Without, however, seeking to undervalue the literary merit of the above-named productions, it is but fair to say that a great portion of the success obtained by them was due to the acting. Nor was any effort wanting on the part of the management to display these tempting novelties to the greatest possible advantage. Scenery, dresses, appointments, and accessories of every kind were perfect; new artists were sought for and obtained at any cost; nay, even the figurants were as carefully selected and drilled as if the fate of the piece depended on them.

Glorious old: Numa (engaged specially for Marécat in "Nos Intimes," with his queer shake of the head, and hands perpetually in his pockets) was as heartily welcomed as ever he had been on the boards of the Gymnase; Lafontaine, poetic and impassioned, as André Roswein in "Dalila; " Félix, Febvre, Parade, and the excellent Delannoy, completed an ensemble worthy of the best days of the Comédie Française.

And Mlle. Fargueil! What an Olympe, what a Dalila was she! Now the very incarnation of sarcastic irony dealing out the sharpest stings in the softest and most honeyed tones, or, as poor D'Orsay used to say, “cutting your throat with a feather; now the tempting Circe, weaving her inextricable meshes round body and soul, until the caprice de grande dame had passed away, and the victim was left to perish in despair! Triumphs of art like these retain more than a fleeting hold on the spectator's memory. If but rarely enjoyed, they are still more rarely forgotten!

My task is done. The year 1869 witnessed the final closing of the old salle, a brief record of whose good and evil fortunes I have attempted to trace, as of things that one would not willingly let die. Of the new theatre it is not my province to speak; suffice it that I wish it all possible prosperity, and entreat you, gentle reader, when, sipping your coffee on the Boulevard, you are uncertain whither to bend your steps, to remember, for the sake of "auld lang syne," that,

"Le Français, né malin, créa le Vaudeville."

FOREIGN NOTES.

THE London Athenæum promises to print in its next issue a very interesting letter of John Keats.

ANOTHER Egyptian romance of an amatory nature has just been found by M. Chabas among the papyri at Turin. THE busts of the French marshals have been all found uninjured in the ruins of the Tuileries. As usual they stood fire well.

LONDON is about to have what it does not greatly need, another quarterly magazine. It is to be entitled Mayfair, rather a blithesome name for a serious quarterly.

THERE has recently been discovered, inscribed upon a wall at Karnak, a list of upwards of two thousand Egyptian towns and cities. This very important contribution to the geography of Egypt will shortly be published.

A CORRESPONDENT of a Manchester (England) paper advocates the allowance of the practice of smoking during divine service as a means of increasing the attendance at church. Where is the British Anti-Tobacco Society?

LADY FELLOWES, the widow of the travel er, Sir Charles Fellowes, has just died at the Isle of Wight. She has bequeathed a large and curious collection of watches, accumulated during her lifetime, to the British Museum. A CORRESPONDENT of The Academy corrects a mistake which Mr. Simcox made last week in a note touching Story's statues. Mr. Simcox in saying that all Mr. Story's great statues are seated women had forgotten "Medea.'

THE Emperor of China has commanded a collection of Chinese poems from the earliest times to be made. The collection will be published in 200 volumes. The Emperor, it is said, possesses a library of more than 400,000 volumes.

BARTOLOMMEO EUSTACHEO, the most remarkable physician and anatomist of the 16th century, - -a period abounding in remarkable anatomists and physicians, -is about to be commemorated by a colossal statue in San Severino, his native town.

tigation of the central provinces of China, has arrived at PERE DAVID, who has spent so much time in the inves Shanghai in a weak state of health, and has brought with him some valuable scientific spoils, the result of his recent researches in Kiangsi.

A GRAND literary fête is being organized in the department of Vaucluse, for the celebration of the fifth centenary of the poet Petrarch, who died on July 18, 1374. The fête will take place, under the patronage of the authorities, at the fountain of Vaucluse, on July 18 and 19.

THE melancholy death of Seraphin Vanoni, a young French painter of merit, is announced. He was killed by a fall from a scaffolding in the Palais of the Légion d'Hon neur, while engaged decorating the ceiling, a duty for which he was selected in preference to many competitors.

THE London Court Journal says, in its very best manner, that "Mr. Jefferson Davis, the illustrious ex-President of the Confederate States, is in London for a few days, and contemplates visiting Scotland before his return to America. He is looking much better than when he was last here."

It is stated that a house of historic interest is being demolished at Berlin. This house, No. 17, Taubenstrasse, was the residence of the Electors of Prussia before Berlin aspired to be one of the great capitals of Europe. Towards the middle of the last century it was inhabited by Voltaire Maupertuis, the President of the Academy of Berlin. during his stay at Berlin, and it was thence that he assailed

THE house in King's Yard, Deptford, which was occupied by Peter the Great during that monarch's sojourn in England in 1698 for the purpose of qualifying himself in naval architecture, is still preserved. It forms part of the Evelyn estate, of which the factor is Mr. J. E. Liardet, the unsuccessful opponent of Mr. Gladstone at the recent election, and it will be fitted up by that gentleman for the inspection of the Czar during his visit to England.

THERE is much talk going on in Rome just now concern ing the sudden disappearance of a painting by Raphael from the Sciarra Gallery. The painting in question is the well-known" Violin-player," and it is said to have been sold by its possessor to a foreigner who will take it out of Italy. This is contrary to the Pontifical laws of 1802 and 1820, which prohibit the removal from Italy of any celebrated works of art, as well from private as from public collections.

Ir appears that fêtes which were in preparation at Milan for the removal of the complete bodies of St. Ambrose, St. Protais, and St. Gervais, have been somewhat disturbed by letters from Piacenza stating that in a church in that town the head of St. Gervais and the entire body of St Protais have long been visited and venerated by the faithful. It appears improbable that the one saint had two heads and the other two entire bodies, still we know the slight discrepancy has been accounted for.

M. JULES SIMON, says the Paris correspondent of the Pall Mall Gazette, is now engaged in writing his reminis cences of the 4th of September in the XIXme Siècle. His party have often been censured with extreme violence for having upset the Empire in face of the enemy. Perhaps impartial people have long ago formed the conviction tha: Jules Simon says it was an awkward situation; the Emthe Empire rather fell than was broken to pieces. M. peror could not resume the command of the army and be

could not return to Paris, he therefore became an encumbrance and nothing more; and the Corps Législatif was deliberating on a new form of government when the fatal Sedan news arrived, and the mob took it into their own hands.

EVERY SATURDAY:

A JOURNAL OF CHOICE READING, PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY, 219 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON;

NEW YORK: HURD AND HOUGHTON;
Cambridge: The Riverside Press,

Single Numbers, 10 cts.; Monthly Parts, 50 cts.; Yearly Subscription, $5.00. N. B. THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY and EVERY SATURDAY sent to one address for $8.00.

LITERATURE AND BREAD.

WALTER SCOTT's saying that "Literature is a good stick but poor crutch" illustrates fairly an objection which lies in most minds against the pursuit of literature as a means for gaining one's livelihood. Every once in a while the newspapers report the incomes of various writers, well or ill known, generally explaining the large incomes in one of two ways: either that the author inherited his fortune, or that he made it by writings which reflect no credit upon him. Roughly speaking, it would probably be held by most people that literature as a business "did not pay."

An objection is brought from another side, that the effect upon the author himself is disturbing; that he who writes for his daily bread is under continual necessity of producing, whether he be in the mood for it or not; that thus spontaneousness is checked and the result found to be mere mechanical work. The vulgar needs of the flesh, it is held, do not stimulate but impede the action of the more spiritual faculties, and the anxiety respecting one's dinner, and especially the dinner of one's family, renders one incapable of the best effort. In a word, that certain gentle conditions are requisite for the best sustained literary labors.

the professions of theology, law, and medicine in the United States contain many persons, who under more favorable conditions would have been irresistibly drawn into literature.

It is astonishing how simple the problem becomes if one is willing to accept poverty. The great difficulty with those who hesitate before a life given to literature is their desire to live a life of ease; not necessarily one of luxury, but at least one of freedom from anxiety. The temperament and education of a literary man disqualify him for the coarse fare and rough accompaniments of a life of manual toil. Yet why should a young man who feels the literary hunger in him refuse to enter upon a life of letters because it promises hardship and demands sacrifices? The young man who turns away sorrowing from this life, because he desires great possessions, may find his chance for money-making in some other, but if he be born for letters he will have sold his birthright for a mess of pottage. It will be an evil day for Literature when it is the door to Wealth, but the evil day would be a short one, for true Literature would instantly take refuge again with Poverty. A man may honestly gain his daily bread by literature, as long as he is giving the best of what he has, and if he gets in return very little besides his bread, he should be the last to complain, for the very choice of literature as a life is the open preference for the higher over the lower goods. Remember," was said to the rich man, “that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things," parable of very wide application.

NOTES.

66

a

- State legislatures have exclusive right to make State laws, but fortunately for the people who are to observe or break them, the publication is thrown open to private enterprise also. As an illustration in point, the Illinois legislature which rose on the last day of March

Recklessness is not courage, but neither is lack of confidence always wisdom.

We do not see why an exception should be made in the case of literature to the rule which governs people in the choice of any profession. One person enters the law because when the time comes for choosing, his nature sets in that direction; another enters the ministry because he has a call to it, and in that word calling lies the secret of the whole. A man does not call himself to any work, and it is for each to determine whether he has been called to this or that life; the question of support is a secondary one which is much more easily answered, much less important, and usually involved in the very call which he receives. That is to say, if one is conscious that he has something to say and knows that he can best say it with the pen, he will be drawn to literature in some form. If the conditions of authorship and publication are favorable where he lives, then he may write and prosper. If they are unfavorable, he must write and be poor. But if there is absolutely no demand in the community for literature, then if the call upon him to live there at any rate is strong, it will so far modify the demand upon him to be an author, that he will be governed in his inclinations and led to earn his bread in some other way. No doubt

the first day of July, and then arranged for official publication to take place, so the Chicago papers say, some time in the fall. But Colonel Gross of Springfield, who has

published Gross's Statutes for several years past, has

come to the rescue of the people. He appeared at the Riverside Press early in May with his copy prepared, and early in June will go back to Illinois with an edition of the Revised Statutes, in a portly volume, solemnly bound after the legal fashion, giving people who are fast readers a chance to read the volume through, and commit it to memory if need be, before the first day of July.

Senator Anthony's bill concerning the sale of public documents strikes at the root of an evil which has grown steadily. It provides that the Committee on Public Printing shall determine upon the number of copies of every book, document, or report ordered to be printed, over and above the number called for by the regular official demand, and that these copies shall bear upon the title-page the cost price, together with the additional cost of postage. Then any person in the country desiring a copy can procure it by remitting the sum to the Congressional Printer, who is to be allowed a clerk to have charge of this sales department. We still think that in the case of certain books, it would be better for the government to make arrangements with regular publishers, who could use their machinery to bring such works before the people. However, the reform does away with much of the abuse under the existing system.

One hundred and twelve million, forty-three thousand, five hundred postal cards were manufactured the past year. The extension of postal-card intercourse with other countries has now taken in Germany, and for two cents one may send there from the United States as much information as he can get upon one of these little tickets. It is curious to see the interest which newspapers everywhere take in these cards. There have been rules of decorum published with regard to the use of them. They are still in fact the toys of correspondents.

A

Mount Hecla, to sail around the north side of Iceland, to photograph the magnificent scenery there, and to hunt, fish, and explore. Beyond this the party will go north, avoiding the ice, however, some distance inside the Arctic Circle. The voyage cannot fail to prove of great interest and importance, as well from a sportsman's as a scientific and historical point of view. No republic has ever celebrated its thousandth anniversary, and the novel and unprecedented occasion will, doubtless, call together a large assemblage of both learned and adventurous people. very interesting article on Iceland in the last number of the Cornhill Magazine, by Mr. Bryce, presents a fascinating picture to an outsider of the isolated life of the people. To an outsider, we say, for probably the people themselves are not over fond of isolation. Indeed, the Spectator remarks: "It is probable, we believe, though Mr. Bryce does not say so, that in a little while the rest of the population will leave Iceland for America, and then the unpeopled, gloomy desert will be applied to what seems now its proper use, -a natural penal settlement for the worst prisoners of Scandinavia, or it may be of England."

No ac

- Our readers can hardly have forgotten the pathetic advertisement which continued so long in the principal papers of the country, beginning "METHLICK," and calling upon some wanderer to return to a sick mother. The explanation came at length in the story of the young Earl of Aberdeen, who had stepped out of the circle in which there seemed the promise of everything that wealth and position could give, into a life of roving at sea. count of his motives has ever fully explained them, but the general impression seems to be that he was irresistibly drawn by the love of adventure and driven by a repulsion, from the forced life of a young aristocrat. At any rate his character was above reproach, and his free life showed no stain. He was lost at sea, six days out from Boston. His mother has lately given a sum of money to the Seaman's Friend Society for the purchase of libraries in honor of her son.

- It must have struck many chess-players that there was an anomaly in the fact that the game being of Eastern origin, the King remains stationary and throws the Queen forward to bear the brunt of the contest. planation is suggested by these lines in Chaucer's “Boke of the Duchesse:

"At the chesse with me she gan to pley;
With hir fals draughtes dyvers

She staale on me and toke my fers."

The ex

The fers is sometimes spelled pherz or pherzan, in other words, the King's chief counsellor, or vizier. In the East he would naturally make the moves and lead the game,

and when the game was transferred to the West, the rela tions of the pieces continued the same, but by degrees the name of the Prime Minister was changed for that of the Queen, who would be the natural consort of the King in most people's minds. In India at this day one may see two natives sit upon the ground, mark out a chess-board in the soil, and mould little figures of clay, to appear on that occasion only.

-New York is the first State to make a practical test of compulsory education, Governor Dix having signed the bill to that effect recently passed by the Legislature. It requires parents and guardians of children between the ages of eight and fifteen years to give them, in a school or at home, at least fourteen weeks' regular instruction every year in reading, writing, arithmetic, English grammar, and geography. It prohibits the employment of children within the ages named at any labor during the time when the common schools are opened, and school officers are given the authority to see that the law is enforced. It will be interesting to watch the results, and judging from the number of communications on the subject in all parts of the country, there will be a great many watchers.

- A Boston "tonsorial artist," lately from Paris, advertises as a novelty what he calls "Artificial Invisible Heads of Hair." This is by no means a new thing here. Many of the oldest and most respectable citizens of Boston and the vicinity have for a number of years adopted this style of head-dress. If you look down from the gallery of one of our churches, or from the balcony seats of the Boston Theatre, during the opéra bouffe season, you will see enough invisible heads of hair to convince you that that is the prevailing mode.

At a recent meeting of the trustees of the Metropolitan Museum of Art it was announced that the Di Cesnola collection of Cypriote antiquities was now the property of the museum. The number of visitors to the museum indicates how much interest the public have felt in this exhibition of art. The building in the Central Park will soon be commenced, if it can be erected for about $500,000. The Museum of Art in Boston is slowly rising. The plan of the directors is to build first one wing of the entire building. Each museum has shown its wisdom in making public such collections as it had, before obtaining its building.

The interest which every reader in the United States has in the state of the weather must be our excuse for quoting from the analysis of the character of Old Probabilities, as seen by the blazing light of the Phreno logical Journal. Perhaps it may help to explain the terms in which our weather is sometimes stated. "His Benevolence is strong enough to make him sympathetical, kindly, liberal, and especially tender toward the helpless and the aged." What suffering he must experience as he watches the storm centre moving over the older sections

of the country. "He appears to have large Cautiousness. which gives prudence and guardedness." That accounts for some expressions we have noticed in his reports. “Wệ think his Combativeness is considerably larger than his Destructiveness." We always thought he had a spite against the barometer. "He appears to have a wellAnd this is a republican country! developed crown."

The Naval Committee has reported in favor of allowing the widow of Captain Hall a sum not exceeding $15,000 for the papers of her husband.

VOL. I.]

A ROSE IN JUNE. CHAPTER IV. (continued.)

MRS. DAMEREL had very different feelings on the subject as she went upstairs with the candle he had so politely lighted for her, in her hand.' I am afraid she was not so softened as she ought to have been by his charming politeness, which made her slightly angry, and she was deeply disturbed by the task he had thrown back upon her. Mrs. Damerel knew that girls were not so easily moulded as their fathers sometimes think. She felt by instinct that, according to all precedent, Wodehouse, who was young and gay and penniless, must be the favorite. She knew, too, that to endeavor to turn the current in favor of the other was almost enough to decide matters against him; and, beyond all this, Mrs. Damerel felt it hard that everything that was painful and disagreeable should be left on her shoulders. Rose was separated from her; she was her father's companion; she was being trained to prefer refined but useless leisure with him to the aid and sympathy which her mother had a right to look for; yet, when it came to be needful to do any disagreeable duty for Rose, it was the mother who had to put herself in the breach. It was hard upon Mrs. Damerel. All the reproof, the unpleasant suggestions of duty, the disagreeable advice, the apparent exactions to come from her side; while nothing but indulgence, petting, and fondness, and unlimited compliance with every desire she had, should be apparent on the side of the father. I think Mrs. Damerel was right, and that hers was a very hard case indeed.

The Wodehouses came hastily to the rectory the very next day to intimate the sad news of Edward's approaching departure. His mother fairly broke down, and cried bitterly. "I hoped to have had him with me so much longer," she said; “and now he must go off about this slave-trade. Oh! why should we take it upon us to look after everybody, when they don't want to be looked after? If those poor African wretches cared as much for it as we suppose, would n't they take better care of themselves? What have we to do, always interfering? When I think of my boy, who is all I

SATURDAY, JUNE 13, 1874.

have in the world, going out to that dreadful coast to risk his life, for the sake of some one he never saw or heard of "

66

My dear lady, we cannot be altogether guided by private motives," said the rector; "we must take principle for something. Were we to permit the slave-trade, we should depart from all our traditions. England has always been the guardian of freedom." Oh, Mr. Damerel!" said the poor lady, with tears in her eyes, "freedom is all very well to talk about, and I suppose it's a great thing to have; but what is freedom to these poor savages, that it should cost me and other women our boys?"

66

"It will not cost you your boy," said Mrs. Damerel; "he will come back. Don't take the gloomiest view of the question. He has been there before, and it did not hurt him; why should it now?"

"Ah! who can tell that?" said poor Mrs. Wodehouse, drying her eyes. She was a woman who liked the darker side of all human affairs, and she felt it almost an insult to her when any one prognosticated happi

ness.

Her son was doing all he could to bear up under the depressing influence of her predictions and his regret at leaving her, and disappointment in having his holiday shortened along with a deeper reason still which he said nothing about. He tried to be as cheerful as he could; but when he turned to Rose and met the one piteous look the girl gave him, and saw her lip quiver-though he did not know whether it was out of sympathy with his mother, or from any personal feeling of her own-he very nearly broke down. He had still ten days to make his preparations for leaving, and before that time he thought to himself he must surely find out whether Rose cared anything for him more than she did for the others whom she had known like him almost all her life. He looked anxiously into her face when he shook hands with her; but Rose, feeling, she could not tell why, more inclined to cry than she had ever been before, without any reason, as she said, would not meet his looks. "This is not my farewell visit," he said, with an attempt at a laugh. “I don't know why I should feel so dismal about it; I shall see you all again."

66

Oh, many times, I hope!" said

[No. 24.

Mrs. Damerel, who could not help feeling kindly towards the poor young fellow, notwithstanding her conspiracy against his interests. The rector did not commit himself in this foolish way, but took leave of the young sailor solemnly. "However that may be," he said, "God bless you, Edward; I am sure you will do your duty, and be a credit to all that wish you well."

This address chilled poor Wodehouse more and more. Was it his dismissal? He tried to bear up against that too, talking of the garden party he was coming to on Wednesday, and of the repeated visits he still hoped for; but, somehow, from the moment he received the rector's blessing he believed in these farewell visits and the explanations they might give rise to, no more. When he went away with his mother, Rose ran up-stairs on some pretext, and her father and mother were left alone.

"Martha," said the rector, "your usual careful solicitude failed you just now. You as good as asked him to come back; and what could possibly be so bad for Rose?

"How could I help it?" she said. "Poor boy, he must come again, at least to say good-by."

"I don't see the necessity. It will only make mischief. Rose is quite cast down, whether from sympathy or from feeling. We should take care not to be at home when he calls again."

Mr. Damerel said this in so even a voice that it was delightful to hear him speak, and he went out and took his seat under the lime-trees as a man should who has discharged all his duties and is at peace and in favor with both God and man. Rose did not venture to face her mother with eyes which she felt were heavy, and therefore stole out of doors direct and went to her father, who was always indulgent. How good and tender he was, never finding fault! If perhaps, as Rose was beginning to fear, it must be confessed that he was deficient in energy

- a gentle accusation which the fondest partisan might allow - yet, to balance this, how good he was, how feeling, how tender! No one need be afraid to go to him. He was always ready to hear one's story, to forgive one's mistakes. Rose, who did not want to be catechised, stole across the lawn and sat down on the grass without a word. She did not care to meet

anybody's look just at that moment. She had not cried; but the tears were so very near the surface, that chance encounter of looks might have been more than she could bear.

Mr. Damerel did not speak all at once. He took time, the more cunningly to betray her; and then he entered upon one of his usual conversations, to which poor Rose gave but little heed. After a while her monosyllabic answers seemed to attract his curiosity all at once.

I came out

--

66

Not

"You are not well," he said; or sorry, is it? Sorry for poor Mrs. Wodehouse, who is going to lose her son?"

"Oh yes, papa! Poor old lady she will be so lonely when he is away." "She is not so very old," he said, amused; "not so old as I am, and I don't feel myself a Methuselah. It is very good of you to be so sympathizing, my dear."

"Oh, papa, who could help it?" said Rose, almost feeling as if her father would approve the shedding of those tears which made her eyes so hot and heavy. She plucked a handful of grass and played with it, her head held down and the large drops gathering; and her heart, poor child, for the moment, in the fulness of this first trouble, felt more heavy than her eyes.

Yes, it is a pity for Mrs. Wodehouse," said Mr. Damerel, reflectively; "but, on the other hand, it would be very selfish to regret it for Edward. He has not a penny, poor fellow, and not much influence that I know of. He can only get his promotion by service, and in this point of view his friends ought to be glad he is going. Look across Ankermead, Rose; how soft the shadows are! the most delicate gray with silvery lights. If you were a little more ambitious as an artist, you might get your sketch-book and try that effect."

Rose smiled a wan little smile in answer to this invitation, and looking down upon the landscape, as he told her to do, saw nothing but a bluishgreen and yellow mist through the prismatic medium of the big tear, which next moment, to her terror and misery, came down, a huge, unconcealable wet blot, upon her light summer dress. She was herself so struck by consternation at the sight that, instead of making any attempt to conceal it, she looked up at him, her lips falling apart, her eyes growing larger and larger with fright and wonder, half appealing to him to know what it could mean, half defying observation. Mr. Damerel saw that it was necessary to abandon his usual rule of indulgence.

"You are too sympathetic, my dear," he said. 66 If any one but me saw this they might say such feeling was too strong to be lavished on Mrs. Wodehouse. Don't let us hear any more of it. Have you finished Balaustion'? You have no book with you to-day."

as

some people say not missing a word nor seeing any meaning in one; going on as in a dream, with a consciousness of herself, and the scene, and her father's look, and not a notion what she was reading about. It was very good mental discipline, but so sharp that this poor soft child, utterly unused to it, not knowing why she should suddenly be subjected to such fierce repression, wretched and sick at heart, and sorry and ashamed, never forgot it all her life. She read thus for about an hour, till her father stopped her to make some notes upon the margin of the book; for he was one of those elegantly studious persons who weave themselves through the books they read, and leave volumes of notes on every possible subject behind them. He had been entering into every word, though Rose had not understood a syllable; and he smiled and discoursed to her about it, while she kept silent, terrified lest he should ask some question which would betray her inattention. Rose had been learning smilingly, with happy bewilderment, for some months back, to consider herself an independent individual. She felt and realized it without any difficulty to-day. She stood quite alone in all that bright scene; apart from the real world and the ideal both

neither the lawn, nor the book, nor the landscape, nor her father's talk having power to move her; frightened at herself-still more frightened for him, and for the tone, half sarcastic, half reproving, which for the first time in her life she had heard in his voice; and without even the satisfaction of realizing the new sentiment which had come into her mind. She realized nothing except that sudden dismay had come over her, that it had been checked summarily; that her tears, driven back, were filling her head and her heart with confusing pain; that there was something wrong in the strange new emotion that was at work within her and this without even the melancholy sweetness of knowing what

it was.

Poor Rose in June! It was the first

CHAPTER V.

ROSE grew very much better, almost quite well, next day. There was still a little thrill about her of the pais past, but in the mean time nothing had yet happened, no blank had bees made in the circle of neighbors; and though she was still as sorry as ever, she said to herself, for poor Mrs. Wodehouse (which was the only rea son she had ever given to herself for that serrement de cœur), yet there were evident consolations in that poor lady's lot, if she could but see them. Edward would come back again; she would get letters from him; she would have him still, though he was away. She was his inalienably, whatever distance there might be between them. This seemed a strong argument to Rose in favor of a brighter view of the subject, though I do not think it would have assisted Mrs. Wodehouse; and, be sides, there were still ten days, which -as a day is eternity to a childwas as good as a year at least to Rose. So she took comfort, and preened herself like a bird, and came again forth to the day in all her swed bloom, her tears got rid of in the natural way, her eyes no longer hot and heavy. She scarcely observed even, or at least did not make any mental note of the fact, that she did not see Edward Wodehouse for some days thereafter. "How sorry I am to have missed them!" her mother said, e hearing that the young man and his mother had called in her absence: and Rose was sorry too, but honestly took the fact for an accident. During the ensuing days there was little doubt that an unusual amount of occupation poured upon her. She went with ber father to town one morning to see the