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The Jri. lui fjrart. * PHATKJL (On eoouuBaclnf nsy icblieth Bach m' >r u I offer up 4 Grateful Heart For Life and Health and btrenfUi, Ungbt A(e au.l Hop* ; And I behohf Death's an iuiut dart (Poised at full length) At through faith i beliowoope ; for I (eel >ure tbt Power that made Tbe lubatanoe rule* tbo Kuteuc* and U>e Shade O Life ! from hat far late Impouible to dream At oouot ilia iiiot time in each aolar beam For ceuturiet back uii||ut fade or concentrate. Life : thy woudrou* gift To me, if accidental, 11 the name : And I a Orataful Heart uplift Before a vuiuaary altar tlaojo. My tinrii and my hl>- ! 1'ure and impure, they are my beet, And would be perfwt if they could. Hut Life, how art ibou multiplied Wben uterlmp Health is thine keirloom ' It it the tree ID cunttaat bloom. With fruit forever clot* beeide. And if rare etri'agth be also thine, Thou hUouUitt witb grateful heart-throb feel Thou hut wilhiu theo ineain to thine Beyond the warrior t buruiohe-l uteel. Then for the BUzht courageous ever be : Pray for a HIM back thy uoblett hup* ; Strive fur tbo uttuoit noo4 within tby itcupe, Handing never false humility. But if bright Age through lengthened yean (it rorch tbtM HI a rainbow ttp*Q, Pray to work ever wbit-bau d man - With aunt ue'er dashed by team or feare; Glad to live uti. unwilling yet to die, But roady fur tliu hour, At of a toft, revivifying nhower. With.Uo|>et oeyoud, cbamvui-d bjr resignation. Hero to await, or dart abovo yon tky 1 Like a child reaching at a utar, Naught fur man't ho|>e can be too far Dait uuto dutt, or reah/.od aspiration. With Uiy lt smile, thy last laiut ib, Be truttfnl m l.ife'iiraud lutluity. Hufuint Henyiat Hanie. PHYLLIS. BY THI DCCHIM. of 'Molly Bawn.' " Tb Baby, Airy F.ury Liiiau," etc, etc. From my exalted position I can see a long way batore me. and there in the di* tause, coming with fatal certainty in my direction, I espy Mr. Garrmglon ! At the same moment Billy's leg* push themseh in a dangling fashion through Ihe branched of bis tree, aud are followed by the remain der of bis person a little later. Forgetful of my original design, forgetful of every thing bul Ihe eternal disgrace that will cling to me through life if found by our landlord in my present unenviable plight. I call to him. in tones suppressed indeed, but audible enough to betray my biding plat " Billy, here ii Mr. Carrington he is oeming toward* us. Catch these nut* quickly, while I get down." "Are you hurl?" he asks, gazing at me with anxious eye*, and still retaining hi* bold of me. " Yes, I am," I answered tearfully "Look at my arm." I pull up my sleeve cautiously and disolose an arm that looks indeed wonderfully white next tbe blood that trickles slowly from it. " Ob. borriole !" says our rich neighbor, with real aud intenst concern, and. taking out hi* handkerchief, proceeds to bind up my wound ilh Ibe extremes! tenderness. 1 Why didn't you lot bim take yon down .'" says Bill, reproachfully, wbo ratber struck b., the blood. " It would have been better after all." " I hardly feel it at all now." I answer gratefully. ' I don'J know what I should Ears done bat for you first catching me as yon did, and then dressing my hurt. Bnt how shall I return you your bandker chief " M*v I not call toj.n*"w iu me if you _ -one the worse for your accident? U i* a long week since last I was at Summer- leas. Would I tore you all very much if I bowed myself there again soon 7" ' Nol at all," 1 answered warmly, think- ing of Dora; ' thi of to 11 or you come the more we shall be pleased." " Would it please ymi to see me often '.'" He watches me keenly as be asks this ques- tion. " Yes. of course it would." I answer, politely, feeling slightly surpriaed at bis tone t cry slightly. ' How loDg havs you known me?" " Exactly a month yesterday," I exclaim, promptly , il was on tbe 25lh of August yon first oame to tee us. I remember the dale perfectly." Do yon ?" with pleased surprise. "We must be going now, I say, extend ing my hand : " it i* getting late. Good-bye, Mr. Carrington and thank you again very much," I added, somewhat shyly. " If yon persist in thinking there u any. thing to be grateful for, give me my reward." hi say*, quickly, "by letting me walk wilh you to the boundary of the wood." "Yes, do," say* billy, effusively. " Come, if you wish it," 1 say, answering the unspoken look in his eyes, and feeling thoroughly surprised to bear a man so altogether grown up express a desire for our graceless society. THUS sanctioned, be turns aud walks by my side, conversing in the I'leasant, light, easy style peculiar to him, 1 itil the boundary he named is reached. ) (ere we pause to bid each other once more x wd-bye. "And I may come to-morrow?" he asks, ilding my hand closely. " Yes but bnt I cannot give you tbe i andkerchief before mother and Dora," I murmur, blushing hotly. "True, I bad forgotten tbat important handkerchief. Bul perhaps you could manage to walk with me as far as Ibe en- trance-gate, could yon ?" " I don't know," I return doubtfully, " If not, I can give it to you some other day." " So you can. Keep it until I am fortu- nate enough to meet yon again. I shall probably get on without it until tbn." So wilb a smile and a backward nod and glance, we part. There is a brutal enjoyment of thi tree icene in Billy's wbole demeanor that stings m* sorely. I begin to compare dear Roly with my youngir brother in a manner highly unflattering to tbe latter. If Roland bad been here in Billy's plaoe to day, instead of being as he always is with tbat tiresome regiment in some forgotten corner, all might have been different. He at least being a man, would have felt for mi. How could I havs been mad enough to look for sympathy from a boy ? Deat Roland I Ybe only fault hi has i* bis exlremi and palpable selfishness. Bat what of that ? An not all mm so afflicted? Why should he be oondsmned for what is only to be expected and looked for in the grander sex ? What I detest more than anything else is a person who. while pro feomng to be friends with on>, only I grow morose, and decline all further conversation, nntil we come so near our home thai but oue tarn more hides it from oar view. Here Billy remonstrates. " Of course you can sulk if you like," he says in an injured tone, " and not ipeak to a fellow, all fur nothing ; bnt you can't go into ihe bouse wilb your arm like tbat, unless you wish them to discover tbe battle in which you bave been engaged." " 1 muni undo it, I suppose," I return, disinclination in my tone, and Billy says " Of course," witb hideous briskness. There- with be remove* the guardian-pm and pro oeeds to unfold tbe handkerchief witb an air tbat savors strongly of pleasurable curiosity, while I stand shrinking beside bim, and vowiug mentally never again to trust myself at an undue dinlanoe from mother earth. At length the last fold is undone, and, to my unspeakable relief, I see tbat the wuuud, tbou^u crimson round the edges. has ceased to bleed. Hastily and carefully drawing tbe Hi-eve of my dress over it, I thrust the siai ied bandkercbiet into my pocket and rnaite for tbe houne. When I have exchanged a word or two witb Dora (who is always in Ibe way wben nol wanted tbat beiuK tbe hall at tbe pre sent moment) I escape upstairs without being taken to task for my damaged gar- ments, aud carefully look my door. Never- theless, though now, comparatively apeak ing, iu safety, there ii still a weight upon my mind. If to morrow I am to return tbe handkerchief to its owner, il must in tbe meantime be waabed, aud wbo is to wash it? Try as I will, I cannot bring myself to make a coutulaule of Martha ; therefor* nothing remains for me but to under- take the purifying of it myself. I Dave still half an hour clear before tbe din- ner-bell will ring ; so, plunging my laud- lord's cambric into the ba*iu, I boldly com- mence my work. Five minutes later. 1 am getting on ; it really begins to look almost white again the stain* bave nearly vanished, and only a general ptnkiness remains. But what is to hi done witb Ibe water ? if left, il will surely betray me, and betrayal means pun- ishment. I begin to feel like a murderess. In every murder case I have ever read (and they have a particular fascination for mel, Ibe mise- rable perpetrator of the crime finds a ter- rible difficulty in getting rid'of tbe water in which be has washed off the traces of hi* victim's blood. I now find a similar difficulty indisposing of tbe water reddened by my own. I open the window, look care- fully out. and, seeing no one, fling the con- tents of my basin into the air. " It falls to earth I know not wbere " as I hurriedly draw in my bead and get through the re- mainder of my self-imposed duly. After tbat my dressing for dinner is a scramble , but I get through it in time, and come down serene and innocent, to take my acouktomed plaoe at table. All goes well until toward tbe close of tbe festivities, wben papa, fixing a piercing eye on me, says, generally May I inquire which of yon is in the nabit if throwing water from your bed- room windows up >n chance pas*ra by?" A gbaslly uleuoe follows. Dora looks up in meek snrprie*. Billy glances anxiously at me. My knees knock together. Did it fall upon him ? Has hi discovered all? " Well, why do I receive no answer? Who did it?" demanded papa, in a voice of suppressed thunder, still with bis eye on me. ' l threw some out this evening," I acknowledge, in a faint tone, " but niver before I " 1 Oh ! it was you. was il '.'" says papa, with a glare. 1 need noaroely have inquired; I might bave known tbe on* must likely to commit a disreputable action. Is that an established habit of yours ? Are there no servants to do your bidding ? [t was the most monstrous proceeding I ever in my life witnessed." " It was only " I begin tmidly. " ' It was only' tbat it is an utterly mpoeeible thing for you ever to be a lady," nterrupted papa, bitterly. " You are a downright dirgraae to your tinly. At limee I find il a difficult mat- ter to believe yon a Vernon." Having delivered this withering speech, b* eans back in bis chair, wilh a snort that would not have doce discredit to a war-borse, which signifies that the scene is at an end. Two large tears gather in my eyes and roll navily down my cheeks They look like tears of penitence, bnt in reality are tears of relief. Oh, if tbat tell-tale water bad tut fallen ou tbe breast of bis shirt, or on its stainless ouffi, wbere would tbe inqui- ries bave terminated ? Cllil'TKB V. I have wandered down to the river side ,nd uuder the shady trees. It is a week nines my adventure in the wood five days since Mr .Carrington'* last visit. On that occasion having failed to obtain on* minute itli him alone, the handkerchief still remains in my possession, and proves a TV skeleton in my closet, the initials M. '. 0. thai sland for Msrmaduke John Car- ington, as all the world knows staring out boldly from their corner, and threaten ng at any moment to betray me : so tbat, ibrough fear and dread of discovery, I arry it about with me, and sleep with it leneath my pillow. Looking back upon it all now, I wonder bow I could have been so oplisb, so wanting in invention. I feel with what ease I could now dispose of any. bing tangible and obnoxious. There is a slight obill in thi air, in spite of the pleasant snn ; and I half maki up my mind to go tor a brisk walk, instead of sauntering idly, a* I am at present doing. hen somebody call* to me from the ad- oining field. It is Mr. Carrington. Hs ilimbe tbe wall thai separates us, and drops nto my territory, a little scrambling Irish terrier at his heels. Is tbli a favorite retreat of years?" ii asks, as our handi meet. Sometimes. Ob, Mr. Oarrington, I am so glad to meet you to-day." Are you, really ? That ii better niwa than I hoped to hear when I lift home this morning." Because I wsnt to ritnrn you your landkerohief. I have had it ao long, and am so anxions to g*t rid of it. It it would irobably look nicer," I say, with bssita- ion, slowly withdrawing the article in question from my pocket, " if anybody else bad washed II; but I did nol want any one to find out about that day ,- so I had to do it myself} Lingering, oautuiisly , I bring it to light and hold ii out tcjhim. Oh, bow dread- fully pink and unsleaoly it appears in tbe broad light of tbe CMU air t T* me it seem* doubly hideout ls> very last thing a fas- tidious gentleman would dream of pulling to bis nose. Mr. Car mi kitoi. aeoepls it almost ten- derly. There is pot a shadow of a smile upon bin face. ' Is it possible ycu took all that trouble," he says, a certain gentle light, wilb which I am growing familiar, romiug into bis eyes as they reel i upon my auxious face. My dear child, wy ? Did you not under- stand I was only Citing when I expressed a d> fire to have ft again ? Wby did you not i nt it in thoi.re, or rid yourself of it in huint other fmfcion long ago '.' " So" after a pause" Jpn really washed U with your own hands tr me?" One might gules tbat by looking at it," I answer with a rather awkward laugh : " still, I think it would not look mi so badlv, but tbat 1 kept in my pocket ever einoe, and that jiven it its crumpled ap- pearance." 'Ever since? BO near to you for five long days ? Win: a weight it must have been on your lender conscience ' Well, at all events no oilt- washerwoman" with a smile shall ever touch it. 1 promise you thai." He | laces il carefully in an IUM.I" pocket as ho speaks. " Ob, pleaxe do uot say lhal !" I cry dis- mayed ; " you mutt nol keep it as a speci- men of my handiwork. Once properly waabed. you will forget all about it ; but if you keep it before your eyes in its preneut slate Mr. Carriugton, Jo put it in your olothea-basket tbe moment you gobouie." He only laugh* at Ibis pathetic entreaty, and throws a pebble into tbe liny river tbat runs at onr feet. " Why are you alone?" be asks pruwntlv. " Why it uot tbe indefatigable Hilly wiiu you ?'' ' Hu reads with a tutor three limes a week That lea. en me very often lonely. I oame here to day just to pass tbe tiinu till be 3an join me He don't seem tu care much about Greek or Lilin," I admit iugeuuously ; " and as ne never looks at bis lesaoun until five minute* before Mr. Cald- wood comes, you see be don't get over them very quickly." ' And so leaven you disconsolate longer than hi need. \our sister, Miss Veruoo doss sbe never go for a walk witb you .'" Ab ' now he is coming to Dora. "Dora? Ob. never. Sbe is not fond of walking ; it does not sgree witb her. she sayii. Yon may have noticed she is uot very robust, she looks so fragile, so different from .f in every respect." Very different." Yes, we all see that," I answer, rather disconcerted by bis ready acquiescence in this home view. " Aod so pretty as she is. too 1 Don't you think her very pretty, Mr. Carringlon ?" " Extremely so. Even more thar merely pretty. Her complexion, I take it. must b* quite unrivalled. HLe is positively lovely u her own style. ' " I am very glad you admire her ; but, indeed, you would be singular if yon did nol do so." 1 say with enlbusiasm. " Her golden hair and blue tyes make her quite a picture. / tbiuk sbe has the prettiest face 1 ever law . don'l you ?" " No ; not tbe prettiest. I know another tbat, to me at least, is far more beautiful.., He is looking straight before him, appa- rently at nothing, and to my attentive ear there is something hidien in bis tone tbat renders me uneasy for tbe brilliant future I bave mapped out for my sitter. " You bave been so much in Ibe world," I say, wilb some dejection, " and of course in London and Parm and all the- large 01 lien one sees many charming faces from time to MJI. I bould have remembered Ibat. T suppose, away frem this little village, Djra's face would be but one in a crowd." "Ids nut iu London or Paris, or any large city I saw the face of which I srwak. 1 1 was iu a neighborhood as small yes, ,/uiir- as small as this. The owner of it was a mere child a little country-girl, knowing nothing of tbe busy world oatnde her home, but I shall never again tee any one so altogether sweet and loveable." ' What was sbe like ?" I ask, curiously. I am not so uneasy as I was. If only a Aii J she cannot, of course, interfere with Dor*. " Describe her to me?" " What u she like yon mean. Bbi ii still iu the land of the living, linen'.? her. L don't believe I could," say* my compan- ion, with a light laugh. " If I gave you her exact photograph in word*, I dare say I would call down your scorn on my be- nighted taste. Wbo ever grew rapturous over a description ? It you oross-ixamiue me about her obarms, without doubt 1 shall fall through. To my way of thinking beauty does not lie in feature*, in hair, or eye*, or mouth. It is there without one's knowing why ; a look, an expression, a smile, all go to make up the indescribable something thai ii perfection." " You steak of her as though she were a woman. I don't believe she is a child at all," I say. witb a pout. "She is the greatest child I evir met. But tell me " Then, breaking off sud- denly, and turning to me, " By ihe bye," he says, whal may I call you ? Miss Ver- non ii too formal, and Miss Phyllis I de- test " "Yes," return I, laughing, " it reminds me of Martha. Yon may call mi Phyllis if you like." " Thank yon : I shall like it very much. Afropot of pkotograpb*. then, a moment ago, Phyllis, did yon ever sit for your portrait?" "Oh, yes, twice," I answer, cheerfully: ' once by a travelling man wbo oami round, and did n* all very cheaply indeed (I think tor fonrpenoe or sixpence a head) ; and once in Canton. I had a dozen taken then ; bnt wben I had given one each to them all at home, and one to Martin, j found I bad no QM for the others, and bad only wanted my pocket-money. Perhaps" diffidently " you wonld like one T" l.\kf it I" say* Mr. Carrington, with most uncalled for eagerness ; " I should ratber think I would. Will you really give me oni, Phyllis?" " Of course," I answer, with surprise ; ' they are no ue to me, and have been Loaning about in my draw jr for six months. Will you bavs a Canton one ? I really think it is the best. Though if you put your hand over the eyes, the itinerant's U rather like m." What happened to the eye*? There ii a taint easl in tbe right one. Tbe man said it wa* tbe way I always looked, bnt I don't think so myself. You don't think I have a squint, do you, Mr. CarriDgtou " Here I open my blue-grey eye* to their widest and gave at my oouipaaton in anx- ious inquiry. " No, I don't see it." returns he, when be has subjected the *y*e in question to a close and lingering examination. Then be laughs a little, and I ljgbtoo, to encourage bim. "What o'clock i* it?' I atk, a little later. It must be tims for me to go home, aud Billy will be waiticg." Having told me the hour, be says : " Have you no watch, Puylli* ?" " No." " Unu't yon nod it awkward now and ihen baiog ignorant of tbe nine? Would you I ins out ' ' "Oh, would I uot?" I answer promptly. " There is nothing I would like belter. Do yon know it i* the one thing for which I am alwavs wishing." " Pnylhs," says Mr. Carrington, eagerly, " let me give you one." I stare at him in silent bewilderment. Something within me whispers such j >y is not for me. of coarse be would only give it to me for Dora's sake, and yet I tnow I cannot say irhy 1 feel it but I ktunc if I accepted a watch from Mr. Car- riugton all at borne would be angry, sud it would cause a horrible row. "Thank yon," I say mournfully. " Tbauk you i cry, irry much. Mr. Carrlngtoo, bnt I .uld Lot lake it from you. It is very kind uf you to offer it. and I would accept it if I could, but it would be of no use. At borne 1 know they would nol let me have ". ai.d so it would b* a pity for you to j>eud all your money upon it for uotbing." "What uouMiuMe:" impatieully, " M'A wouM ' lei you lake il ."' " Papa, mamma, every one." I answer, with deepest dejection. (I would > much b.va likod that watch ' Why, why diri he put tbe delightful but transient idea into my head?) "They would all say I ar '.ed wrongly in lakiug it, aud and they would send u back to you again." ' Is iben anything else you would like, Phylli*. tbat I might give you?" ' No, nothing, tbank yt u. I must only wait. Mother ha* promised me her watch upon my wedding morning." You seem oomfortably certain of bring married, sooner or later," be say*, witb a laugh tbat still shows some vexation. " Do you ever tbink what tort of a husband you would like, Phylln?" Ne. 1 never think of disagreeable things, if I can blip it," is my somewhat tart reply. My merry mood in gone s^ (eel iu some way injured, and inclined towards inappisbnes*. And from what / have seen uf husband* 1 think ihey are all, every one, each more detestable than tbe other. If I were an heiress I would never marry ; but, being a girl without a fortune, I luppeee I moat." Mr. Carriugton roars. " I never beard anything so absurd," he says, " a* such mature sentiments coming from your lips. Why, to bear you talk, one might imagine yea a town-bred young woman, one wbo has passed through tbe f urtb campaign , but to ,ee you Yon have learned your lemon uncommonly well, though I am sure you were never taught it by your m >ther. And bow do you know thai you may not lose your heart to a cu- rate, and find yourself poorer after your marriage than before?" That I never will." I return, deci- sively. ' In tbe first place, I detest curates, and in tbe next I would uot be tbe wife of a poor man, even if I adored him. I will marry a rich man. or I will not marry at all." " I hate to bear you talk like that," says Mr. Carriogton, gravely. "Tbe i leas are so unsuited to a little loving girl like you. Although I am positive you do not mean one word you say, still it pains ms to bear you." " I do mean it," I answer, defiantly ; " but a* my conversation pains you, I will not innict it on you longnr. Goodbye.'" ' Good bye, yon perverse child . and don't try to imagine yourself mercenary. Are you angry with me?" holding my un- willing hand and smiling nto my face. Don't, I'm not worth it. Come, give me one smile to bear me oompmiv until we meet again." Thus abjured, I laugb, and my nngersgrow quilt in his grasp. "And when will tbat be?" continues Mr. Car- riogton. -'To-morrow or next day ? Pro- bably Friday wills*! me at Summerleas. In tbe meantime, now we are friends again, I must remind yon not to forget your pro- mise about tkat Canton photo." " I will remember," I say . and so we separate. COAPTEB VI. On my return home, to my inexpressible surprise and delight, I find Itjlan<l. During my absence be has arrived, totally uucx peeled by any member of tbe household ; and tbe small excitement his appearance cauae* make* bim doubly welcome, as anything thai startles us out of our bum- drum existence in bailed witb positive rap- ture. I'.veu mother, whose mind is still wonderfully fresh and young, considering all the year* she ha* pasted under pspa'* thumb, enters freely into tbe general mer- riment, and forgets for Ihe lime being her daily cares. " Yon see I found I wonld be herealmosl as soon as a letter," explains Roland ; " and, as I hate writing like a nightmare, 4 resolved to take you a little by surprise." Mother, radiant, in silling near him, regard- log him wilh humid eyes. If dear mother bad been married to an indulgent husband sbe would have been a dreadful goose. Even as it is shi posssssei a talent for weeping upon all occasions only to be equalled by mine. " Bow did yon manage to gel away so soon again, Roly '.'" I ask, when I have em- braced him as much as he will allow. " I hardly know. Luck, I fancy and the colonel did The old boy, yon see, has a weakness for m* which I return by having a weakness for the old boy's daughter. Mother lan- guidly " may I marry tbe old bay's dangh- ler ? She ii an extremity pretty little girl, young, with fifteen thousand pounds ; but I would Dot like to engagi myself to her without your full consent." Mother laughs and passes her hand with a light caressing gesture over Ins charm ingfaoe. " Conoeiled boy I" she murmur*, fondly ; there is) little ohanos you will ever d* so much good for y ouraelf." " Don't b* too sure. At all events, I kave your oonaent!" 11 Yes, and my blessing, too," aav* mother, laughing, again. "Thanks. Then I'll turn it over is my mind whu I go back." "Roly," I break in with my scr.usteesed graoiousuesn, " what brought you .'" " Tbe train and an overpowering desire to see Dora's young man." A laugh aud a blush from Dora. " I met bim just now," I say, ' down by the trout river. What a pity he did not come home with m*. to satisfy your oun oaiiy without delay ' " Mother, do yeu Ihink il Ibe correct thing for Phyllia to keep clandestine ap- pointments wilb her brother iu Uw ' Dora, u il poskible you do nol scent mitohief in ihe air? A person too of 1'nyllis' well- known attractions" " What was be doing at the trout river ?" asks Dora, witb a smile. Sbe u too secure iu tbe knowledge of her own beauty to dread a rival auy where, least of all 10 sv. Nothing as far as I could see. He talked a little, aud said be was oorniug here next Fniay." "Tbe day after to-morrow I mall ask bim bis inleulious," says Holy. " It is most f jrtuuate I am ou Ibe spot. One should never let an affair of this kind .ir.;. It will doubtless be a thankless task , but I make a {uiut of never shirking my duly ; and wbu we nave put our beloved father oomfortably uuder ground "Rjland," interrupts molber, in a (hooked tone. There is a pause. I quite thought you were goiug to say omethiov " says It ilaud amiably. " 1 was mistaken. 1 :!! therefore continue. When w-j have put our beloved father well under tbe ground I will then be tbe bead of this K ouse. and natural guardian to these poor ujar girls ; aud, with this prospect in vie f, I feel even at tbe present moment a curtain responsibility, that compels me to look alcer their iuterenu and bring tbm recreant gallant to book." Roland, iuy dear, I wish you would not Hpeak ho of your falber, ' puts m mamma, feebly. " Very well, 1 won't," returns Raly ; " and be shan't be put under ground at all, if you duu't wi-.li it. Cremation shall be his fate, and wo shall keep bis precious asaon in an urn." ' I don'l believe Mr. Carringlon cares a pin for DJM " sa> Billy, irrelevantly. I think be likes Phyllis twioe as well. This remark, though intended to de so' does not aci as a bombshell in Ibe family circle ; it is regarded as a mere flash in the pan from Billy, aud is received with silent i- inteiupi. What could a boy know about nuob matters ? " I have a month's leave," Italand inform* us presently. " Do you think in thai tine we could polish it off courtship, proposal, aud wedding.' Though," reflectively, "that would be a pity, as by putting off tbe mar- riage for a little while I might than screw another month out of tbe old boy." "Just so." 1 answer, approvingly. " H* is such a desirable young maa in every way," says mother, apropot of Mr. Carringtou ; " so sleady, well-tempered, and his bouse is really beautiful. Yea know it. Roland Sirangemore seven mile* from this ?" I Ihink it gloomy," Dora says, quietly " Wbeu I-if 1 were to that is " What a charming virtue is modesty I" I sxltim, tottu vtct. <ij on, Dora," sayi Roland, in an encouraging tone. " Wnen you marry Mr. Carringtou, what will you do then?" ' Of course I don'l see Ihe smallest pros pect of it." murmurs Dora, with downcast syss ; " but if I were to become mistress of Btraugemora I would throw more light into all tbe rooms , I would open up windows everywhere, and take down those heavy pillars." Then you wonld ruin it," I cry iodig nantly ; " its ancient appearance is ils ohisf obarm. You would make it a mere modern dwelling bouse . aud Ihe pillars I think msgnitiaenl." " / don't." says dear Dora, immovably , " and if ever I gut tbe chance I will certainly remove them." ' Yon won't get the chance, then ; you need not think it. Mr Carriogton has not the smallest idea of marrying you," exclaims Billy, whose Latin and Oreek have evi- dently disagreed with bim. " II is a pity your tutor cannot teach you to be a gentleman," retorts Dora, casting a withering glance at our youngest born. ' Our dar William's temper appears slightly ru'i!-d." remarks Roland, smoelhly. " Evidently tbe gentleman of the name of Caldwood was lavish witb his birch this morning. Come witb me, Phyllis ; I want to visit tbe stables." I follow him gladly ; and Billy joining as, with a grim countenance, we sally forth, leaving Dora to poor her grief* into moth- er's gentle bosom. (To b* continued. TUB ti. P. It. ljor M(rr (Marline; Ol i. Hake Ibr l i-i ,i i , ..ii-.n Major Rogers.under whose directions thi locating survey of the C. P. R. line of rail- road from Savona's Ferry through Eagle Pas* to the Columbia River will take place, will leave Ibis oily for the scene of action on Tuesday. The number of men employed ill amount in tbe aggregate to between 50 and 00 Tbeee will be divided into three parties, in tbe respective charge of Messrs. Stevens, Watson and Roberts, thoroughly experienced engineers who have been with the major ou previous surveys. Ons party will commence operations between Savon a and K am loops, and tbe other two will be situated between tbe South Thomp- son and Columbia rivers. The survey will be made BO a* to allow the work of oonslrao li>n to commence this fall or at the very laeest in Ibe following spring. Tbe line of railway has already been survsyed frem the Rookies to tbe summit of the Selkirks, and from this latter point to that point of the Columbia Hiver wnire tbe major's present survey will end, aditlanoeof 43 miles, a preliminary line has already been run. The entire line will be located at tbe end of the present year. Major Rogers stated that the real hard work of tbe wbole line lie* between tbe Kicking Horse Pass and the eastern crossing of the Columbia River, a diitanoe of some 76 miles. This part, which will necessarily be constructed from the last, will be completed this Tear. Victoria Cttomtit.