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 TT^Pf-?- 'V;^i^^ i.f?- â- '^â- y.tir.!^^'!^^ â- "â- T'^Tiii-- 5a=«j5i-;- ^r^-^'^^R*"*^' iiSBfel*»*^«^-^**'*^5 ^^ iSJKSS*;'^-:' A «1RL S FOLLY. A small, superior cottage of bright-red brick, sweet-scented woodbine trailing over its rustic porch, a green lawn before it surrounded by flowers, and a charming country laudscape spreading out m the distance. Inside, in its small but pretty parlor, on the red-table cover waited the tea-tray with its cups and saucers. The window stood open to the still, warm au- tumn air, and the French porcelam slock on the mantle-piece was stnkmg A slender girl of some 20 years came in. She was very lovely. But her hgh^-blue eyes bore a sort of weary or discontented look, and her bright brown hair was somewhat ruffled. She wore a print washing dress of black and- white, neither very smooth nor very fresh, and a lace neck-coUar fastened with a bow of black ribbon. Glancing round the room and seeing nobody in it, she went to the open window, stood there m a deep reverie, and then leaned out to pick a rose Its thorns pricked her delicate fingers, and she let it fall with a pettish exclamation. Mrs. Reece came in next. A middle- aged, faded woman of care, in a small widow's cap and neat black gown. She looked flushed and fatigued. " Have you made the tea, Alison ' "No, mamma." â-  t " Oh, but you might have made it 1 wish you would, child 1 I am very tired 1" Alison turned from the window, brought the tea-caddy from a side-table, and put two caddy-spoonsful of tea into the metal teapot. Then she carried it out to the boiling water in the kitchen, and brought it in filled. On days dedicated to some special household work the young ser- vant had to be spared as much as possible. This was ironing day, and Mrs. Reece liad stood at the board herself, ironing what they called th« fine things, which meant laces and muslins, and helping generally. She was not strong, and a little work tired her. But she sat down to pour out the tea as usual. Alison tak- ing a seat which faced the window. ' ' Why have you not changed your frock this afternoon 1" exclaimed Mrs. Reece, suddenly noticing that her daughter wore the cotton she had put on in the morning. And it may as well be stated that at that time, many years ago now, the dresses worn by young ladies, whether of cotton or silk, were universally called 'â-  frocks." " Oh, I d(m"t know," carelessly replied Alison. •' It does not matter." " Did you f ori'et that Tlioiuas N\ atkyu aristocratic, fliri;ing fops rarely have rnax- • xi.-- 1 Jo The, Ainnsement oi riage in their heads. '^^^ZSlt^ ___ that is all Will you take another was commt' " Not at all," said Ali6ni, in a contemptuous tone, her fair face slightly tlushing rosy red, and her blue eyes roving out- ward to the distant green meadows, to the sheaves of the golden corn, and to the al- ready changing tints of the foliage. " I'm sure the frock is g(x)d enough for Thomas Watkyn ' And 1 don't see why he need be dancing to our house so often, mam- ma." " Alison, be silent. You are behaving ilJ, and you know it." '• I am very sorry you should think so, mother. 1 do not wish to behave ill to you." "That is behaving illâ€" saying those last words; becausa you know ^yell that I did not mean you w«re behaving ill to me, but to Thomas Watkyn." Alison Reece pouted her cheny lips, and ate a whole slice of thin bread and butter before replying. " Mamma, how particular you are 1" " I never thought you could behave so. Six months ago you would not have believ- ed it yourself." "Would you please let me have a little more milk in my tea I" "You treat Thomas Watkyn outrage- ously," continued Mrs. Reece, as she passed the milk jug. " One fine day you smile on him, draw him onâ€" yes, you do, Alison don't interrupt me â€" and the next day you will hardly speak to him a pleasant word. But he is worth more than that other that foolish Vavasour, with whom you have been flirting lately." " Worth more " retorted Alison, re- senting these charges, which she knew were all true, and having no other an- swer at hand. "Yes; infinitely more. Compare a dandy fop like Vavasour with Thomas Watkyn ' Alison, you must alter your behaviour. You are engaged to young Watkyn, and " " There was no engagement,"' inter- rupted Alison. " It is equivalent to one. He comea here openly to court you you have until lately responded to it. Why don't you see that he worships the very ground you read on â- ?" A pretty blush and a conscious smile il- luminated the girl's face. ' ' I say things must not go on as they are soing," replied Mrs. Reece. " Either tell Thomas that you can not marry him, and beg him not to come here, or else make up you mind to do so and cease your silly flirtation with the other." " It's not a silly flirtation,' angrily re- plied Alison. ' ' Indeed, I see not what else it can be. " " I don't flirt he does not flirt. He calls here sometimes, and we talk a little and â€" and â€" I'm sure's ^there noth- ing in that to make a fuss about." "And how often do you meet him when you are out 1 and how often do 1 see him strolling with you about yonder fields 1 Alison, take care that in trying to grasp the shadow you do not lose the gabstance." ... " What substance " asked the young lady, innoQantl^. " Thomas Watkyn. A union with him "would be a very substantial one indeed a thoroughly good settlement in life for you. Mr. Vavasour at best (looking at him in this'light' is but a shadow. These the moment, the talking nonsense with a silly girl they look after, cup of tea " " Oh, no, tliank you. This lecture is as good as ten cups of tea. " " Then ring the bell." Patty, the young servant, came in ana carried away the tea-tray. Mrs. Reece went up stairs to put away the clotnes ironed that day, and Miss Reece went back to the open window, leaned against its side frame and fell into a reverie. She had a pretty good notion herself that matters would not go on much long- er Thomas Watkyn would not let them. More than once he had said to her a few words, and she had laughed them off. He was a fine man and a good man, and a well-educated man for those days but he was a farmer. Alison had thought her- self fortunate that he should choose her, for she was not of much account in the world, and could say with the milkmaid- in the old song My face is my fortune and if she was not desperately m love with him she liked him very much, es- teemed and respected him. But a stranger made his appeartince in the place, one Reginald Vavasouj:, who had come to read with the clergyman, previous to passing some examination. A high-bred man of 1,'ood familyâ€" there could be no doubt of thatâ€" and a nian of fascinating manners, given to take the fe- male by storm. He had accidentally made the acquaintance of pretty Alison Reece, had talked a great deal of lazy nonsense to her for his ownamusement, just to pass the time away during the inter- vals of his attendance in the Rev. Mr. Taber's study, and Alison was supremely fascinated. Beside that slender joung aristocrat, whose clothes were of perfect cut, and whose easy manners (not to say insolent) were as perfect as his clothes, whose very drawl batrayed his conscious superioriority to men of rustic locality, no matter what their standing might be, what could plain unpretending Thomas Watkyn be in Alison's sight 1 Nobody. Yet he was good-looking in his way, this Thomas ^Vatkyn. A well-known, well-made, fine man, beside whom the other looked a boy, with a calm, sen- sible face, and iuiet, unobtrusive ways. Bmtagain, who could adn»»e a homolyface, its sfeady, thoughtful, kindly eyes, and its brown, old-fashioned whiskers, when there was another face over the next field, whose dark orbs were of a flashing brilliance, and whose curlod-out black moustache was killing I Not silly, inex- perienced, vain Alison Reece. Leaning against the window-frame Al- ison watched a tall, straight figure coming aci^iss tlie meadows, and her brow went into a scowl. It was Thomas Watkynâ€" and she wondered what brouglit him so early this evening she wished he would stay away for good. Or, if not goodâ€" for something pricked her heart and con- science there â€" at least for a few weeks. She did not care for Tom, and she knew it, and she supposed she would marry him sometime. Unless indeed â€" sometimes Alison dreamed dreams of Mr. Vavasour appearing some fine morning to carry her oti' in a carriage and four, the horses and postboys displaying white favors. She had no true love for Mr. Vavasour but she was very pretty, with all a pretty girl's vanity, and his admiration of her was just so much subtle incense. A thought of vexation crossed her mind, as Mr. Watkyn came in at the gate, that she had not changed her frock as usual. Some kind of perverse obstinacy had caused her not to do it, because she knew that he would be there that even- ing, and that Mr. Vavasour would not. She walked out to the rustic porch await- ing his approach, and she grew more vexed still as she saw his keen, lionest gray eyes scanning the untidy dress in mute surprise. â-  Good evening, Aliscm." " Good evening," she replied, meeting his offered hand. " You are come early." â- ' I must leave early. 1 have but a few minutes to give you." " It was scarcely necessary to ctmic at all. was it ' "I knew you would be expecting me. But I will come to-morrow, Alison, about this hour. I want to have some conversation with you, and " " To lecture me, pray'" ' ' No that is over. However, 1 will not enter upon it now. My uncle came Vavasour. And in the eremngJoM were pacing the meadows withbim. *^T^ was no harm. «« wm off all ;in And He was not eat- "'Take yesterday," continued Mr. Watkyn his face, his genfle voice fuU ^tKeepest paik "He had l^hda^ it must be supposed, from his Btqdies, wid he and you were roaming aboul to- ^fher nearly the whole of the hvelong '^*" And he came in and took a cup of tea with me and my mother afterward, an- swered Alison, with saucy, Ifygl^^g^* â- olence. " Mamma thmks hunc^°™- ing." ,) " He is an idle, heartlessâ€"^ " Well, why do you stop " I was going to sayâ€" vagabond, in one sense he is." "He comes of a race who can afford to be idle. He does not have to Wl the ground by the sweat of his brow. He wa^ bom with his bread and cheese provided for him." ,• ^v, " "With a silver spoon m his moutn, added Mr. Watkyn, affecting a lightness he did not feel, for her contemptuous tone tried him. "Well, good evenmg, Alison." ., • „ " " Oh, good evening, if you are going. He stood looking at her, and their eyes met Alison caught the shadow of pam in his, and in her own there arose a re- morseful pity she had the grace to feel ashamed of herself. Her lips broke into a tender smile, a pink flush shown m her dimpled cheeks. ^^ " You are very silly, Thomas. "\ml'" he returned, holding her hand lovingly in his. "Fare you well nntil to-morrow evening, my dearest. "There! Your dearest! And just now you were ready to call me hard names." " Until to-morrow," he repeated with a smile, as he quited hei. Alison got a perfumed note the next morning from Mr. Vavasour gilt-edged paper, crest on the seal. It told her that he was to be so " gloriously busy " that day he feared he should not have time to call at the cottage but would she meet him in the willow walk at dusk. And it ended " Your faitliful Reginald Va- Twaxt tone, for she wanted to ward off a Sous conversation, lest he should beg: ^^'Sh^ Watkyn turned his eyes upon her, sirr*i8e, if not reproof in depths, "I hope I am," he answered, "under God." " Young people do not often think of these things." ,, "The young die as well as the oia, child remember that. " "Won't you come in, Thomas she asked, in a softened voice, as they pre- sently stroUed up the path, and he halted in the porch. "Not this evenmg, Alison, »hat i have to say I will say here." AUson flushed to the roots ot her wavy hair, and moved a step or two away from him. ,. iv " Look " she cried, pointing to the bkzing western sky, " that bank of gold- en clouds is changing to crimson now. He went forward, for he had already sat down, and looked again at the gor- geous panorama. " Yes, it is, as I say, a glorious sunset. once She would not answer "Will you give him' up this night ' he pleaded "No." Wliat inward prompted her to speak that short*" ' word, Alison never krew. " ' " spoken. "Very well." For long afterward the pain in those two short words haunteri,^"' a wail from the grave. Thomtu, « '^^ fore her,, calm and self-possessed "I wiU never trouble vou a*.' son," he said quietly. " \vSl jo^S'ss^ ^a wind blew, a sti old with shining Cadldhood of a wind that goes blow once, in the eariy "^rBatnTV, came sweeping t^^of «u» 9^A Lincolns '^*-^hi3 arms upon the !j Self be blowing aloii *Sed on he made las and said, "I hear i in the wind," and r,^ smd the blast whirled ^the great abyss of winds. in*?^„:fHn trace in the n We may never see another like it on this side of eternity," he added, dreamily, seeming to lose himself in solemn thoughts. ,. Alison laughed â€" her little musical laugh that had often set his pulses beating wildly. "You are always look- ing at the dark side of things, Tom. I hope we shall yet watch many a sunset together. " Do you really, Alison V ' ' Why, of course we must see the sun- set if we live," she returned, in a hard, matter-of-fact tone. " -\s we are neigh- bors we may likely see some of them in ere we say farewell forever r- ohe felt awed at the sternn ' reality that was steahng unon t,»!!^- *^ view and trembled at t\e^thoug inghim. But she did not SpI would come to that in the end an? v' was too proud and wilful to take'biu.^ answer unsolicited. '" With a playful ah-, half saucv Uu fiant, she shyly held up he? Ji while he kissed her with a long linopâ„¢ kiss, such as we give the dead "Good-bye," he said huskUv a strode away leaving her standing in 'K glow of the sunset, a wild, scared looi her young face. ** (to bk continued.) many in company. " That was all, was it Sit down Ali- son. ki this afternoon from Barcester, and as h« leaves us again early to-morrow, I must not be away long this evening" ' ' Your father is at home, I suppose " "Oh, yes." ' ' You were not here yesterday even- â- i;4-3,^«jaa4«a^ ing i " I staid away purposely. Would you have cared to see me had I come V " I can't say whether I should or not. Y'ou have not been very pleasant with me of late, Tom." "Not as I once was, perhaps. How can I be But I do not think I have made myself unpleasant." " We hardly get a laugh from you. You have grown graver than a judge." " Have I not had cause V " Cause " she lightly repeated. " What cause V " Alison, this pretence of indifference does not become you. I say that I do not care to enter upon matters now. If I did I m^ht recall the doings of only the last two days to your memory, and ask you whether they have or have not held cause." " Well " " Take Sunday, ki the morning you scarcely looked at me as we came out of church in the afternoon, when I would have joined you and walked home with you, you threw me over with supreme scorn and went away side by side with â- -â- .* :.dfi.,^i-l-^-,£li^i~Hi.'?»ti^i^^ vasour. The vain expectations of Miss Alison Reece bubbled up aloft her face and heart were alike in a glow. " Your faith- ful Reginald Vavasour " she repeated to herself. " It must mean that he intends to be faithful to me for life. -A.nd what a grand, beautiful name Reginald Vava- s(nir is Compare it with the mean old coiumon-i)lace one â€" Tom Watkyn " Tea was over, and Alis(m, all in readi- ness for the interview with Mr. Watkyn, was steeling her heart against it and against him who was coming to hold it with her. She had changed her frock to- day, and wore a fresh, bright- colored muslin, blue ribbons at the neck and wrists, and a blue knot in her hair. She waited impatiently she wanted the interview over and done with, that she might be ofl' to keep that other with Mr. Vavasour. But Thomas was late. Pacing the garden path in the rays of the fading sun, she stood looking over the little iron entrance gate, her blue eyes roaming hither and thither in search of one whom she could not yet see. Un- consciously she broke out into the verse of a homely song Oh dear, what can the matter be. Dear, dear, what can the matter be, Oh, dear, what can the matter be, Johnny's so long at the fair He promised to buy me a bunch of sweet posies. A bunch of green mosses, a bunch of fsweet roses. He prnmised to bring me a knot of blue ribbons To tie up my bonnic brown hair. The hum of the last words was dying away on the air when the well-know form of Thomas Watkyn came into view. He wore his usual dark -blue evening frock- coat and quiet waistcoat he dressed well always when his day's work was over, but not in the fashionable attire of fashionable Mr. Vavasour. " Good evening, Alison," he said, as he reached the gate. " What a lovely even- ing it is " Rem(jving his hat, he gazed up at the sapphire sky, action and countenance alike full of reverence and Alison, who had not been taking any particular notice be- fore, looked around her, her face soften- ing at the splendor of nature's glory. "What a glorious sunset " he contin- ued, his voice taking a hushed tone. ' ' Glorious, glorious 1" ' ' How solemnly you speak, Thomas I" " I am feeling solemn, I have been feeling so ever since I came out, but I don't know why, unless it is that heavei*- ly scene that makes me so." " It is very grand," she said, fixing her eyes on the bank of golden clouda in tha western sky, where the sun wos just slip- ping down behind the purple hill tops in the distance, like a ball of ruby flame. "Tiny bits of f oaia-like clouds flecked the limpid blue of the heavens, a warm gold- ed glow glide(| the earth, freshened and vivified with apast shower. The musical twitter of birds going to their rest filled the woodlands, and, as Alison looked, a strage feeling df awe stole into her heart, for the glory that lay around seemed more than earthly. "There are moments," he said, in a dreamy manner, " when I fancy these sunsets must be given to us as a faint re- flex â€" though I suppose that's the wrong word â€" of what we shall find in heaven • given to us by God to turn our thoughts and hopes toward it. Oh, Alison ft is more than beauti^ " The ruby flamelwas changing to a soft and brilliant lovely. It was able sunset, one the homui eye. "Ton make heaven, Tom " color, inexpressibly a rather remark- ften vouchflaf ed to of qmet sure of going to she exclaimed in a flip. I prefer to stand." Nevertheless, Mr. Watkyn drew her somewhat peremptorily to his side and made her sit down on the bench. " What I want to say to you, Alison, is about young Vavasour." " Oh, indeed " she retorted. " I do not like to see you make your- self a simpleton with that man I will not see it for, if you continue to do it, I shall say farewell to you and not trouble this side of our grounds again." Alison's face turned white a habit it had when she was startled or very angiy and the remaining softness faded out of her heart, just as the golden glow was be- ginning to fade out of the western sky. "Simpleton do you call me Thank you." "It is nothing else." he returned. "A short while, and this iii'ui will be leavius^ the place f(jreverâ€" leaviUg you. Ycni will feel vexed then, Alison, at having in.ade your intimacy with him so conspicuous." " He will not be leaving," she retorted, " When he does leave it will (mly be to come back again." Her companion sliook his head. '" No, that is not likely. Yesterday Mr. Tarbey called at the farm in talking with my father he mentioned incidentally that young Vavasour was only to be with him this one term. The fellow may not have anything especially bad in him I should not wish to imply that but he is idle and heartless, and, in pretending to make love to you, Alison, he is but amusing himself and fooling you." " How dare you say he is making love to me " " I say he is pretending to do it. Ali- fon, you must know it to be so â€" if you would but speak the candid truth." " Very well, then 1 Pray what if he is r "Only this. That you can not con- tinue to listen to him and keep me in your train. It must be one or the other of us, Alison, from this night. You must choose between us." "Then I choose him," she said, wrath- fully rising. " Do you mean it " asked Mr. Watkyn, rising in liis turn. The girl did not answer. He chest was heaving with agitation Thomas Wat- kyn 's gray eyes took a tender light as they gazed at the pretty, changing, uncer- tain face. "Alison," he said, and his voice wiis wonderfully considerate. " I have known you from childhood I have loved you all your life. Twelve months ago there arose an understanding between us that you would be my wife until recently I never supposed that you could have any other thought. But you have filled my breast with cruel fears tortured it, my dear, and I can not bear them longer. You must be to me what you used to be, or give me up." Ahson's eyes grew sullen. Why could not this Tom Watkyn let her alone She did "not altogether w«it to break with him. Whet harm was she doing in talk- ing to Reginald Vavasour Reginald was ten times the gentleman that he was â€" and his voice had a sweet, soft lisp I â€" and he wore a diamond ring on his white hand " Oh, my dear â€" my best and dearest â€" give up this folly Let things be with us as they used to be Don't you care for me V " No," the replied to him in her cross and contrary spirit, conscious all the while of a latent wish that Mr. Vavasour had been buried in the sea before coming to disturb the peace. " No " "Then you decline to marry me, Ali- son f You have not loved me as I love you " The sad, pasuonate fervor nearly scared her breath away the heartfelt sorrow, all too plain, touched her with a qualm. But she was in an obstinate mood. " Mr. Vavasour does not hurt you. I wonder you should concern yourself with himl" ♦'No rifling," sternly spoke Thomas Watkyn. " I tell you it most be him or me." The Island of Lepers. At the end of a week's voyagini; w i*ood under a beautiful dawn, otej,! upon an island, the first land seen sicct* we left San Francisco. It rose from sea which the rosy east and the hlue ski- had painted to the tint and lustre of tl' interior of a shell. Tlie high hills of tl- island are graceful in shape, and delicaV- ly shaded. But we give it a wide berl No ship ,tops thei'e, for it is Moloh' island of lepers. Tliere nearly a thou- sand poor creatures, separated from the congregation of their kind, carry about their living loathsomeness amid tlie ta^pic glories. This is tlie one island of the world " where every prospect pleases icd only man is vile. It i.s a prettv cen-ra! beUef in this region of tlie world'thatM â-  lokai, with its human horrors, is a pr- duct of what is conventionally alltd civilization. The fate of Capt. Cuok ii ;.i significant that at an earlier period n might have been tliouglu ;i niytli. WLt:. he disc()vercd these i.sland.s lie was ivt-ji;- ed as a long-expected god soon after be was killed. Had it liccii realized liy 'h islanders what deadly in their lood bv t' ^^our Poet Laureate th ^cbild, one of " ' "ng the elm-trees. Alfred Tennyson was bor f August, 1809. He has nd many a voice calling to 1 ^ewhenhehstened to ^ved alone m lus fat ?^ed the other cliildreu a L d iousts. They were a n. *^'*^ and of knights. th father of race, with castles to ;;^ic tournaments t,, tigli Ifafisofar awcy from the of poets ka^htly t:! lilt Wa.i I" he 1- lat crew, ii' r niv them would have cscapod theiate .if tl leader, whom the aiiL'cr and iiijustuj his subordinates cluiiigi-'d fruiii a L'Mii'.gs:. enemy. The leprosy is the serpent b^' this Hawaiian paradiso. and it wa^ .;:• known before the advent nf eiviliza' h. Althougli the reason why Capt. ' was killed i.s not stared, 1 heliev.j. :r. Englhsh books, imr alluded tc uri :. monument in Hawii. there is gucd ivj^.:. for believing the statement made ly a -.i- tive converted. Obookiali, in 1811: "'Ca;':. Cook, he came to )whyhee in a ship, am, had a great many sailor. Cnedaythesai;- or tie a boat to the share with a r px;. and in the night the wind and the wavt come and broke tlie rope. Then the sa;!- or come and say Owhyhee steal the 'cKa:. and they didn't^the wind and the wave carried him away. The sailor got mi. and Owhyhee men got mad would:! give sailor no log, no cocoanut, no ba- nana, no wood. Then sailor go ashcre and fined no wood, and so he get an oli wood god, take him on board ship aca bum him in caboose. Owhyhee men ?« mad because the sailor burn up the M wood god. Then sailor began to tue bullets on Owhyhee men " â-  " iillets. aii'J Then blankets^to keeVolf the bullets, and then boards, but thev did no good, in^n Capt. Cook heard the noise and came ran- ning down to see what was thematw. Then one man say y.m killCapt. 1'a. but he 'fraid then a man say 1 will, in he came behind him and kill «itha si»- They cut him in pieces and carried IW'i up into the mountains and burnt K.n-. Thev 'fraid Ids soul live and f "au King George an.l tell him »«1.^J^' " kill Capt. Cook, and so they burnt, soul and body together. This was .a.^ down from the (dd native slips he sij' ing, â- â€¢ my grandfather t'l'"y J'^J^;^':,' my father (lironicle. tell me' Jiiir- Hot Wator for Inflamed Mueon* faces. Dr. George R. Shepherd. Harf^ Conn., says in the 3/«^-«'J^"';J-,he have used hot water as agargie ^^j,, past six or eight years,^2aS^ta. the com- mencement of the attack, Ji^^co^^j^^jjjg do so from seeing â€" -.., gynecology. In acute V^^^^^^ tonsUUtis, if properly used a. If one of our most effective remi frequently promptly """'^^^.c-^^esJ- late in the disease or in chrome is always beneficial, though perliap.^^^ so immediately curative. ijerabl-i vice it should be used m co ^.^^^ quantity (a half pint or P""!-,, tolerate. iid just 33 hot as the throat ^^^^ ^^, I have seen many f^ses of acu ^^ thus aborted and c^^ 'p Ibeli«« method with great confidence. ^^, that in ,e taken as "^f inflammati*" the treatment ot " mem it may be taken as an generally, and those of the 'J^^ j brances in particular, mois hejc^ i get- aces m paini-"" ",,„(. water « Pf^t vice, and in most ca^es hot wa^ ^tb ferable to steam. AH ^^/Scti"" its use in ophthalmia aJJ*; J^temal*" as also in inflammation of the e ^^e middle ear, and I feel «°°f jf i^yi^g^^ who employ it for that m»t a»y ^, all slight troubles to P«'8cnl L, ^r^- XV. u^»A or acute ffLodnig aw; S"and in its echoes (wIik we softened through ah ,reen and tranquil things, :. hashed into pastoral silenee; die early part of the cental-, yith the clang of legions, few seem to have reached the eh never heard at the iiiue oi Waterloo. They gre^^• up 1 ing their own games, livi: life • and where is such life 1 that of a happy, eager fauiil rirls before Doubt, the .stei^ shocks of Chance, the bh. have come to shake their eri These handsome chiklreii nost children that woiidroi command which some peo] nation. The boys playetl lie Arthur's knights they ions and warriors defending or again they would set s with a king in the n The king was a willow \v;i the ground, with an oiite-r mortals to defend liini of sticks. Then each party with stones, hurling at eaei and trying t(^ oveithrow 1 as the day wore on they b leaving tlie jjusts des dinner-time came, and the; the table, each in turn put his history underneath the long endless histories, cliapi ter, diffuse, absoi'l.'ing. uik thestories of real life whiel opens on a new part some niances were in letters, like lowe. Alfred used to tell lasted for months, and whu The Old Hosse.^' Alfred's first verses, s" him say, were written upoi bis brother Charles put int^ Sunday at Louth, when all the party were going int' ;he child was left alone, him a subject â€" the flowers and when he came bael little Alfred brought the brother all covered with ^\ blank verse. They Nvere models of Thompson's ,S'" Iioetry he had ever read. all to one's self, the garden, the verses, the li waiting eyes, and the youn Ding the lines. '"Yes, y said Charles, and he gave -â-  date. I have also heard aiiotht grandfather, later on, askii m elegy on his grandmotlu c-ently died, and when it putting ten shillings into sayuig, "There, that is you have ever earned by y take my word for it, it will -Mrs, Tliackeray-Ritchii- ^a^azinefor Decemhfv.. CABIN LACOM BY BRt'DDEP. ROM De man am mighty sm; ^t kin git de risrht answei lown to add up his own sii De same win' dat blo%v ^p, kin'les de bumin' cabi Heaps ob people b'lieve ' yes' jes' 'kase dey am JP in de mawnin' in time lemselves. De thief am a heap bigg happens to git inter v ^, yo' dun go 'long fi ""â- kin' new frien's, you an â„¢^ty lonsesome time ob °^ am turned inter de i Ef yo* happen to be a g W inter an argyment ^\ â- ^r 'bout de muddy si am all ergin' yo' 'kast "^ew'ile yo' am only vis P^ chap dat knows j der am in his budd I^«*u fitted togedder, tral "••ay when he sets out â€" ~^ minnits dat we lose ^â- â- Wm Taout gittin' a g **ndnnit8 dat keep a *aeadleabsdatkiberup B|,irpods.â€" Li/c. cold m the head, or -_-i»„^ .^ seldom think of usmg the uti» ^^^ ^Woned in the ^^l^'Joroior^ complete ««esthe«a wita J ^^ prefwencetothehot watera â- ^•Barber's. â€" Never s ' J*»wnbroker s.â€" ?«, Qaa who is fond of dotes upon flashea ^uoally visits his ui Bpi smfled upon by t