therefore, when Ralph proposed, she rejected him almost scornfully, for she believed him to be a bold, bad man, from what she had seen of him.

That same night the plan of the robbery was frustrated by Eunia's accidentally overhearing Ralph and his sister talking the matter over, when they thought themselves alone, It happened as follows:

Eunia was in the garden sitting in an arbor, and hearing voices, she looked out and saw Ralph and Helen coming towards her. She did not wish to meet them, and so passed out through the arbor and concealed herself behind its vines, thinking that they would pass by; but she was disappointed for they stopped and entered the arbor.

She could not escape without being observed, and so remained where she was. Ralph was talking in a low excited tone to his companion.

66

By heavens, she shall rue this day, and the old man too, shall suffer. I'll have those greenbacks he's got locked up there, and there's quite a pile of them too, Nell," she heard Ralph say, as they took seats in the arbor.

"But they will suspect us, Ralph," said Helen. "Let them suspect. Who cares? I have a key that will unlock his strong box, and shall do it, just before the boat leaves to-morrow night. He will not miss them until the next morning, and we shall then be in New York, where the devil cannot find us."

"But I think the devil does find us, Ralph, for you are always at work for him," said his sister, laughing.

After talking some time longer upon the subject they rose to go, and as they disappeared from sight, Eunia sought her uncle, and disclosed to him their plot to rob him.

At first Mr. Hastings did not know what to do. He could hardly credit the story, and if it had come from the lips of any one else, he would not have believed it. At last he resolved to have an interview with them. They came, and he quietly told them that he had discovered their plot to rob him, and gave them two hours to leave the house in.

Ralph Vernon stamped his foot with rage, when he found that his plot was known, and if the old man had any previous doubts of his guilt, they were speedily dispelled, for he did not disown it, but, clenching his right hand and placing the left arm around his sister's waist he said:

"Hear me, old man! You shall rue this day." Then followed some bitter cursing and swearing, as they turned and left the room vowing vengeance upon all that were in the house, and before the two hours were elapsed they had departed, and nothing had been heard of them since, and their words were treated as mere idle threats.

CHAPTER IV.

THE RESCUE.

We must now return to Eunia Hastings, who, when she found herself a prisoner, locked securely in the room to which she had been carried, was completely overwhelmed by her deep sorrow, and impending danger. She sat down on the bedside

and wept; then came a desire to escape from her prison, and she began to search for some means of escape. At first she looked for a window, but the light was admitted through a skylight and this she could not reach. There was but one door, and that was locked. Escape seemed impossible and she again had resource to weeping.

The day passed slowly by and the shades of night began to fall. Twice the servant had brought her food, but it remained untasted. As the darkness began to deepen, a light was brought and thrust into her room, and in a few moments more the key turned in the lock and the door opened, and Ralph Vernon entered the room.

"Eunia," he said, "I hope you are better. It grieves me to know that we are compelled to keep you a prisoner, have come to offer you terms of liberty. You are here away from home and friends. No one knows where to find you, and you cannot escape. On one condition you shall be free. Be my wife, and you shall be mistress of this house instead of its prisoner."

"Ralph Vernon, have you finished? Then know that I would rather die than become your wife," said Eunia, defiantly.

"By heaven, you shall!" cried Ralph, and springing toward her he clasped her wrist and sought to place his hand about her waist, but with a scream she broke away from him, and ran to the door, which Vernon had forgotten to lock, and had reached the head of the stairs when she was stopped by two men who were ascending. Ralph was just behind, and caught the skirts of her dress and dragged her back just as one of the men arrived at the top.

"Just in time, by George!"" said the stranger, striking out from the shoulder, and hitting Ralph Vernon between the eyes, which caused him to reel and fall headlong down the stairway, where he lay groaning.

"This is the luckiest moment of my life!" said the stranger, as he supported the fair form of Eunia in his arms. "I say Howard," he added, "isn't this decidedly romantic? I believe this girl has fainted. Let's go into this room; there seems to be a light there somewhere;" and bearing his insensible burden, the stranger entered the room, followed by his companion, who as soon as he saw Eunia's face, sprang forward, exclaiming :

"Good heavens! It is my sister!"

At the sound of his voice, Eunia, opened her eyes, and as they rested upon her brother she said: "Howard, is it you? and still alive. Thank God for this. My prayers are answered." "Of course I am still alive. Why shouldn't I be, sister?"

"They told me you were dead, brother!" said Eunia.

"Villany foiled!" exclaimed the stranger. "By George I am thankful that I have been instrumental in defeating it. But let's get out of this crib, and talk the matter over;" as they emerged from the house, they found a carriage waiting, and entering it, they drove to the Astor House, where mutual explanations were given, and Walter Robinson, the handsome stranger, whom Eunia had become acquainted with on the wharf in Bristol

was formally introduced by her brother, who was his most intimate friend and fellow student.

Walter Robinson had related his adventure on the wharf to his friend that day, and told him of the suspicious manner in which the carriage had driven away, and Howard had proposed to go with him and call where she stopped. Walter agreed to it, and that night they both set out for No. 44 H-street. After they had arrived there, the servant would not allow them to enter, and they had forced their way in, just as Eunia's scream directed them where to go.

It was ascertained

But little remains to be told. that the headlong fall, which Ralph Vernon received injured him seriously; and several weeks after, he died from the effects of it. His sister was never heard from after.

Howard Hastings accompanied his sister back to Bristol, and several weeks after his friend Walter went down with him on a visit, and before he returned, became engaged to Howard's sister. Two years after, they were married, and Walter has never ceased to say that it was the luckiest day of his life that he met Eunia Hastings on the Bristol wharf.

The Duke of Hamilton's Frolic.

Speaking of the Duke of Hamilton, no man, for years past, has left a reputation for greater eccentricity at Oxford than his Grace. The following anecdote, however, will prove that the frolics were none of them malicious, but merely the results of the hot blood of youth.

One evening the Duke went to Standen's and bought the best hat he could find. Ornamented with this brand new head covering, he lounged into a grocer's shop at St. Aldate's, and quietly remarked to the astonished assistant:

"I want some treacle-about a big jug full, and I will take it with me."

The man, recognizing his customer, and remembering the well-known eccentricity of the Duke, contented himself with asking, "Does your Grace want it in a pitcher ?"

"No," replied the Duke, carelessly, "I don't care to be seen walking about with a pitcher; put it in my hat!"

And with this he laid his new purchase on the

counter.

The man gravely filled the Lincoln & Bennett with treacle, and when it was nearly brim full, the Duke told him to stop. "How much do I owe you?" inquired the Premier Duke of Scotland. The man mentioned the price; the Duke threw a five-pound note on the table, and as the shopman was stooping over his drawer, looking for change, he clapped the hat, treacle and all, on the man's head, and left the shop with his boon companions, who all heartily enjoyed the joke, and thought the man well paid for his discomfiture and temporary annoyance by the present of a new hat, only partially damaged, and a fiver. If the shopkeepers of Oxford are to-day as they were then, I think many would undergo a similar ordeal for the sake of a like reward.

Ox blood is a new rich shade of red.

TRAILING ARBUTUS.

She comes, she comes! the vernal Year,
With sunsets red and gold,
And purple hills of mystery,

Where crimson buds unfold.

We know what jewels lie concealed
Within the crispy hedge

Until the blue-bird's lips unclasp
The dry leaves' rimy edge.

Such gems might ancient dryads wear,
Where plaintive Sappho sung-
Necklace of pearls in fairyland,

Or bells the fairies rung.

Like lily maid of Astolat,

Pale in the dewy night;
Like saintly stars in April moons,

Or dewy summer night.

Fashioned beneath the frosts and snows,
Where graceful birches lean-

A sudden beaming tenderness
On banks of springing green.

An infant's breath-a maiden's blush,
Or more serenely fair,
Heart secrets on a peaceful face,
When love lies hidden there.

Arbutus named-a slender grace,
With pencilled touch divine-
Cornelian tints, like Easter morn,
Or hands her lilies twine.

Ah, holy things, sweet flowers, ye are,
That meek-eyed Hester twines
Among the earliest memories
Of tender household shrines.

Your saintly forms, immersed in spring,
Across white laps are strewn,

And soft blue eyes look into yours,
Then turn to seek my own.

Pearl Divers.

Before the divers plunge, a stone is attached to one foot, to assist the rapidity of their descent; they have with them a net in the form of a bag, with a circular opening, and with the right hand they hold a rope. They then stop the nostrils and ears, and thus prepared, they plunge down to the deep rocks where the oysters lie, where they hastily fill their bags, giving warning when they desire to be drawn up by pulling the rope they hold. The average length of time that a diver can remain under water is two minutes; but there have been instances of some who have remained under water four or five minutes; and a Kaffir diver is reported to have borne submersion for six minutes. If the divers are tempted to overtax their powers of endurance, bleeding at the mouth, nose and ears are

the result.

It is computed that the sum total of the cost of the last war between Germany and France was $2,500,000,000.

"THE GLORIOUS FOURTH."

BY GEORGE W. GLEASON.

S far as the weather was concerned, it was an exceedingly "glorious Fourth" in the little town of Pine Valley. The atmosphere had been cooled by a thunder shower during the night; the sun shone resplendent from a cloudless sky; the breath of nature was balmy and exhilarating.

The Fourth of July never passed without being duly celebrated, in one way or another by the female portion of Pine Valley's population. This time the crowning event was to be a "Continental Tea-party" at the village church in the evening, and all those who served at the tables were to dress

in the picturesque costumes of a century ago. It promised to be a most enjoyable occasion, and as a natural consequence, the girls were all impatience for the coming of night, when they would have the pleasure of impersonating the belles of Revolutionary days.

Early in the afternoon a group of girls stood at the gate of Lettie Lloyd's home, where they had stopped to indulge in a bit of gossip about the forthcoming event. Lettie herself stood just within the gate-a brown-eyed, sparkling little beauty, with shiny curls blowing about her fresh young face, an exquisite coloring on cheeks and lips, and a distracting smile playing about the dainty rosebud of a mouth. Altogether, she was a very delicious morsel of budding womanhood, and one that you

"Isn't the weather splendid?" cried Myra Farlowe, enthusiastically. "The evening is going to be all we could desire. Have you got your eostume ready, Lettie ?"

"All ready," answered Lettie. "I tried it on this morning, and it makes me look as ancient as some old picture. I hope the rest of you are all prepared ?"

Every one answered in the affirmative. "Mrs. Brown says the church will be crowded," spoke up Lena Goodwin. "All the gentlemen are

sure to be there."

"It would be dull enough without them," laughed Amy Worthington, the veriest coquette in the town. "There would be no pleasure in showing off our costumes, if there was no prospect of making a conquest or two. What do you think about it, Lettie ?"

"I haven't thought about it at all, in that light," returned Lettie, hesitatingly.

"You hadn't thought of Mr. Balfour being there, of course!" said Amy, with a ring of sarcasm in her voice.

Lettie blushed, but looked surprised.

his acquaintance. Yet he was pleasant and sociable, had proved himself a gentleman in the truest sense of the term, and was universally liked. The fact that he was poor, and lived by his talents alone, made his case all the more romantic in the eyes of the damsels who had fallen victims to his smiles.

"What a brilliant constellation!" exclaimed the young man, merrily, as he approached the group of girls. "I knew it was inspiration that brought me in this direction. I suppose you are all feeling duly patriotic on this glorious birthday of our national independence?"

"So much so that we were just talking about what we would wear at the Continental Tea-party to-night," laughed Myra Farlowe.

“And wondering if the gentlemen would be patriotic enough to come and drink our tea," added Amy, with a coquettish toss of her curls.

"I can only speak for myself," said Ernest Balfour, with a glance at Lettie. "I would wade through British blood to procure a cup of tea distilled by such fair hands."

So they went on, talking nonsense for several minutes, when the gentleman, repeating his prom

"Then all I have to say is, that appearances are terribly deceitful," and Amy laughed again. "He pays you more attention than any other gentleman has ever ventured to do."

"Indeed you mistake," protested Lettie, beginning to look very much distressed. "He has never so much as honored me with a call as he has several of the other girls."

"Because there is no need. When a young man is organist in the church, and a young lady is contralto in the choir

"

"Oh, do be still, Amy Worthington!" interposed Myra Farlowe, with considerable asperity. "It is because Lettie is the prettiest and sweetest girl in town that men prefer her to us. We all know that you tried to captivate Mr. Balfour, and failed!" Amy blazed up as if she had been powder ignited.

"The idea!" she exclaimed, with scorn. "As if I would waste any time angling for a poor organist! I would rather live and die an old maid than become a poor man's wife."

"Speak of the angels!" quietly remarked one of the other girls, glancing down the street. "Here comes the handsome manipulator of musical instruments, even while his name is on our tongues." Sure enough the gentleman in question appeared at that moment, coming up the street.

Ernest Balfour was a strikingly handsome man, and it is no wonder that his dreamy eyes and enchanted tongue had played such havoc with the hearts of Pine Valley's marriageable young ladies, during the brief period he had dwelt in the place. It was but little over a month since he had come there, a perfect stranger, and secured the position of organist in the principal church of the village. Nothing was known of his antecedents; not a word had ever been heard to pass his lips concerning his past life; and he had come to be regarded as a sort

up the street. The girls soon after took their departure, with many jests, and a good deal of merry laughter.

After they were all gone Lettie stood at the gate for some time, lost in deep reverie; then she heaved an unconscious sigh, and walked slowly and thoughtfully into the house.

Lettie Lloyd was an orphan. Her father and mother had died when she was a child, leaving her penniless; but Mr. Lloyd, in his last moments, had consigned his daughter to the care of his intimate friend, Reuben Standish. She was twelve years old when Mr. Standish took her into his family; she was eighteen now. For six years he and his amiable wite had been as parents to her, lavishing upon her all the loving tenderness bestowed on their own flesh and blood; but, although they were fond of speaking of her as their adopted daughter, Lettie never could address them by the endearing names of father and mother. The memory of her own parents was still too fresh to admit of that; so, as a sort of compromise, she called them Uncle Reuben and Aunt Mary.

Mr. and Mrs. Standish had once had a child of their own-a bright, promising boy, from whom they had hoped great things. But, although the doting mother found in her son all that her heart could desire, the unfortunate child proved a sore disappointment to his father. Instead of evincing a preternatural taste for books, and a disposition to become a great man, he became so passionately fond of music that he finally seemed to care for little else beside the old cracked violin which somebody had given him. He was repeatedly charged to let the instrument alone, but always disobeyed

not intentionally, but because he invariably forgot his orders the moment his eyes alighted upon the violin. So one day his father became terribly enraged, and struck him a cruel blow on the head, > claiming :

HERCANTIES

Then the boy ran away from home, and was never seen or heard of afterward! Though only fourteen years old at the time of his flight, the little fellow covered his tracks so adroitly that every efsort to find him was a signal failure. It was an awful blow to his mother, who had fairly worshipped him; it was scarcely less awful to the erring father, whose conscience reproached him severely for what he had done. People had called Reuben Standish a hard man in those days; but it was different now, for he had not failed to profit by that bitter lesson.

Nevertheless, he was still proud and aristocratic in his notions, and had no mind to let his adopted daughter marry beneath her station. He had never been blessed with a second child of his own -some had declared it was retribution, too—and as Lettie, therefore, occupied the vacant place in his heart and home, he imagined it his duty to marry her to a millionaire. So, when he heard the rumor that the new organist at the church was presuming to pay her marked attentions, he thought it time to talk with her on the subject, and to warn her against trusting her happiness in the keeping of a man who could not support her. He did it kindly and gently enough, but, all the same, his warning took the form of a command, and gave her to understand that she was not to accept Mr. Balfour's attentions on any condition.

Lettie was a member of the choir, and could not help being much in the society of the handsome organist. She liked him, too—she had never known how much until she had received that little lecture from "Uncle Reuben"-and she now knew it was too late to retreat with a whole heart. But the grateful esteem in which she held her kind benefactor would not permit her to disobey his injunctions in the slightest particular. She felt that duty demanded her to pluck that hopeless love from her heart, and her answer was as characteristic as it was simple and noble.

"It shall be as you wish, Uncle Reuben."

He was satisfied. He knew her word was good, and that she would give the gossips no further cause to couple her name with that of Ernest Balfour.

"May I see you home, Miss Lloyd ?"

A low voice, full of drowsing passion, murmured this request close to her ear, just as the party was breaking up and people were starting home.

The speaker was Ernest Balfour. Lettie hesitated, and felt guilty. She was not provided with an escort, but she had promised not to accept Ernest Balfour's attentions in future. Yet, how could she refuse without an explanation? Her mind was made up in an instant. She would accept his company just this once, and take the opportunity to frankly explain her position. She felt that this much was due him-and due herself.

"I have something of importance to say to you," added the gentleman, earnestly.

"And I have something of importance to say to you," returned Lettie, looking up at him with a slow smile, in which there was more sadness than mirth.

He gave her a surprised look, but as they were at that moment in the midst of a crowd, passing out of the church, he remained silent. She took his proffered arm, and they were soon free from the gay throng.

It was a bright, moonlight night. They left the shadows of the buildings by mutual consent, and shaped their course across an open field, which afforded a short route to the residence of Mr. Standish. Here they could talk without fear of being overheard.

"Miss Lloyd," began her companion, after a thoughtful silence, "I think you know what it is that I am going to say to you-"

"I have not presumed to guess," said Lettie. "But whatever it is, Mr. Balfour, I must beg you to let me speak first. As I told you, I have something of importance to say, and, deeply as it pains me to say it, I believe I am only doing my duty." She paused long enough to make sure of her self-control, and then went on, in a calm though

subdued voice:

"You and I have been good friends for several weeks. Henceforth we must be mere acquaintances or strangers."

Ernest was thunderstruck.

The Continental Tea-party was a grand success. The church was all ablaze with wax candles, bright eyes and brilliant costumes, and all the girls of Pine Valley were transformed to represent the blooming belles of Revolutionary days. There were young folks, and old folks, and middle-aged folks-there were fair women and handsome men -and the Fourth of July was never celebrated by a merrier party anywhere.

Lettie Lloyd was the "bright particular star" of the occasion-as, indeed, she was of every occasion in which she took part. She looked very pretty and prim in her quaint silk dress, with its quilted skirt, its flowing sleeves, its straight bodice and prodigious collar. She wore a curious white cap, too, which concealed all but the edges of her

How have I offended you ?"

"You have not offended me in the least," she assured him. "I'm not acting of my own free will, but in obedience to that of my guardian.” "Mr. Standish ?"

"Mr. Standish."

"What has he against me? He doesn't know

me."

"That isn't all-he has never even seen you," said Lettie.

"Then he has heard something, I suppose. Somebody has been villifying me-"

"Wait!" said Lettie, interrupting him. "Uncle Reuben is one of the best and kindest of men, and has only made this law out of his great love for me. He has heard a rumor in which your name and mine are unwarrantably connected, and he is determined that it shall be stopped. He is a proud