bloodthirsty as ever are the untamed tenants of forests and deserts, under their law of blood retribution.

But this feeling cannot be lasting in civilized lands. The whole training, habits of thought and hereditary influences which go to make up the character of the citizen of an enlightened community, are opposed to the continued indulgence in such a sentiment. Reaction is sure to come, and the original sympathy for the slain becomes, frequently, a wide-spread sympathy for the person whose crime is to be expiated upon the scaffold; unless, indeed, the murder has been so atrocious as to utterly annihilate sympathy. It is this growing mercifulness of disposition in the community that is lending force to the opposition to capital punishment. We are becoming ashamed of the many heritages from savage times that still exist in our laws, and particularly against that irremediable outrage upon innocence and barbarous dealing with guilt that is so strongly called legal murder. Man, individually, grows faster than society. Social customs and laws are always below the highest sense of communities, and frequently en rapport with the lowest level of intelligence. Many laws are in daily force now which modern society would never submit to had it not been born and bred to them-laws the product of races of men far inferior to us in knowledge and humanity.

The law of death for death is one of these. Far from producing the effect hoped for-of serving as a salutary example to the criminal classes-it has the opposite effect of brutalizing communities, aiding the development of the lowest passions and most barbarous sentiments, degrading our sense of the sacredness of human life, and producing, in a minor degree, that result which a state of war produces by wholesale. The thirst for blood fostered by our late war has not yet ceased producing its annual crop of murders, and every judicial execution but adds to its influence. It is idle to talk of making examples. People rarely appeal to the knife or the pistol when in a frame of mind accessible to reason. When the tiger within us leaps to the surface, reason shrinks back appalled. Then, only passion is active, and passion stops not to consider the force of example. Whatever tends to brutalize the people at large, adds to the strength of these fierce passions, and crime is abetted by the very means adopted for its prevention.

The better sense of the intelligent, refined, and kind-hearted people who are, if a minority in number, a majority in force, in modern nations-recoils from the thought of taking life, when time has softened the first outbursts of passion; and, if there is any question as to the sufficiency of evidence, a doubt as to the justice of the conviction is sure to arise. It was upon this principle in modern human nature that Miss Reynolds designed operating. In old Roman times, the turning the thumbs of the spectators up or down decided whether the vanquished gladiator was to be spared or slain. Such a tribunal of spectators exists in our day, with this difference in action, that the thumb is now resolutely turned up in many cases where Roman men and maidens would have turned it cruelly down. This tribunal of public opinion has changed more sentences than it is itself aware of.

The first object to be gained was to produce this doubt of the sufficiency of the evidence and of the verdict of the jury. Incontestable as this verdict appeared to the Salemites, Miss Reynolds was fortunately able to see all its weak points, and knew precisely how to produce her desired effect.

This was not by personal appeals to the people of the town, or to the local newspapers. She deemed it wiser to commence her campaign from afar, through the columns of influential journals, which were sufficiently disinterested to enable them to judge fairly, and of powerful influence in moulding public opinion. There was also an opportunity in the nature of the case to interest scientific periodicals and medical societies in it, as it called up that much-mooted question of the reliability of tests for poison in medical jurisprudence.

Laura's temperament was too hasty for this slow mode of producing the desired effect. Could she have drawn some sword-shaped argument from the scabbard of reason, and with it demolished at a blow the public resentment, she might have rendered efficient aid. But it was hard to be obliged to sit still, with folded hands, while the efforts of her friend produced, with the slowness of a natural growth, the desired change. Yet to this she was forced, and could only aid by her active interest in all that was attempted and accomplished in the furtherance of Miss Reynolds' object. But even this was no mean assistance. To any one working alone against the opinion of the world, the interest and sympathy of a congenial friend is of the highest importance, and marvellously lightens the burden of the labor.

Their personal intercourse was but short. Miss Reynolds could spare only a few days from the demands of her business. She gave Laura her address, however, and requested that she would frequently correspond with her.

Before leaving Salem she obtained the services of an excellent lawyer, who had been engaged by the prosecution in the former case. But as this engagement had been made for the sole purpose of forestalling the efforts of the defence to obtain good legal advice, and as Mr. Crawford had taken no active part in the trial, he felt at liberty to accept the proposition of his new client. This acceptance was not made, however, until she had fully stated her opinion, why she believed in the innocence of the condemned prisoner, and the means by which she hoped to effect an acquittal.

He had already doubted the sufficiency of the evidence for conviction, though his hands had been tied by his connection with the prosecution. But her clear statement of the medical aspects of the case, with the authorities for her opinion which her memory enabled

her to give, gave him an interest which he had not before felt in the matter, for they showed him the probability of Doctor Wilmer's innocence. This was all he would yet admit, but he assured her of his active co-operation. He entirely approved of her proposed course, and encouraged her to carry it out to the fullest extent, though desiring to be advised, in advance, of every movement. As for himself, he would more fully consider the case from the medical point of view, prepare himself to test the question of poisoning, and draw up the necessary papers to make application for a new trial, as soon as there was any reasonable hope of obtaining it. The date of execution was fixed for the fifteenth of December, which gave, as they hoped, sufficient time to perfect their scheme.

Laura insisted that Miss Reynolds should visit the prison before her return to Philadelphia. Her poor cousin must be seriously cast down by his unhappy condition, and was probably suffering all the tortures of hopelessness. Any cheerful face and voice then would benefit him, and how much more if these came bearing him the balm of hope. He must be made aware of the efforts for his rescue from the fate that threatened him, and she feared that he would not place proper trust in her assurance.

But if Miss Reynolds would but see him, explain the matter to him as only she could, show him why she believed him innocent, and what she purposed doing, let him see that friends were intelligently working for him, and not without good grounds for hope, it would animate him with a new life, give him something to look forward to, and awake in him that active interest in his own safety whose lack had so greatly weakened his case in the trial.

And while Laura was glibly attempting to persuade her friend by these arguments, an under-current of argument ran on in her mind which she did not venture to divulge.

"Let him but see her face," she said to herself, "full, as it is, of interest in him. Let him hear her explain, with the enthusiasm with which she convinced Mr. Crawford, what she intends doing, and why she intends it, and it will be half worth an acquittal. He cannot fail to see that she loves him still, and the assurance of her love will do him more good than anything which I can now imagine. As for that story of Josephs about the marriage, I will leave that to him. She cannot doubt his assurance that it is a pure fabrication."

Individuals, like nations, grow rapidly in troublous times. Laura had made more progress toward womanhood in those few months than she would have done in as many years of her former eventless existence. Her views of life had widened, her reasoning powers developed, and her merry disposition was, for the time at least, softened into seriousness by the great shadow that had fallen upon her in the deadly peril of her favorite cousin.

But to Miss Reynolds the request, thus shrewdly made, was far from palatable. Though deep within her burned a desire, a thirst, to look upon his face and hear his voice again, yet the suggestions of worldly prudence, the fear of an unpleasant scene, and of the necessity of making or avoiding undesirable explanations, counselled her to avoid a meeting. It might raise false hopes in his mind hopes which it would be impossible to realize. It might call up old memories and emotions within herself, and make the sad burden of her life, hard as it was now to bear, infinitely more painful. For months she had been haunted by the spectre of a dead happiness. Was it wise to risk a sight of the face and sound of the voice whose alluring charm had made her soul the slave of a clinging passion, which even in absence taught her to rebel against the decrees of destiny, and to hate the perfidy of the man for whom her love was not dead, and would not die.

It was not pure disinterestedness and native nobility of character that impelled her to the course she had taken. These had their share in her action, and would continue to actuate her when more personal motives ceased. But the first hint of the dreadful tidings had aroused in its full stature the sentiment she had been seeking to overcome. She was, for the time, the loving maiden, flying to the side of her imperilled lover, and felt every danger of his as though it were a sword thrust into her own heart. While this lasted she could only feel, not work. But she had, since the trial, recovered her ordinary frame of mind; and though a strong personal sentiment entered into her determination to aid, to her utmost, the innocent victim of ignorance and incompetence, yet she had now no aim, no hope, other than to accomplish her purpose, and then to forever banish him from her sight. Guilty of the murder of her happiness, he was yet innocent of the death of her rival; and she was noble enough to give all the strength of her soul, her life itself if need be, in his behalf, though to herself only the sadness of endurance, and of separation from him she loved, could come.

Yet the arguments of Laura had a strong bearing upon the question of the utility of her efforts. It was evident to her that his personal cheerfulness and active interest in their object was of the utmost importance, and she doubted not that this could be best achieved by a visit from herself. Laura, moreover, was so importunate, and returned again and again so persistently to the charge, that her friend at length consented to make the proposed visit, becoming satisfied that in his behalf, and for the furtherance of jus tice, duty commanded her to martyr herself if need were.

Entrance to the prison was not as easy now as it had been before sentence. The rules in regard to admission had been drawn much more strictly. But with Laura as advocate there was no refusing the proposed visit. Her near relationship to the condemned gave her the privilege of access to him, the only objection made being as to the admission of her companion.

Miss Reynolds felt a painful, nervous thrill, as the heavy prison door clanged behind them. It was as if this stern iron barrier from

the world without had shut out hope, happiness, and all that man holds dear, and shut in fear and grief-two dark spectres that roamed forever within these dismal bounds.

Every step on the resounding floor sounded to her ears like the tones of a dirge for the dead. The air of the close corridors through which they went seemed stagnant, and unfit to breathe, and she dreaded to speak lest her own words should return in mocking accents upon her. Yet to the keeper, who led them on, jangling his great bunch of keys, the prison was a very cheerful place. He could not have realized the point of view from which Miss Reynolds beheld such stern surroundings.

This depressing thrill deepened as they paused before one in the long range of iron doors, that fronted the stone corridor along which they had come. The keeper inserted his key and unlocked this barrier, only to reveal a second bolted door inside. This, too, was opened, and re-bolted upon them after they had entered.

They found themselves in a small, comfortless cell, about eight by ten feet in dimensions, barely furnished with a bed, a table, and two chairs, one of which was a special luxury granted to this prisoner. The light entered through a narrow grated aperture, set high in the wall, and through which the warm outer glow came shorn of all the cheerfulness of the sunbeams.

But the attention of Miss Reynolds was too closely riveted upon the occupant of the cell, to heed, as yet, aught of these details.

He sat in a gloomy attitude, his face resting on his hand, and with a haggard, sleepless, weary look, that pained her to the heart. His conviction and close confinement had told heavily upon him, and he was now in that deep phase of depression to which men of his temperament are so liable.

He hardly looked up as they entered, meeting his cousin Laura's greeting with a faint attempt at a smile, and failing to notice her companion. The latter sank into a chair, overcome by her feelings on perceiving the change which time and misfortune had made in her former suitor.

"Robert," said Laura, chidingly. "Do you not see Miss Reynolds?"

He rose hastily at these words, with a face in which an eager light of interest replaced its former listless indifference, and advanced a step with outstretched hands. Miss Reynolds, moved by the same impulse, half rose to meet him. But he stopped, irresolutely, and stood reading her face with eyes in which all the old love seemed re-awakened.

Neither spoke. Neither, for the moment, could speak. The lady sank back into her chair, the pallor of extreme emotion overspreading her face. In him, a hope that had been dead was alive again, and its rosy wing tinged his pale cheek with a warm flush.

This, however, was but a momentary salutation. Meeting so suddenly, after such a separation, they were mastered by a flood of feeling that would not long endure the cold touch of reason. [TO BE CONTINUed.]

PICKING BERRIES.

BY MRS. E. B. DUFFEY.

We roamed the hills 'neath sunny skies;
You never saw such glorious weather!-
Such flowers, such bees, such butterflies,
When we went berrying together!
We robbed the green vines of their store;
We filled our baskets, scratched our fingers;
We ate, we spilled, we gathered more;-
How o'er that day my memory lingers!

Ah, Fanny was a double thief!

She robbed the vines to fill her basket,
And then-'tis almost past belief-
She stole my heart, nor did she ask it.

So charming Fanny stood that day,
Amid the vines, I yet behold her;
With her fair hair the winds at play,
Her hat dropped backward o'er her shoulder.

The brambles, too, her beauty see,

And clasp her in their rude caresses; She calls my aid to set her free; Scratched are her hands, and torn her dress is.

Then I become entangled too

Not in the brambles; oh, no, never!I'm caught by laughing eyes of blue; To be their willing slave forever.

She gives one look into my face,

Then springs from me with saucy laughter:

I see even yet her airy grace,

So close behind I follow after.

My heart with love and rapture beat;

I cover her warm mouth with kisses!

Oh! berries pick with maiden sweet,
If you would know what perfect bliss is!

'Neath arching trees and glowing skies We wander'd in that summer weather; We know the way to paradise

Is through the berry-field together!

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"But if we are found out it will be worse for us than ever. Uncle would never forgive you. It's only a little while to wait, anyhow, Charley."

"Is it? And what do you call a little while?" 'Only four years, Charley."

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'Only four years! Why don't you say only forty years, or only four hundred? Why, we might both of us be dead a dozen times in four years."

"You know we couldn't, Charles."

66

"Well, no matter; four years are as bad as forty when one is waiting to be married. The question is-will you stand by me?" "I'm afraid!"

"What a goose you are, Loo! What are you afraid of? Isn't the thing as I have explained it to you as clear as daylight? Don't we know how nervous, and inquisitive, and stingy he is? And if we can hit him hard on his weak points, aren't we bound to knock him out of time?"

"I wish you wouldn't use so much slang, Charles: it is quite dreadful."

"Will you, or will you not, face the music?"

"I am awfully afraid, but-I will try."

"Now,

Sealed, signed, and delivered in the presence of Us"-accompanying each clause with a peculiar sort of ratifying form. then, I will set about the preparation of the ammunition that shall rattle down this old castle and let my princess out."

"He talks poetry, too! That is nicer than slang. Keep it up, Charles."

"Oh you innocent, precious dear! who 'keeps it up' and yet hates slang! I'd give something to hear you talking in your sleep. That's the only way to test the humbug in a woman.'

"I only say a single word in my sleep."

And what is that?"

Charley!"

After that, more signing, sealing and delivering.

The brace of conspirators, of whose dark doings I have given a hint, were not shocking creatures at all to look at. Most people, on the contrary, would have thought them very pleasant to the eye. Loo Summerson was as bright and winsome a blonde as one could wish to see, and Charley Waters was one of those manly fellows whom three girls out of five would have fallen straight in love with, if fancy free. Without describing them further, it is enough to say that they were young. Ah, blessed, restive state!-when four years seem a life! If they could but stay just there! Envy is a profitless thing, but we may be fairly jealous of these young monarchs of the earth. Ah! brave and fearless time! How the heart aches in thinking of it gone, and that in all the future the world has nothing to offer in its stead!

But I have to deal with things present. There is a conspiracy. And why? Because the old cause that has moved matter since the beginning because two young people cannot have their own

way.

The luckless person who stands in the way is an old gentleman who is so peculiarly unfortunate as to have Miss Loo Summerson for a ward. Loo's parents died when she was a child, leaving her to the care of a brother of her mother's, an individual who was, even then, an eccentric bachelor. Old Roger Paxon was one of the last persons in the world fit to bring up a child of affectionate and impetuous character. Somehow, though, the thing had been done. The native sweetness of the girl triumphed over the chill of her surroundings, and she had not been unhappy. Most of her time had, in fact, been spent at boarding-school, and it was during a vacation that she had met, and loved, Charley Waters. After that it would not have mattered how cross and disagreeable her uncle had been.

As for Roger Paxon, he had taken the task assigned him with as good a grace as he could muster. It was a commission not at all to his taste, but it was not to be avoided. He was Loo's sole relative, and he was, moreover, the executor of her father's will, from the administration of which he derived considerable profit. Prominent among Mr. Paxon's peculiarities was his miserliness. The will directed that until Loo married and left her uncle's care, a certain handsome sum should be paid her guardian yearly, and this amount Roger was very loth to lose. Furthermore, by the terms of the will, Loo was not to marry until she was twenty-one years of age without the consent of her uncle, or, if she did so, it was at her own risk. Should she so marry, her fortune would remain intact for her to receive at the age named, but in the interim she could have none of it. Now, as I have said, Charley could not wait, and, as may be imagined, this unpleasant uncle's consent had been already asked, and refused. The old man would have liked to keep his niece single to a much later age than twenty-one, but up to that point at least he had the power, and he intended to use it. Such was the situation that these conspirators, with laughing eyes and curly locks, had to consider.

The day following the conversation recorded between the lovers, Mr. Paxon sat alone at his breakfast-table. It was one of this old gentleman's peculiarities never to eat with any one if he could help it. Either the money reports did not suit him on this particular morning, or something else had gone wrong; at all events, he was in a shocking bad humor.

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"Yes, sir."

Stop! Maria! what are you in such a hurry for? You do not give me time to breathe. There, let me have the pesky things; the sooner they're read the sooner it's over, I suppose."

He took a small package of letters and pamphlets from Maria's hand, and as he did so several of the documents, differing in size and thickness from the others, slipped from the pile to the floor. He picked them up, and was about to growl another complaint at the devoted Maria for mixing up extraneous matter with his mail, when he perceived their character.

Humph!" he muttered, "the newfangled postal-card nuisance. I forgot they were to go into use to-day. Who can have had the impertinence to write to me in this barefaced way?"

So saying, he turned over the postal-cards with something of the curiosity which every one must feel on first receiving one of these open letters. The idea of a letter is of something so particularly private, that the first sight of one which all the world who sees it may read is a sensation. It is like seeing a message to yourself written on a fence.

"The saucy things are not for me, after all," he said, after twirling them in his fingers; "they are for Loo. Here, Maria!" The girl came forward.

"Never mind," said the crafty old gentleman, "I thought I would take another piece of toast, but I guess I have had enough." Then he muttered to himself, Now, Miss Loo, I have a chance to discover who some of your precious correspondents are."

And so this ill-principled old guardian hobbled off to the library, where he could indulge his nefarious designs without risk of detection.

He had not been seated at his unlawful work many minutes before he wished there were no such things as open letters in the world.

The first card he took up, addressed on the one side "To Miss Loo Summerson," held on the other side the following communication:

"The wigs will cost you $50 for the 'Chalres II' and $35 for the 'Pompadour.' I have had to ask a little more than my ordinary prices, as your wanting them immediately necessitated my engaging an additional artiste. I shall carefully fill the order you send me for cosmetics and contents of dressing-case. I always recommend to my ladies the French pastille rouge, in preference to either pinksaucer or vermillion powder. For the street, either of the lastnamed will do very well, but the use you have for it is much more trying. I will send the articles to you by a discreet attendant. ADOLPH LUPIN."

"Very resp'y,

Old Roger was a study for an artist as he read this mysterious epistle. At first he went at it lightly, as though any one who could be so silly as to write on the outside of a letter could not have anything very profound to say; then he grew troubled in spirit at the intangible character of the communication as it commended itself to his faculty of apprehension. He could make nothing of it, But his mind was full of and was compelled finally to admit so.

strange misgivings:

He took up the second card. It read as follows:

My Dear Miss Summerson: I have your dresses nearly finished, and they are the sweetest things that have ever left my establishment, I do assure you. I have taken the liberty to make the breeches an inch higher on the knee, but by giving a little extra fulness to the calf, we shall in that way get a handsomer limb. If you have the silk stockings by you, please send them to me, as there must be a nice match in the pearl-colored trimmings. The swordbelt I have concluded to make of crimson velvet, with a heavy border of gold cord. I would recommend you, unless you have occasion to draw your sword, to wear simply the scabbard, and an imitation handle that I can procure for you. It answers every purpose. I speak particularly of the Charles, as you may want that first. That Pocahontas thing is giving me more trouble than I ever had in all my business. What people want to get up such contrary mixtures for I can't imagine. But I will do my best with it.

"Yours, obediently,

JANE THIBAULD.”

By this time Roger had a glimmering of the truth, although he was afraid to confess it to himself. His lines did not lie among the ways of dressmakers and modistes, but he could scarcely fail to gather some idea of the facts.

"Masquerading, eh?" he growled. "Private theatricals, perhaps, and all that rubbish, expense, and questionable morality. Not if I can help it, miss. I have no notion of letting my house be turned into a bear-garden, nor shall you cut such pranks on any other man's premises if I can prevent it. Why this is positively indecent! going to dress up as a man, in knee-breeches and stockings! What tomfoolery will be done by these hare-brained youngsters next? Here is another incendiary postal-card. Let us see what it says. And the old eaves-dropper gathered the following startling intelligence.

“Dear Miss Summerson: I have concluded to give your proposition favorable attention. First appearances are risky things for a manager, but there must be some of them, or the race of performers would die out. I believe you have a fair chance of success, or, on both accounts, I should not encourage you. You have youth, intel

ligence, enthusiasm, and a style of beauty that will be captivating on the stage. Whether or not you have the instinct for acting remains to be seen, but there is good reason for hoping so, and even in its absence, you should, with diligence, do fairly well. I intend to put you up in a few nice little parts by way of trial, and, if all goes. as we hope, to offer you a full engagement for next season. I have in Mr. Fosbert just the man for you in the opposite parts. I have put Charles the Second in rehearsal for Saturday, for performance next Monday. Two rehearsals of it will be ample. Please be on hand at 10.30 on Saturday morning, and after rehearsal we can talk over all matters connected with your debut.

"Yours to command,

PHILIDOR BELLAIR.”

'Send her here, at once."

Maria departed on her errand, and shortly Loo appeared, trembling at heart, but with a strong determination to face the music" as Charley had bade her do.

"There, Miss!-and there! and there!" cried old Roger, in a fury, throwing down one after another of the letter cards on the table in front of his niece. "That is the way you propose to disgrace the family, is it?"

But Loo was ready for him. She coolly took up the cards and glanced over them.

64

And this is the way you have disgraced the family," she said, "by reading letters that do not belong to you! Don't you know, uncle, that the government regards one of these cards a sealed letter, and that no one except the person addressed has any more right to read it than to open an envelope with another individual's name upon it? You are my guardian, however, and I will not press the right the law gives me, but the principle remains the same."

666

Principle! A pretty one you are to talk of principle! You have so much of it, it appears, that you are willing to everlastingly humiliate everybody connected with you by becoming a play-actress. Why, why-it is incredible!" (And to do the old gentleman justice, he really seemed to think so.) “If I had not seen proofs in the handwriting of your manager, costumer, and wig-maker, I could never have believed it! Have you entirely and absolutely lost your senses, girl? What is the meaning of it?"

66

'Well, uncle, the meaning is just this. I want to marry Charley Waters, and you won't let me. At least you refuse your consent until I am twenty-one years old, and keep me out of my fortune just when I want it most. So I am going to be independent of you, and free to marry a poor man whom I love. Charley has a bigger soul than you have, uncle Roger. He doesn't despise actresses, nor think I am going to disgrace myself in doing what Mrs. Siddons, and Mrs. Landor, and Miss Cushman, and Susie Galton have done for the legitimate amusement and instruction of the human family." (Charley had posted Loo in this, but she had somehow or other mixed up her authorities.)

"Mrs. Siddons and Mrs. Landor! Now I know you are a little fool! To your room, miss; and if I catch you going to 'rehearsals,' or even as much as answering these rascally letters, I'll have a warrant out for your control. It is my belief you are out of your head." "It is you who are out of your head, uncle, to talk in that way. You know very well that you cannot control me, and that the most you can do is to refuse a while to give me what is my own."

And in a superb fashion, peculiar to these young ones who do not yet even dream of what scorn and contumely are, Loo swept from the room, only to break into a shiver when she got outside the door, and show strong hysterical symptoms.

As for old Roger, he knew the girl had spoken the simple truth. He was in no enviable frame of mind as he settled himself to the correspondence that remained, and that belonged to him.

In the hall Loo met Maria.

"Oh, miss," cried Maria, "is it true that you are going to be an actress? That will be splendid!”

"Why what do you know about it, Maria? Have you been reading my letters too?"

Maria saw at once that her sympathies had carried her too far, but also felt that evasion was useless.

"Well, miss, you see I couldn't help it. I was on the step when the postman came up in the street, and I see him a-reading 'em as he come along, and I didn't think nothing about its being wrong or not till I read 'em too. I hope you'll pardon me, miss; but I'll come and see you act, if it takes all my wages."

"Hush, Maria! You give me a fright! I know no more about acting than you do, and don't care about it half as much, apparently."

Maria retired, looking equally mystified and disappointed.

But the day's surprises were not yet over. That evening another of these wretched postal cards was handed to Mr. Paxon. It was addressed to "Mr. Richard Bispham, care of Mr. Roger Paxon," and the communication was in these words:

"Dear Mr. Bispham: I have mislaid your direction, so address this in care of our mutual friend, Paxon. I am in a hurry, and happen to have nothing by me in the way of writing-materials but one of these new cards. The inquiry you make regarding my young friend and client, Charles Waters, I am able to answer. The facts are as you intimate. Charles has been fortunate enough to come into a very handsome property, which has been long in litigation,

but to which his right has been finally proved. It will not fall short of $5000 a-year, and may exceed that amount. Waters deserves this good fortune, for he is a solid and reliable young fellow who will be sure to use his money well. You can now form your own idea of the advisability of undertaking the building operations for him that you refer to. If you want my opinion, it is that you will run no risk whatever in so doing. Yours, etc.,

"MARTIN GOLDING."

Despite Loo's hint of the powers of the law, her uncle read this letter as he had read the others. There seemed to be something demoralizing in the process. But out of the illegal step there grew, strangely enough, upon this benighted old man, a much-needed light. If, on the one hand, the girl was determined to take the mad step she had announced, and if, on the other, her lover had become a man of abundant means, why should he any longer stand out against the inevitable?

And he did not. Charley happened, by the merest accident, to drop in that evening, and Old Roger, calling the conspirators before him, gave a formal consent to their union, which, if not as hearty and gracious as could be desired, answered every purpose. It was on condition, however, that Loo should at once, and forever, abandon her theatrical ambition, which, after some show of resistance, she promised to do.

Who could have written those open letters is yet a mystery, but perhaps Charley knows something about it.

Maria alone remains unhappy.

LOVE'S MEMORIES.

Rememb'rest thou at eventide,

The hour when shadows come and go, How flitting phantoms seemed to glide

Before our eyes? We'd whisper low With bated breath, 'twixt dark and lightHand clasped in hand, though naught to fear; 'Twas "make believe," a mere feigned fright, To bring our fond hearts still more near.

Dost mind thee also of the moon,

Whose light dispelled and drove away
These fitful nothings all too soon,

And left no cause for more delay?
But when that night-orb shines so clear
From 'neath the clouds, we'll still believe

As ever, "'tis good fortune near,"

The moon will not such friends deceive.

So thus in fancy we can dwell

On scenes once dear and ever new,

Received by mem'ry, pictured well,

Impress'd on hearts that must be true.

ARE PLANTS INTELLIGENT?

BY HELEN HARCOURT.

"The fool hath said in his heart, 'There is no God.'"

WELL and truly hath the Psalmist said, "the fool," for verily none other could look out upon the world, with all its vast and complicated mechanism, its infinite variety of life-from the tiny atom, to be perceived only by a powerful microscope, to the mammoth elephant; from the infusoria to the mighty whale; from the humble grasses to the lofty trees; from the lovely valley to the towering mountain-none, but one bereft of reason, we repeat, could look upon these things, and view the marvellous harmony and adaptability of each single object to its position, and the purposes of its creation, and yet say, "There is no God; all these wonderful things were made, and are governed, by chance." The earth, in times past, was believed by many philosophers-among them Kepler-to be itself a living creature; its metals, and minerals, and plants, were formed by the gases within its body; it was possessed of no small degree of sense; it could talk-not words, but things. Modify these assertions, and they approach very nearly to the truth. If Nature be not the possessor of such senses as man is blessed with, it is, at least, far from stupid or without power of expression. Each object in Nature knows its own rights, knows what is needful to its life and prosperity, and if not prevented by the intervention of some foreign power, will seize upon and appropriate those things to its

own use.

I am tempted sometimes to think that the "inferior objects in creation" are, in truth, more sensible than man, inasmuch as they take that only which is necessary and proper to their full development, and never-like him who calls himself their lord-violate the laws of Nature.

Let us glance, now, at some of the wonders of plant-life. There are other lives just as full of marvellous power and adaptability, just as obedient to the commands of their Creator, but we will put these aside for the present, and look only to our Father's flowerchildren. Will you say that these frail creatures have not sense as well as beauty?

Come, then, with me, and let us observe yonder rose-bush. Its beautiful green leaves have two needs-the one to be supplied by the sun, the other by the moisture of the earth. The upper surface of the leaf is smooth, firm and polished; it catches and reflects the sun's rays, drinks in all the light it needs, and throws the rest back into the air.

Now look at the under-surface of the leaf: it is not polished-not even smooth; it is spongy, and full of minute pores, that are ever ready and willing to drink up the water which is caught, and

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dropped down upon the earth beneath by the firm, wavy roof above them. When the leaf has gathered enough moisture, it closes its pores, and refuses to drink more. So you see each surface of that leaf has its own distinct work to do, and it never neglects its duties. Think you that you can force that upper surface to drink the water, and the under-surface to gather the sun's rays? Man is powerful; can a feeble little bush defy him? Let us see. We will bend down one of its branches until the position of the leaves is reversed.

The rose-bush is conquered; it cannot bend that branch back again!

No; but pause a while, and you will see what it can do. Mark you, now, how each leaf is turning, slowly, cautiously, on its stem? In a few hours the polished sun-catcher is looking up to its lifegiver again, and the water-drinker is once more performing its appointed work. You must destroy them, before they will disobey their Maker's laws. Once more: Take a long box, draw a line through its centre; place poor, arid soil in the one half, rich, moist earth in the other; now place that same rose-bush right opposite the centre-line you have drawn. Of course its roots will start out, as usual, in all directions, but very quickly those creeping into the arid soil will perceive that it cannot supply their necessities, so they turn abruptly back, and, hearing better news from their brethren in the rich earth, follow after the latter. Ere long, you will find every rootlet established in the soil from which, alone, it can obtain sustenance.

Now, dare you say that a rose-bush has no sense? But the rosebush is not alone in its intelligence; every plant and herb and tree knows just what it has to do; knows just what substances it is ordered to extract from the earth, and mould into shape for its own

use.

All around us are humble plants, which know better than we what time it is, and what kind of weather is near at hand.

When the air is bright and clear, the calendula arvensis (marigold) opens wide its petals to inhale it, but when rain is approaching, it shuts itself up, so that not a drop can penetrate its inner chambers. Not less rain-hating is the corn sow-thistle, which is found so abundantly in the British fields; it goes regularly to bed each night, but never gets up in the morning unless it is sure of having a cloudless day.

There is an acacia, called by Linnæus the mimosa eburnia; it dearly loves the sun, and equally dislikes getting its leaves rained on. Let but a cloud pass over the sun, and the mimosa eburnia carefully puts its leaves to bed, a dozen or more nestling down together; they are frail, and poised on slender stems; in union, they find strength to resist the pouring rain, while it does not in the least injure its roots to be freely washed.

A word or two about these roots-not the mimosa roots only, but all roots.

Pull a growing plant from its parent earth; it has stout, thick roots. "How healthy, how flourishing!" you exclaim; and perhaps you are right;-but not necessarily so-these thick, strong roots have nothing to do with nourishing the plant; they are merely ducts or canals, from which numberless fine, threadlike fibresrootlets shoot out into the earth, and through which the sustenance collected by these little caterers is passed along into the body of the plant.

Go into the forest, and you will see immense trees, with great, gnarled roots stretching out from their trunks-not under, but upon the earth. Such a state of things must injure the tree, you thinkand so it would, did the tree depend upon those great, heavy roots for its support; but here, as we often see it in a higher species of life, it is not the giants who are the most active. Those frail, threadlike fibres are the the true supporters of that great tree; take away the earth from every one of those heavy roots, and leave only the little threads in the ground, and the tree will flourish as before; if it needs water, and there is none near at hand, those energetic little rootlets will start out from their homes, and travel through rock and wall until they find it; and then, how eagerly they cave it up, and send it speeding homeward to their thirsting parent!

That was a beautiful idea of Linnæus, to construct a clock, in which all the mechanism should be of flower; no cumbersome frame-work, or carefully adjusted wheels and dials-only flowers: the flower-bell to open at three o'clock; the flower-star to point to four o'clock; and so on through all the hours of the day. The peasants of southern France have faith in the knowledge of their flowery friends, and train them up at their doors as barometers, and they never fail faithfully to foretell the weather.

It is wonderful, too, how each little plant knows just the color and the shade it should possess; and, standing always in the one place, should take that color and shade-and no other-from the earth. And here again, it is those wise little rootlets that do the work. Place a cutting from a white rose and one from a red rose side by side; let their roots intermingle; still they will make no mistake; the white rose-bush will not bear a red flower, nor the red, a white flower.

So, too, with other substances besides the coloring matter; each plant knows it own materials, and appropriates them only.

Place the acacia vera (from which our misnamed Gum Arabic is obtained,) side by side with the strychnos nux vomica, from which comes that deadly poison, strychnine: their rootlets mingle in the same earth, yet how widely different are the materials which each seizes upon!

Have I not shown you that the Creator has not thrown even his plant-children upon the world without intelligence sufficient for all their wants?

IN THE LOW COUNTRIES.
CHAPTER II.

ONE of the peculiarities of Dutch and Belgian cities is the extensive use of carts drawn by dogs-carts of all sizes drawn by dogs of all sizes. The peasantry drive a team of dogs into town laden with merchandise of every description; the heavy peasant man (or more often woman sometimes rides himself on the cart at a brisk canter. I took much interest in the foreign dog-carts and their ways, and I would not but admire the evident sympathy that existed between dog and man. The dogs were bred and trained to draw; they were often noble mast is of great size and intelligence.

Here they come, cantering out of the village, along the flat, smooth roud by the river-side. The canter, after some time drops to a trot. Then a litte breathing space-perhaps even a pause and a drink, and then of again; and after a drive of an hour or two we enter the city, and make for the market-place at a brisk walk, the dog still straining forward as though longing to get to the journey's end. Arrived at his post, he is no doubt tired; but the heaviest bit of work is over. It is a touching sight to see these noble brutes on their arrival at market, tired out, taking their well-earned repose. For four hours or more he is left entirely to himself; he is seldom taken out of his harness, but it hangs loose and easy about him, and he sinks down, and sprawis flat, with his fine large head laid upon his front paws, and he sleeps profoundly, as though nothing would rouse him, and steams his hot wet coat dry in the sun. Oh, how many human beings might covet such a sleep as that!

As he lies there he looks the picture of positive luxury and enjoyment; no greater reward is needed, the cup of his profound contentment is quite full. He wakes, stretches himself, yawns, gets up. shakes his harness licks his neighbor's face, looks round for his master, is quite ready for his food, which he eats with an appetite which many a pet poodle, sickening upon a roast fowl, might envy; and then his master jump into the empty cart, and they tear off home at a wonderful gallop

The Dutch are, no doubt, musical; but somehow or other music is not cheap in Dutchland. Their prices are too high for popular entertainments. When the band plays in their Horticultural Gardens, the prices are raised to fashionable scales.

The people revenge themselves at the high prices--kept up a good deal, no doubt, by the well-to-do Jewish population, who are passionately fond of music-by singing national part songs about the streets, especially at night, and having Wagner's music-yes, actually Wagner's music-ground upon the most wretched hand-organs. Before I leave Amsterdam, I must just look in at the diamondmills. The chief mills belong to M. Costa, who lives at Paris. Diamonds are here literally ground for the million. From all parts of the world the rough stones arrive, and are manipulated into double their value by the cutting and polishing process. There is no show place, but upon paying a small fee to the workmen's sick fund you are at once introduced into a long room, grimy with oil, and smeared with the distilled vapors from steam machinery, and vibrating with the incessant turning of the factory-wheels. The diamond-grinders sit in rows round the room, like compositors, with their jackets off, their sleeves up, and their backs to the light. Before each lies a large metal plate, like a potter's disk, always revolving by steam with immense rapidity. This is flooded with diamond-dust, in the shape of a thin wet paste, and upon this grey grindstone surface the rough diamond is ground.

The rough stone looks considerably less attractive than the rock crystals in their natural state; it is simply like a tiny piece of dull, muddy-looking ground glass. The workman now takes a lump of soft, hot lead, in which the stone is imbedded, exposing only a small part of its surface; this surface is then held lightly down, until it just touches the revolving plate, and there it is fixed with the right pressure by a simple apparatus of weights, and the grinding has begun. In this way four or five diamonds are sometimes ground at once on different parts of the plate. I stood for some time watching the process, from the time a rough diamond was first put down. At the end of about a quarter of an hour, although exposed to the tremendous friction of the wheel, revolving upon diamond-power,