some- thing short, tho* I've counted um nine times over, and never took my eyes off um while on board i there's something not right, somehow. Captain: Wal, stranger, time's up; them's all I know on; so just fetch your wife and five chil. dren out of the cabin, cos I'm off. Passenger: Them's um Darn It, them'a um I I know'd I'd forgot somewn.

TAKING COUNSEL'S OPINION. Small urchin: If you please, sir, will you tell m< the time ? Q.C. (who is in a hurry): Half-past two. Small Urchin: Ah! I know'd it was. Q C., hotly Thety why did you ask? Smn Urchin 'Cause I wanted counsel's opinion

Ya pays no 0001. attention to me," said Patpci bo his children, than if I was a dumb bast4 talking to yez." A bookbinder said to his wife at their wedding, It seems that now we are bound together, two volumes in one, with clasps." "Yes," observed :>ne of the guests; "one side highly ornamental rurkey morocco, the other plain calf."