shrubbery. To lonely Agnes it seemed a welcome dream of the dear home life; for with a decidedly rural taste, having been reared on a farm, the opulent merchant never would reside in the noisy city, and his elegant home was located in a very quiet place, surrounded by extensive grounds. The first overwhelming keenness of grief had, with the hopefulness and elasticity of youth, passed from little Agnes's heart, and if it had not been for the unpleasantness of this fine home, she might have been happy.

Mr. Irving, as he took his seat at the table one evening, missed the sad wistful face to which he had become accustomed. He waited a few moments expecting Agnes to enter, and then he asked where she

looked strangely at his forward daughter, and Mrs. Irving said, testily:

“What a fuss about that girl!” "Indade, an' she isn't in her room, at all, Miss Maud," said Mary, as she returned. "Do you think she has gone away any. where beyond the garden?" Mr. Irving asked, anxiously.

"Did ye spake to me, sir?" Mary asked, respectfully, lingering as if there was something more she wished to say.

Well, yes, Mary," he slowly replied. "One would think it an alarming matter for her to be a little late at her meals," Mrs. Irving sneeringly interrupted.

"It is, at least, strange in one so prompt and orderly as little Agnes is," Mr. Irving replied. "And now, Mary, have you seen Miss Agnes in the past hour?" he asked.

Mary hesitated a moment with drooping

face, and then flinging her head up defiantly, she said:

"Shure it's a burning shame, it is so, sir, for the dear lone child to be trated so, as might have sich a fine home here, wid a plinty."

Mrs. Irving gave Mary a threatening glance, and she continued, nervously: "Shure, I'd spake out, mum, for the poor child, if I'd lave at once!"

66

"Well, well, Mary," Mr. Irving said, soothingly, tell if you know where Agnes is."

"Indade, an' I couldn't tell ef she come back yit! All I can tell is that I saw her run down the garden like mad, wid a wild look in her pooty eyes, an' her little hands clinched when she broke away from Miss Maud, an' she a torminting the very life out of her! Shure, she wint toward the old summer-house at the end of the garden. An' a big shame it is to thrate a poor lone child so, I'm frae to say, sir, maneing no offinse to you at all, sir!" and tender-hearted Mary turned hastily from the room with her wide apron to her eyes.

A moment's silence, and then Mr Irving said, sternly:

"Maud, I am ashamed for you! Sarah, I would not have believed you would have allowed this """

"What a fuss about nothing, truly! If the silly child chooses to stay away and pout, it is no concern of mine. I told you before you brought her here, that I could not take the trouble upon myself," Mrs. Irving replied, while Maud sat sulking.

Mr. Irving rose from the table, saying, sadly:

"Well, it is my concern to see that my brother's orphan is cared for, kindly treated, and I will go and look for her."

"Whoever heard of such a thing! Why, one would think we had murdered the precious child!" Mrs. Irving said.

"I don't believe papa would make such a time if I was dead," Maud said, indignantly.

“Maud!” her father said, sternly, “I am anxious, I confess, about Agnes; perhaps it is because she has, as you must have seen, looked so sad and unwell of late, and I am so grieved, my daughter, that you should have made her so unhappy, when you might have made it so pleasant for her," he added, and passed out.

Mr. Irving hurried through the garden,

and as he neared the old summer-house a low pitiful moaning caused him to hasten his steps, and told him that Agnes was there. He hurriedly entered, and bending above the seat where she lay, he called her name twice, anxiously. She made no reply, but still that mournful sound continued. The evening air was damp and chilly, and as he quickly took her in his arms, tenderly calling her name, her hair was cold and moist, but her face was feverishly hot to his hand.

"O, I'm afraid they've killed the poor child!" he murmured sadly, as he walked swiftly to the house.

He bore his unconscious burden to the warm sitting-room, and when he was able to see her distinctly, he started back in alarm, ringing the bell violently. Mary appeared, and he said with much agitation, as she gazed in affright at the convulsively working face, the small dark head turning restlessly from side to side, such a wild light in the sad eyes

"Tell Tom to go for Dr. Ayers instantly, and ask Mrs. Irving to come here."

Mary lost no time in doing her errand, and soon Mrs. Irving entered the room followed by Maud. They both started back as they looked at the moaning figure on the lounge, which Mr. Irving was bending over. Rising he said:

"She is very ill, I fear; I have sent for the doctor, and I wish you would have her placed carefully in bed. I will carry her up stairs myself."

"But is she unconscious? How she moans!" Mrs. Irving asked, nervously, turning pale; and he replied:

"Yes, she is wholly unconscious. Ah, how she moans! And I promised my brother to care for her as I would have my Maud cared for! Would you like to be treated so, Maud? This child would not have treated you nor any one else so."

Maud shrank back pale and trembling, but did not reply. Agnes was tenderly placed in bed by tearful Mary who was very fond of the gentle lone orphan, and soon Dr. Ayers arrived. He examined his little patient critically, and said, turning to Mrs. Irving. "What's the matter here? Has this child been studying too hard, or how has the nervous system, the brain, been so terribly taxed? There has been some severe shock here! She's of a sensitive nervous temperament, and should be care

fully reared," he continued, thoughtfully, as no one replied to his query, passing his cool hand slowly over the hot restless head. "Whose child is this, Mr. Irving?" he asked.

"My brother's. She has grieved much for her father of whom she was very fond. He died several months ago," Mr. Irving answered, wishing to account for the child's condition.

"Ah, yes! I heard of his death, I think," the keen doctor said, musingly, as if not fully satisfied. "She's rather young to grieve so, but then she is rather a superior child, I should judge-quite a fine head there," he added, as he prepared the medicine.

Then followed days which one does not like to pass through or think of. In spite of the utmost skill and attention which the learned physician lavishly bestowed upon this patient in whom he was from the first deeply interested, little Agnes came very near to death. Mr. Irving was nearly beside himself with anxiety. Poor Maud, so terribly awakened to the enormity of her offence, was in a most pitiable state of nervous excitement, and nearly ill. It seemed almost impossible for her to stay away from the sick room, though not allowed to enter, during those days of wild delirium, when brain fever nearly scorched the life out of the frail body. Maud heard the wild pitiful wailing, the delirious words in which her own name was often uttered in tremulous entreaty, as she crouched pale and tearful by the door, no one being admitted but the nurse and physician and a daily call granted to Mr. Irving.

Maud had followed her father to the door that day, and when he came out pale and tearful, she cried out, "O papa, she wont die, will she? O, I never never will do so again! O, I'm so sorry!" And sobbing bitterly, her father led her away, trying to comfort her.

Then Dr. Ayers passed along to the sick one, murmuring, "Ah! I thought so, Miss Maud! I must try to cure both." The next day he found Maud waiting for him, and she said tearfully, looking wistfully up in his face:

"You will do all you can for Agnes, doctor?"

"Certainly, my dear Maud-you may come in to see her," he gently replied, taking her hand. She started forward

eagerly, but drew back timidly as she entered the darkened room and heard her name uttered. But Dr. Ayers drew her along firmly up beside the bed till she saw the little fever-wasted face plainly tossing upon the pillow. Then he sat down holding her closely to him while she listened in remorse and shame to the pitiful voice. At last she could bear it no longer, and she begged him to let her leave the room. Kissing her fondly, he said:

"You wont do so any more, will you, Maud ?"

"O, I never, never will!" she moaned, as she hurried away.

And when danger was over, and consciousness returned, all through the weak convalescence, Maud and her fair mother, whose haughty heart was wholly softened. never tired of caring for the now dear child -striving in every way to amuse her.

When Dr. Ayers made his last call upon his rapidly recovering patient, accompanied by Mr. Irving, who said earnestly to him, "Thank God it is past, doctor! I wouldn't go through with it again for a good deal!" the doctor replied:

"It was hard! But, my dear sir, the useful lesson your sweet Maud has learned is worth much suffering. That is a pretty

picture!" And he pointed to where the beautiful Maud, doubly beautiful for the tender spiritualized beauty which shone from her pearl-like face, sat in a low rocker beside her pale cousin's lounging-chair, reading softly to her, while loving Agnes, with thin tremulous hand, fondly stroked her golden hair and fastened a royal pansy in the clustering mass, caressingly.

It was a sweet, a lovely picture. The elegant room filled with the halo of ripe June sunshine, the rich lace curtains fluttering gently in the soft breeze, richly freighted with the fragrance of many roses.

"Beautiful, truly!" Mr. Irving said, softly. "Ah! It is worth much, this needful lesson, and I would not part with that new beauty my dear Maud has gained. The thoughtless heart has many lessons to learn through suffering."

"May they all be lasting!" the doctor fervently replied.

And Maud's lesson was lasting. Agnes had at last a happy home, beautified with the sunshine of love, which her tender sensitive nature craved, while Maud found a loving companion in the once neglected child, and true pleasure in unselfish love and thoughtfulness for the happiness of others.

The mother was sewing busily, and Josie, sitting on the carpet beside her, and provided with dull rounded scissors and some old magazines, just as busily cutting out pictures.

"It would litter the carpet," so said Aunt Martha, who had come in for a cosy chat. Mamma knew this, but she knew too, that a few minutes work would make all right again, and Josie was happy.

All went well, till the little boy found he had cut off a leg of a horse that he considered a marvel of beauty. It was a real disappointment and grief to the little one.

"Mamma, see!" and half crying, he held it up.

"Play he's holding up one foot," the mother said, quickly.

"Do real horses, mamma?"

"O yes, sometimes."

"I will," and the sunshine chased away

the cloud that in another minute would have rained down.

It was a little thing the mother's answer, but the quick sympathy, the ready tact made all right. The boy's heart was comforted and he went on with his play, while the mother sewed quietly with no jar of nerves or temper, and auntie's call lost none of its pleasantness.

"I'm tired of cutting pieces, mamma," after a while.

"Well, get your horse-wagon and play those bits of paper are wood, and you are going to bring me a load. Draw it over to that corner by the fire, and put them into the kindling box; play that was the woodhouse."

Pleased and proud, the little teamster drew load after load till the papers were all picked up, without his ever thinking he was doing anything but play.

I am composed of 14 letters.

My 11, 12, 6, 7, 3, is to hang.

My 8, 1, 4, is the stomach of a beast.

My 2, 5, 13, 7, is to utter pleasant sounds. My 9, 10, 14, is a unit on cards.

My whole should be in every family. ELIZA H. MORTON. 55.-Charade.

When you see a boy nicknamed my third, with his second my first, then he is my whole. "BEAU K."

56.-Diamond Puzzle.

In weal and woe; A weight; Harmonized; What some people often think they are going to accomplish; Destitute; What some sermons aud stories often are, as well as individuals; In savage and severe. CYRIL DEANE.

57.-Double Acrostic.

A schoolbook; A conjurer; Singular; To relieve; Concealed; A collection; Solution.

The initials name a continent; the finals something indispensable to ships.

J. B. ACKERMAN.

Hidden Cities.

58. The dress is buff, Al, of course you see it.

59. Abel fasted for many days. 60. Is this Quebec or Kingston?

61.-Cross-Word Enigma.

The 1st is in month, but not in May;
The 2d is in dray, but not in sleigh;
The 3d is in lay, but not in tune;
The 4th is in March, but not in June;
The 5th is in sleigh, but not in sled;
The 6th is in green, but not in red;
The 7th is in portion, but not in dower;
The 8th is in might, but not in power;
The whole is the name of a flower.

Transpositions.

RUTHVEN.

62. Transpose a flower into painful. 63. A bird into a large thorn.

64. An animal into a knotted stalk. 65. A fish into a stick of wood. 66. A fruit into a mass of matter. 67. Part of a wheel into a weather-cock. ELIZA H. MORTON.

68.-Numerical Enigma.

The answer contains 24 letters.

The 8, 5, 21, 16, 13, 11, 4, is what boys like to do.

The 19, 9, 7, is reserved.

The 24, 17, 22, we could not easily dispense with.

The 1, 10, 18, 3, is an animal.

The 14, 15, 2, 13, is necessary for cooking.
The 20, 10, 13, is to strike.

The 23, 6, 16, 12, we all like.
The whole is an old proverb.

Decapitations.

66

PHILA."

69. Behead hasty, and leave a tree.

70. To cut, and leave a plant.

71. Dread, and leave a part of the head. 72. Fashion, and leave a song.

LYMAN T. NIELSON.

73-Words Squared.

Dry; A fashionable way of travelling; A notion; Beloved. ELLA A. BRIGGS.

74.-Diamond Puzzle.

A consonant; To abuse; A man's name; A covering for the head; A consonant.

EUCLID.

75.-Letter Puzzle. The 1st is in Rome, the 2d in Greece, The 3d in swan, the 4th in geese, The 5th in frolic, the 6th in fun, The 7th in doing, the 8th in done, The 9th in study, so I've heard said, The whole is a woman we very much dread. CYRIL DEANE.

SELF-AMPUTATION OF AN ARM.-A short time ago, at a Medical Temperance Meeting in London, Dr. George Lamb, in the course of a speech, mentioned the following curious incident in hospital practice: "You have not long to be dresser or house-surgeon in any hospital before you become practically acquainted with some of the results of drinking upon the persons of the patients who collect there. You will very soon have brought under your care broken limbs, fractured skulls and disfigured faces. I remember, when it happened to be one of my weeks on duty as a dresser, a woman came into the casualtyward, carrying her left hand and part of the forearm in her right hand. She had deliberately cut the flesh to the bone, and, finding she was unable to get through the bone with the carving-knife she was using, finished the business by chopping it off with a blunt axe. The jagging of the wound by this instrument prevented, in a measure, some of the bleeding that would have otherwise occurred. She was at once placed in bed, and the arm had to be amputated higher up, more in accordance with surgical art. The only explanation she could give of her conduct was, that the devil was on her clock, and had told her to do it. I need scarcely tell you the devil, in this case, as in many others, had entered in the form of strong drink."

JAPANESE HOUSES.-The streets of Yokahama are wide and straight. Each house is built of wood, without an atom of paint, and is a real toy-house, a genuine Liliputian Swiss chalet, built with a taste, a nicety and a neatness which are admirable. The Japanese are wonderful workers in wood, and it is a pleasure to see the roofs, so light and yet so strong, supported by walls which are made like the side scenes in a theatre, of thin strips of wood, over which are pasted sheets of cottony transparent paper. In the evening, when the lanterns dispense their soft light round the inside of these white buildings, the spectator seems to be looking at a magic lantern. During the daytime the sides of the houses are slipped out, as side scenes

are, and the house becomes only a roof resting on the four light corner-posts, the whole interior being thus opened to the air. Every part of the house is thus exposed to view, and everything done in it can be seen, while behind it appear the charming verdure, the cascades and the diminutive plantations of the little gardens situated in the rear.

A WONDERFUL CAVE-has been discovered near Pine Grove, California. Three men, named Stokes, Jameson and Mason, explored it for about a mile and a quarter. They found chambers beautifully decorated with stalactites and stalagmites, and a stream of water leaping from the roof into an apparently bottomless pit; also a hot spring emitting sulphurous puffs of steam. In another chamber the walls were highly magnetic. One of the party who carried a hatchet, had it wrested from him by a magnetic rock near which he passed, and the combined strength of the party was unable to detach it. Another who had on miner's boots, the soles of which were filled with nails, could walk with difficulty, and happening to step upon a portion of the floor unusually magnetic, found himself suddenly affixed thereto, and unable to move. He was compelled to leave his boots there.

SPONGE, IN FACT.-A noted meteorologist has ascertained that the wettest place in the world is Cherrapoonjee, a village in further India, among the hills, and between four and five thousand feet above the sea, the rainfall being some six hundred inches, taking place in six months; the calculation being based on the fact that an inch of rain over four square feet is equal to a gallon of water, or ten pounds, being the same as sixty thousand tons over a square mile. His investigations have led him to believe that the three principal causes of rain are: ascending currents of air which produce the tropical summer rains; the contact of hot damp air with cold ground, which makes the west coast of continents so rainy, and the setting in of a cold wind after a warm one; as, for instance, when a northeast wind sets in after a southwest.