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The Two Johns. I thels Little Mistake which was Happily Rectified. kdvsnffin°t ri0:uei"l->er having met a young the "1Qlent!y I'ke Ethel Sommers to serve np?h^03e a comparison. There 'Plished' a^3-' man^ as beautiful, as accom- as good, but it has oombin J11 S°od fortune to meet one who 5^edid ^eSe (lua^tiea so happily as the^avi'^ ^een ^ar ^aPP'er than that of ttiore /a&Pl—an uneventful life, with many Unejjj ys °f sunshine than clouds. The hej t ^os0 years which had brought hilt to young womanhood was simply the the» h country town in whioh str*y ^een ?Pent, with here and there a Pa&e telling of other scenes among si°a bad, at rare intervals, sought diver- 'OftWri an<^ *wo years boarding school ^ittl t0 twentJ? years of her life. thv Won<^er» therefore, that the prospect of ho re'month!l' visit with a friend of her dlng school days was very inviting. tlthel*1* ^a^e» the schoolmate, had written d0r. a most cordial invitation to visit her ion,. the summer, adding a few remarks W«ffrtf0rei^t0 the subject, which may tbe cause of a slight blush on el s cheeks- the in which Ethel wa3 to spend the SUln,ner was but little larger than Ses ,°ne she left behind, but it pos- oitv °barms of a strange fact Wit^ many strange faoes. In thet, It possessed charms to which Wit -Y,)Ung ladies who bad been reared blind0 borders were far from to*A +k c°arse they had long since ceased regQ w'^ the beauties of the pictu- the Ue ^r*ve which wound in and out among »le r°ck.8 a8 followed the course of the r'ver or to sigh rapturously as their the8..flowed the silvery path that led across sj .lle lake to where the summer sun was through the ruddy clouds into the 6VA Dln^ an°ther land, but the mediocrity of ry"day life had been relieved by the Vent of the" two Johns," the distinctive bi • Anna soberly applied to the com- ^ood0 ^acl laterally stormed Green- VvOod. n Although the foundation for this title did j0 ,at first appear clear to the stranger who oe upon the comely, well-proportioned len "'I10 jointly bore it, yet when all ^plained its aptness was clear. It was a most singular coincidence. (5^ ,at the two Johns" were rightly named d not be disputed unless one wished to "ndtV*16 wisdom of their respective parents of th a°cident of birth. The singular feature of tK6 a^a"' waa that the full name of the older » etwo was John Gordon, while that of the even £ er was John Gordon. There was not t0 ?. a middle letter in their names by which p. ,sti*>guiah them, and neither would yield Pref °tber by adopting one, but err^d to compromise the matter by having «». nia'l matter of the former addressed to r ^°bn Gordon," that of the latter to °hn Gordon, Esq. ;n avef perhaps, done an in- that^f Gordon by insinuating he strove to maintain his dignity by per- g. s £ ne38, when, in truth, his actions should tin niore properly be ascribed to the imper- ence of the younger one. Mr. Gordon, £ j 0' by the way, was in no way related to Wek11'. ^8(1 > arrived at Glenwood fully a *r& 'or to the advent of the second one,and 0 n°' ? little surprised when the latter called th» i.k'm ea,y one m°rning and suggested 4v he make some change in his name to n»» complications. Mr. Gordon very 'ad QraH-?. suggested that John Gordon, Esq., d °Pt this happy idea, which suggestion was beneath the dignity of the latter. Q°&iewhat annoyed by his ofRciousness. Mr. °raon declined, and, as a result, both re- i'ned John Gordon, with the additions I j^e mentioned. ^thel's curiosity was somewhat excited she was made acquainted with the per- circnmstances which had called forth Hat ^the two Johns, and, very 1 rally, 8he associated with them a simi- jj i ? °f personal appearance which, had it ni ex,8tence in fact, who have rendered re v 8 et,tirely hopeless. There was, in y, bnt one point of similarity, aside from i n»mes—both were gentlemen of leisure M ifc e!ldod' tVn Gordon was in every sense the highest Pe of gentleman. Always affable, cour- ts, and urbane, he made none but friends, jjj Was no affectation or insincerity about Pan' and even a stranger when in his com- So the magnetic influence of hiswhole- nature. Although about thirty years t» few would have placed him above A Six' |)et^8 ^or John Gordon, Esq., I could not do the fF ^han invert the above, were it not for UCB a°t that by so doing I would impute rude- would be^far from the truth, as jj0j^as chivalrously polite. But there was a hja Jer g'eam in his eyes, a covert flattery in neas 0r^8 that bespoke insincerity And selfish- ,and gave one the sensation of a cross- Vto,a] Ila ioii when conversing with him. He bad t ^ave been most cordially" disliked of « tl°^' been that a most fascinating row KQres appeared in his Lank account. JU5 0ugh twenty-seven years told bis age (j0rJ thought him the senior of Mr. John An t'Anot ithstanding that she bad some OQ,^ Slr>ce promised to look no further for a IjjjjJ?ail*on) was deeply impressed with the Q0 ,y face and pleasing manner of Mr. °ni and at once began to tell Ethel the ae&9a^he had matured for her future happi- iudff l^thel begged that she be allowed to aTive■>^°r ^ersel^* "^n opportunity soon the afternoon following her arrival she bad Panied Anna to a lawn party. They sooner begun mingling with the crowd &bad illia, pointing to a seat beneath a .« tree, said, There they are." u lnquired Ethel. h°8|^hy, the 'two Johns,'of course. Our introduce yoa at the first oppor- As Eth y^thel beheld the two elegantly attired J'idi n gentlemen conversing together, the Jo ICU, 3 idea of styling them the two *nd 8k struck her with all its ludicrousness, *hen ,e COul^ soarcely refrain from laughing rj, lritroduced to them to^^bose acquainted with society in small it g0 au.dj in fact, oftentimes in large ones, Shall I w^hout saying that Ethel was—what two J a^' ^be lioness ?—of the evening. The tiojj8 °hns" were untiring- in their atten- «*pe' ?.n^ seemingly vied with each other in p.'PS all their arts in winning her smiles. i^ had apparently forgotten all OOjigta 6 Pleasare fhe moment, for the John8,, attentions which the "two ti°H fr showered upon her came as a revela- hafl a world of whose social perfection she h0TJr "erto but vaguely dreamed. As the a?6?ou 8he gave no thought to their fair 8isj.'s 4 nor the sinister glances which her 4be v?r irs turned upon her as they viewed ?Pportn a^Q of others' hopes, which her in- th"? Presence had wrought; she only ^tteinTvw was happy why —she did not ^he W !xPlain- en^withtu ea<lon happiness did not 'eedin lawn party, but grew with the con^-j ^r* Cordon—sincere, atten- wderate—lost no opportunity to enhanoe the pleasure of her visit; indeed, it soon became current rumour that his atten- tions were even more marked than social duties required. But none tor a moment did him the injustiee to question the sincerity of his intentions; neither did they fail to re- mark upon the rare good fortune of Ethel, for there was no young lady in all Glenwood who would not gladly have assumed the niailital bonds at the beck of Mr. John Gordon, John Gordon, Esq., was by no means in- dIfferent In his attentions, though his in- sinuating smile and flattering words plainly indicated his insincerity. It had always been his custom, he informed his intimates, to have a little affair during a summer's vacation. "It is so confoundedly dry without it, you know." His manner excited Anna's resentment, but she wisely kept her own counsel-Occasionally, however, she would express her deep regret for Mr. Gordon, but Ethel, in her simplicity, fancying that both sought her hand, would sigh and reply If our tastes were all alike, it would be difficult to win or be won. But I may be mistaken in the name which is John Gordon, Esq ?" It The younger one. I only hope your choice may prove judicious. 1 have always doubted his sincerity, but none can doubt Mr. Gordon, the older." "And I look at them exactly opposite," replied Ethel, with a faint smile, but we shall see. Oh, A nna, if I should be mistaken in the John Gordon I now so implicitly trust I oould never be happy again." Weeks passed by and the gossips were at their wits' end to determine which of the "two Johns" was most favoured. Ethel knew that she had no confidante but Anna. The time had nearly arrived for Ethel's depar- ture when the arrival of a letter called for her decision. The last lines read: If you can answer as I hope and trust you may, please reply at ouce, but, knowing that it would pain a sympathetic heart to write that which is doom to anotlier, I shall construe your failure to fepty as a rejection. Sincerely yours, (MR.) JOHN GORDON. Ethel showed the letter to Anna, and with tears in her eyes said f cannot answer. Anna could not trust herself to reply, and by way of comment merely wiped her eyes, The following day John Gordon, Esq., called, but did not remain long, as Ethel was apparently much depressed. A few days laler Mr. Gordon called to bid them good-by. When he told them his mission Ethel's face suddenly grew deathly pale, Anna, knowing that Mr. Gordon desired to speak with Ethel, discreetly with- drew. Is not your decision very sudden, Mr. Gordon ?" inquired Ethel. It is, Miss Sommers, but I need not tell you the cause. I have not come to censure, but thank you for your honesty aud sincerity, although I had hoped it might be otherwise." Pardon me," slightly contracting her eye- brows, but I cannot comprehend your language." li Surely you received my note, did you not p" Your note," she replied slowly, the truth beginning to dawn upon her. I received no note signed John Gordon, Esq." But I am Mr. John Gordon." Then notic- ing the happy expression which lightened her countenance, You have been mistaken in the names, have you not ?" Through a sorry mixture of laughter and tears Ethel answered yes" to both that in- quiry and another which it implied. It was very stupid of mr, but I was told that you were the older." So 1 am, but many flatter me by declaring that I appear younger than John Gordon, Esq." Then, turning to Anna, who had just re-entered the room, Miss Dale, ask Ethel if she has yet learned the names of her friends." Anna laughed joyously, and kissed Ethel, as the future Mrs. (Mr.) John Gordon observed, I have at last solved the mystery of the 'two Johns'; this is the one I meant all the time, though I have just learned his name" Exchange.
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The Twisted Ring. A French Detective's Story of a Nihilistic Plot Successfully Exposed. There was blood on everything in the room. It was on the desk at which the dead man had been seated; it was scattered over the papers; it lay in little crimson pools upon the blotting pad and the carpet; in the last desperate struggle it had spurted from his gaping wounds against the window curtains and walls; the very atmosphere of the chamber seemed imbued with it. A horrible murder bad been committed. Paul Pelaufski, chief of the secret police at St. Petersburg, had paid the penalty of his outspoken hostility to Nihilism. My name is Alfred Cassagne. I am 30 years of age, and I am a detective. The following telegram to the department of secret police in Paris had resulted in my taking the next train the liussian capi- lal Felaufski fatally stubbed early morning—Nihi- lists. Seiid best iiian at otice, Must be strnnger to Russia. Ours too well known. Expense no object. GTJIILOFF. Four days later fashionable St. PeteVsburg was apprised of the arrival in the capital of a young French gentleman, rich, and, rumour had it, titled, though travelling under the nom de voyage of M. Anton Biccard. He was accompanied by a single man servant, a middle-aged person of grave deportment. Pierre Chauffaud was one of the most coura- geous seconds in the employ of the Parisian secret police. On two occasions he had been known to risk his life to save that of his principal. I had chosen him to accompany nie. On making myself known at police head- quarters [ was at once taken to the scene of the tragedy. Nothing had been disturbed. I found it as descri ued in the opening para- graph of this story. I The police were entirely at sea in regard to the identity of the murderer. Gurloff placed the case in my hands, and [ at once pro- ceeded to make an examination of the mate- rial before me. The assassin had evidently gained admit- tance to the chief's apartment during the day, had remained concealed until nightfall, when escape was comparatively easy, and had then sprung upon his victim from behind. Felaufski had turned to confront his mur- derer, but not quickly enough to avoid the knife, the first blow from which had struck him in the left breast, the second one lower down, squarely above the region of the heart. the murderer had then caught him by the throat to prevent his crying out, and held him while he slowly bled to death. Diligent inquiry elicited the fact that a woman hud bet-. the last visitor to the dead chief-a woman bigh in society, the Baroness Woronsko. Suspicion, however, in no way attached to her-in fact, she was one of the most trusted spies in the employ of tbe Government. However, I immediately aet Pierre Chauf-j faud to shadow her movements. My impres- sion that she would bear watching was con- firmed when I received his report. The Baroness Woronsko, while in the employ of the Government, was in reality a Nihilist of the worst description, I Soon the question narrowed itself down to this: Assuming her to be an accessory to the murder of Pelaufski, who was the actual assassin? It was absurd to suppose that a frail, slight woman like the Baroness Woron- 8ko conld overcome a strong, courageous man like Paul Pelaufski. had one clue, a clue so slight that it had been overlooked by the Russian police, but one which no really lirst-class detective would have passed unnoticed. On the dead man's throat were the black marks of the fingers which had strangled him. The thumb of the right hand had been pressed violently into the skin of the neck, so as to produce a deep abrasion. I at once took a careful cast of this thumb mark with the finest wax, thus reproducing every line exactly. I knew that the impression of no two thumbs in the world is alike. It is the prison mark in China remember, and there serves the same purpose as the Rogues' Gallery in America to identify a criminal. One other clue I had to guide me. A plain twisted ring, worn by the murderer, bad left its mark distinctly on the flesh. I caused the impression of the hand, ring and all, to be photographed. Furnished only with these slight clues, I now set out to find the njiurderer of Paul Pelaufski. Instinct told me, I suppose, to look for him in the best society of the capital. My Parisian letters of introduction easily opened to me the best houses. In particular I sought the society of the Baroness. I soon discovered that she was an abandoned in- triguante. During her husband's absence on his country estates she unscrupulously amused herself with a lover, one Rudolph Pfesh, a Hungarian of handsome appearance and very finely educated. I soon discovered this man to be a red-hot Nihilist. The Baroness for the time was absolutely infa- tuated with him. During all this time you may suppose that I kept a sharp look out for the twisted ring. I did nothing of the kind. Amid the mass of jewellery nightly displayed in the draw- ing rooms of St. Petersburg one might as well have searched for a needle in a bundle of bay. No, I only hoped to use that as confirmatory evidence when I had found my man. And I was fast finding him. Already I had gained the confidence of the Nihilists. During the third month Rudolph Pfesh con- fided to me the outline of & plot to assassinate the Czar. Bombs were to cut no figure in this last attempt. A peculiar and singularly treache- rous method was to be employed. People would never perhaps know how the Emperor met his death. But who was to inflict it ? The circle to which I now belonged, so Pfesh told me, bad drawn lots to decide this, and the choice had fallen on me. I was to become the assassin. But the details would not be confided to me until the night before the day set for the execution of the plot. That evening I was to attend at the house of the Baroness Woronsko, when I should receive full instructions. The Baroness's house was in the Nevskoi Prospect. It was a huge mansion surrounded by ornamental grounds. Before noon, com- pletely disguised, Pierre Chauffaud took occa- sion to thoroughly reconnoitre the place. Night came. A brilliant ball was in pro- gress. The Baroness had never looked so lovely. In the prime of her womanhood, her figure was displayed to the greatest advantage in evening dress. I looked around me. Pfesh, Dakoutsk, Phloblosh, and Chenkamin-all were there. The gathering was honeycombed with the Nihilistic element. I felt my hand suddenly grasped and turn- ing around was confronted by-Gurloff. He was without disguise of any kind. I regarded him with wonderment. Thn second in com- mand of secret police, he must be well-known to these people. Then suddenly it flashed across me. Gurloff is also one of them. Nihilism has penetrated to the police department. I had the fourth dance with the Baroness Woronsko. It was marked a waltz on my programme. She danced superbly. I myself understand the divine art. As to the strains of enchanting music we floated down the long tallroom, I could not but wish myself a thousand miles away from St. Petersburg. It went hard with me to betray that splendid creature. I am a Frenchman, and I have to confess that she affected me powerfully. The music ceased, and she led me into a conservatory. We were hardly seated when she spoke and said I am the one chosen to instruct you by our circle. To-morrow you will be presented to the Emporor. Being a foreigner, he will extend to you the royal hand, as is his custom/' She paused and glanced nervously around. Quitting my side for a moment, she parted the thick shrubbery and peered out through the glass into the darkness. I thought I heard a sound in the garden. she said. 1 knew it was the noise occasioned by Pierre Cbauffaud and the men with him in scahng the wall surrounding the grounds. "Ob, it's nothing," I said, but feeling all the time very much like a villain. Do not be alarmed." You have been chosen by our circle to rid the world of this tyrant. Take this ring. No, do not place it on your hand yet. It's touch is death, if you are not extremely careful. Keep it in its case, and just before you are admitted to the audience place it on your finger. The slightest contraction of your fingers will pierce the hand you hold with a small hollow needle. Retain the Czar's hand in your own, re pectfully, for a moment. During that brief interval you can inject into his palm a deadly poison. Its action is suffi- ciently slow to afford you ample opportunity to make your escape." Horror-stricken, I gazed upon the deadly ring. To my amazement it was an exact counterpart of the ring in the photograph. "Whose ring is this?" I gasped, recoiling from her. Could she be a murderess? The ring was Gurloff's," she answered in low tone. It was suited to the purpose and he contributed it to the oause. It was fitted as you see it now by the Hungarian, Rudolph Pfesh." I saw it all now. Gurloff had himself mur- dered his chief at the order of the circle and had sent to Paris for a detective, thinking to thus divert suspicion by apparently taking extraordinary pains to discover the perpe- trator of the crime. A sudden look of terror passed over the face of the. Baroness. I saw at once that 1 bad done something or let fall some exclama- tion to arouse her suspicions, or bad Gurloff discovered me to her and was she simply luring me on ? If the latter, she had repented early of playing with the fire. With a swift movement she passed me, and standing for a moment in the door of the conservatory uttered a peculiar cry. In an instant a crowd of desperate men gathered in the doorway, foremost among them Gurloff. You thought to learn all our secrets and betray us," hissed Gurloff, pointing his finger at me "He is a mouchard, gentlemen, Seize him. lour lives depend upon it. The crow.) dashed forward, at their head the murderer of Pelaufski- "Down with the iiiorichard! they yelled, and a dozen bands were on my throat. "Crash! Bang! Thud!" Pierre Chauf- faud and his men were breaking into the con- servatory from the outside. The next moment the crowd scattered like chaff, but I never relaxed my hold on Gurloff's throat. He was beaten almost into insensibility and |secured. Two weeks afterwards he was arraigned for the murder of Chief Pelaufski and convicted on purely circumstantial evidence. The twisted ring was proved to be his property, and was in his possession on the night of the commission of the crime. The impression of the thumb of his right hand exactly oor-! responded with the wax impression taken from the dead man's throat, lie suffered death on the scaffold. The Baroness Pfesh and many members of the circle were exiled to the gold placer mines of Kara. The ring with which it had been proposed to murder the Czar was sent for by that dignitary. He caused the poison to be injected into the paw of a hound, and the animal died in great agony. Then the ruler of al the Russias sent for me. You are a French detective Yes, sire." I am sorry for it. If you bad not been a detective I would have made you a noble. 1 shall instruct my secretary to give you 100,000 roubles. The best place on my staff of secret police is yours, if you care to fill it." I am a Parisian I understand," he interrupted, good- humouredly. You cannot live away from Paris. They all say that." The audience was over. I left his presence and returned to Paris a comparatively rich man. I would not live in Russia if I could, and if I tried to I don't think the Nihilists would let Yiie.-Ci-ic(igo Journal,
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Why are fowls the most economical things farmers keep F Because for every grain of corn they give a peck. Mistress How is it that I saw a policeman bugging you in the kitchen last night? Maid I du mo, mum, unless you was peepin' through the keyhole. » Wife I am going to call you hubby" for short. I-lusband I am glal of ttiat. Wife; Why ? Husband I'm glad you re not going to call me hubby" for long. Doctor H'm You are run down, sir. You need an ocean voyage. What is your business ? Patient: Second mate of the Anna Maria, just in from Hong Kong. A huntsman was congratulating a cavalier on the ditch which his horse had taken, Yes," grumbled Nimrod; but have you no praise for me ? I landed two yards ahead or my horse."
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FOB a sustaining-, comforting, and bsveiage, driuk OAPBPBY'S COCOA. It W absolutely pure
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Homely Miss Barton. • A Practical Joke with a Most Tragic Denouement. "By Jove, old man, this is luck I haven't seen you for a long time, though 1 meet your ex-fidus Achates, Jack Olmsted, often enough. What is the trouble between you two, any- way ?" Do you mean to say that you've never heard about that little unpleesantness, Dick p., asked Bob Ferrers. "Never. Girl in the case, I suppose ? Tell me about it, won't you ? That is, if you may. No—I've nothing to do. How could I be occupied here P For unparalleled loneliness commend me to a summer hotel, where one is a stranger to all the other people, and the people are all intimate." But you know some of the crowd here; in fact, the leading characters of my story. Eunice Barton and Olmsted,' Olmsted is well enough, but he's with the Thorpes all the time, and 1 don't like them. As for the little Barton girl, ugh She'd take first prize in an ugly woman show." She's isn't good looking, I'll admit; but she's a good little soul, retiring, modest, and all that. My chief objection to her is that I she is Barton, and the Bartons are such un- commonly vulgar upstarts. Personal gossip in public places is some- thing worse than tolly it is a crime. While Dick Vane and Ferrel's were discussing her affairs Eunice Barton sat in a vine-clad sum- mer house within ten feet of them. Sup- posing that the men would walk on she kept perfectly quiet. Their words hurt her. The truth is apt to hurt. It was small comfort to be called a good little soul." She knew that she was homely, and her heart ached at the knowledge. Pretty women oannot sympathise with her. They don't know what it.to be shunned by men, or accorded a word now and then too obviously from pity. They cannot realise that to the poor wall-flower" a ball-room is a place of humiliation and torture. Had Eunice Barton pleased herself she would have lived the life of a recluse, but her family could not understand her dis- taste for society.' She was the only child, and to them her lack of beauty was not apparent. The Bartons lived in a rented house and dined in the front room of the basement. They had risen above horsehair sofas, but they had succumbed to the evil influence of figured cotton-back plush. Their ideas of decorative art excluded samplers, but a wax vase with wax flowers beneath a bell glass was to them a thing of beauty. Any and every form of entertainment was a "party''to them. They had heard of "five o'clock teas," but disapproved of such functions. I- Tea at six o'clock, as we always have it, is early enough for me," Mr. Barton was wont to say. Eunice went to the church sociables with her father or her uncle. Other girls went with young men. Eunice eyed them enviously. The young men never invited her. Every summer the Bartons spent four weeks in the county, and every summer, when they were ready to start, Uncle Joe Barton made the same remark "Now, Eunice, keep your eyes open. May ketch a beau while you're away. Who knows!" Eunice almost hated her uncle when he said that. She had heard it ever since she left school at sixteen, and now she was 25. At first, too, she had vague ideas of some one who was to come and rescue her from the wax flowers and the sociables and the other things she hated. Then to hope succeeded bitterness. She saw that men did not even dislike her; they were absolutely indifferent. She realised that the longing for love, that is the curse or the blessing of a woman's heart, was destined to be unfulfilled, and she hated other happier, prettier girls. She was at the K-- hotel because* her family liked the place, it was noisy and vulgar, but that they did not know. To them it was the abode of all that was fashionable and magnificent. Their names were copied from the hotel register into local papers, and once they had even been printed in a New York daily. Mrs. Barton bought numbers of these precious papers and sent some to friends, others she kept in a trunk, with her love letters from Mr. Barton, Eunice's first shoes, and similar treasures. Eunice, sitting in the summer-hoose, had been thinking over these things. The con- versation she overheard was but a crowning torture. A convenient bench tempted Vane and Fer- rers. "I hev sat down, lit their cigars, and continued their criticism of the Bartons. It was too late to retreat, so Eunice was forced to listen. "Those Bartons are worse than stupid," said Ferrers; H but, to do them justice, if they are insufferably aggressive it's all for Eunice. How they push that girl forward Throw her at a fellow's head, you know. That's why Olmsted and I are out." "Great Scott! You don't mean to say you quarrelled about Eunice Barton." Vane laughed as he spoke, and to Eunice the laugh seemed infinitely worse than words. It was so scornful and contemptuous. "Yes, it was about Eunice, indirectly. You remember May Seymour's wedding? You knew that everyone in our church knew it was to take place Tuesday, the 9th of Feb- ruary, long before the cards were out. Well, early in January, Mrs. Barton wrote to Olm- sted, saying that she wished to see him about something particular. Of course he went, and what do you suppose the something was ? She wanted him to escort Eunice to May's wedding. She told him she would engage a carriage, which would oall for him on the evening in question. How was that for an ambitious mamma" Jack is quite the bright particular star of our church, and he's pretty well fixed financially. All the mothers ran after him, but no one had ever been quite so open about it as Mrs. Barton. Jack was taken by surprise and could think of no exouse; and, anyway, he's an awfully good chap, so he said he'd be delighted to oblige her. Then he went out and kicked himself. The day Miss Seymour's invitations cams out Jack received a second note from Mrs. Barton, reminding him of bis engagement to accompany Eunice. Poor boy, he wasn't likely I to forget it! She added a postscript to say that a oarriage had been ordered and that it would call for him at 7.30, Jack wrote and thanked her. "The Saturday preceding the 9th of February Jack met Mr. Barton down-town. You know old Barton, pompous and conde* scending to everyone, including his superiors, He shook hands with Jack. By the way. said he, my wife told me to tell you, if I saw you, that a carriage had been ordered to tlke you and ICunice to Miss Seymour's weddiro It will call for you at 7.30. Be punctual, my boy, be punctual. "Sunday morning on Lis way to church I"unice herself stopped him. She seemed era* barrassed. Finany she blurted out that Jack was very kind to act as her escort, but that if he did not wish to he need not. She said she felt mortified that her mother should have asked him. Jack is a gentleman, so he told a lie. He said that, even if Mrs. Barton had not suggested it, he had intended asking her to go with him. The ugly duckling turned the colour of a boiled lobster and thanked him so gratefully that he, in turn, thanked heaven he had fibbed. Then Eunice went on: Mamma told me to tell you that she'd I send a carriage for you, and then you're to come for me. The carriage will call at 7.30.' Jack kept his face straight, but fled as soon as possible. After church he saw Eunice's uncle bearing down on him. Perhaps you'va met her uncle? No? Well, he's a genial, jovial old person, illiterate and vulgar. Ha slapped Olmsted on the back and chuckled." He's particularly awful when he chuckles. v Well, my boy, going 'to take the htHa gal out, eh ? Sly dog Young folks will be young folks. Te-he-he!' With one of his maddening chuckles he poked Jack in the ribs. There's a kerridge been ordered,' said rel I he 'mind you behave now, you and the little gal, in the kerridge. Te-he-he No non eh ? The kerridge 41 call at half-past seven, another poke in the ribs, another chuckle, and be waddled away. "Poor Jack waited for the other Bartons to go away before he left the church. Mrs. Barton saw him, but was too far away to speak, so she motioned with her lips, and Jack knew she was saying: Don't forget the car- riage will call at half-past seven.' < When she had disappeared Jack turned to go, but he saw the sexton coming towards him. Ever see our sexton ? He shuffl-js and talk9 in a whisper and he'd make you think of funerals even if he didn't combine an under- taking establishment with the livery stable he runs. He seemed to have some* weighty, matter on his mind as he approached. He was more mysterious than usual. He looked around suspiciously to see if anyone was watching or listening. Then he put one finger on his lips and winked at Jack. P'raps you know why I wish to see you, sir ?' said he. No, I don't,' said Jack. Well, it's just this way, sir. A certain lady—to speak plainly, its Mrs. Barton, sir- has engaged a carriage of me for next Tues- day evening. She's going to send it at 7.30. Good day. sir.' 1 Jack felt like cursing the carriage, but he didn't. A lot of us fellows were in his room that evening, and he was so annoyed at the Barton tactics that he told us the whole story. He didn't realise that be was doing a foolish thing then, but he did the next Tuesday morn- ing, for when he entered his office over a hundred postal cards lay on his desk. On every card ho read the hated words, Tha carriage will call at 7.30.' Then there were pictures of a couple, presumably Eunice and himself, getting into a carriage or getting out. One card was labelled The Hesult/ and there was Eunice again, with her hand ia Jack's, and her Uncle Joe, as fat as a cherub, hovering over them and saying, I Bless you, my children.' There's nothing more to tell, except that he took Eunice to the wedding, and was aa kind and attentive as possiblts to her. But he has avoided the Bartons ever since, and he'll kill the man that says to him, The carriage will call at 7.30. Bat Bob, in spite of the lei gth of you? story, you haven't explained why you and Ulmsted quarrelled," said Vane. lib, it was a mere trifle. I sent the postals, and he found it out." It s that all? The ending is common- place. You led me to expect a tragic denoue- ment. Rullo! It's almost dinner time. We may as well go back to the hotel." The men strolled away, quite unconscious that in the summer-house homely little Eunios Barton was crying as though her heart would break. So that was the way men spoke of her! What hiirt her most was to know that Olmsted had lied to her. It had always been, a comfort to think that once some one bad actually wanted to take her out. Withouc realising it, she had made a hero of the only man that had ever shov n her any attention. She felt that she could never again face him or any of the men that knew the story. She had received the most crushing blow ever, dealt her in her life, that had been made up of slights and humiliation. The intensity of shame overpowered her. She could not reason. calmly. What was the use of living, anyway, when there was nothing to live for ? She wasn't merely homely, she was stupid, she had no talents, nothing to aforie for her lack of beauty. People ridiculed her. Ridiculo is harder to bear than anything else. The orld was harsh and cruel. She hated every one, and most of all herself. I wonder if homely people go to heaven ?'* she murmured. That night Dick Vane came up to Ferrers, in the office of the X- hotel. Say, old man, where's Oln.sbed t' said he, I want to chaff him about that sLory yoa told me." "For heaven's sake, hush your infernal tongue! Haven't you heard ? Miss Barton was in the summer-house this afternoon. She heard every word we said, and"— And what ?" asked Vane, thoroughly shocked by the news. And someone saw her leave the summer- house and—walk towards the lake". And they have only just recovered her dead body." Ferrers's voice rose as he spoke his face was ghastly in its pallor. He paused moment, then cried fiercely: "Damn you, is the denouement tragic enough now P"- Exchange.