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DR. HENRY G. PIFFARD, of New York, contributes to the Medical Record, July 10th, a valuable paper on "The Diffraction Spectra of Colored Fluids," in which the writer not only presents, in a forcible manner, the advantages of the diffraction grating over the prisin in spectrum analysis, but also, by the aid of a simple formula, shows how the wavelength corresponding to any line may be readily and accurately determined. Those familiar with the spectroscope and its uses will readily recognize the value of any simple method for obtaining a mathematical expression for any or all of the lines of the spectrum under examination. In addition to the statement and practical application of this formula, Dr. Piffard devotes special attention to a discussion of the relative value of the two methods of analysis, together with brief reference to the several forms of diffraction gratings. Experience has unquestionably demonstrated the fact that in chemistry the service of the spectroscope will be mainly confined to the examination and comparison of absorption spectra, and hence any contribution to this branch of knowledge can but be of great significance and value, and from the fact that the writer, whose work we have noticed, speaks from actual and careful personal observation, his suggestions merit, and will doubtless receive, special attention.

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He walked beside the strong, prophetic sea,
Indifferent as itself, and nobly free;
While roll of waves and rhythmic sound of oars
Along Ionian shores,

To Troy's high story chimed in undertone,
And gave his song the accent of their own!
What classic ghost severe was summoned up
To threaten Dante, when the bitter bread

Of exile on his board was spread,
The bitter wine of bounty filled his cup?
We need not ask; the unpropitious years,
The hate of Guelf, the lordly sneers
Of Della Scala's court, the Roman ban,
Were but as eddying dust

To his firm-centred trust;

For through that air without a star Burned one unwavering beacon from afar, That kept him, his, and ours, the stern, immortal

man!

What courtier, stuffed with smooth, accepted lore Of Song's patrician line,

But shrugged his velvet shoulders all the more, And heard with bland, indulgent face,

As who bestows a grace,

The homely phrase that Shakespeare made divine?

So, now, the dainty souls that crave Light stepping-stones across a shallow wave, Shrink from the deeps of Goethe's soundless song! So, now, the weak, imperfect fire That knows but half of passion and desire Betrays itself to do the Master wrong; Turns, dazzled by his white, uncolored glow, And deems his sevenfold heat the wintry flash of snow!

IV.

Fate, like a grudging child,
Herself once reconciled

To power by loss, by suffering to fame;
Weighing the Poet's name

With blindness, exile, want, and aims denied ;
Or let faint spirits perish in their pride;
Or gave her justice when its need had died;
But as if weary she

Of struggle crowned by victory,
Him with the largest of her gifts she tried!
Proud beauty to the boy she gave:

A lip that bubbled song, yet lured the bee;
An eye of light, a forehead pure and free;
Strength as of streams, and grace as of the
wave!

Round him the morning air

Of life she charmed, and made his pathway fair;
Lent Love her lightest chain,
That laid no bondage on the haughty brain,
And cheapened honors with a new disdain:
Kept, through the shocks of Time,
For him the haven of a peace sublime,
And let his sight forerun

The sown achievement, to the harvest won!

V.

But Fortune's darling stood unspoiled:
Caressing Love and Pleasure,

He let not go the imperishable treasure:
He thought and sported; caroled free, and

toiled;

He stretched wide arms to clasp the joy of Earth, But delved in every field

Of knowledge, conquering all clear worth
Of action, that ennobles through the sense
Of wholly-used intelligence:

From loftiest pinnacles, that shone revealed
In pure poetic ether, he could bend

To win the little store

Of humblest Labor's lore,

And give each face of Life the greeting of a friend! He taught, and governed-knew the thankless

days

Of service and dispraise;

He followed Science on her stony ways;
He turned from princely state, to heed
The single nature's need,

And, through the chill of hostile years,
Never unlearned the noble shame of tears!
Faced by fulfilled Ideals, he aspired
To win the perished secret of their grace-
To dower the earnest children of a race
Toil never tamed, nor acquisition tired
With Freedom born of Beauty-and for them
His Titan soul combined
The passions of the mind,

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Whence these gay flowers that breathe beside the water?

Ask thou the Erl-King's daughter!

It is no cloud that darkens thus the shore:
Faust on his mantle passes o'er.

The water roars, the water heaves,
The trembling waves divide:
A shape of beauty, rising, cleaves
The green translucent tide.
The shape is a charm, the voice is a spell;
We yield, and dip in the gentle swell.
Then billowy arms our limbs entwine,
And, chill as the hidden heat of wine,
We meet the shock of the sturdy brine;
And we feel, beneath the surface-flow,
The tug of the powerful undertow,

That ceaselessly gathers and sweeps
To broader surges and darker deeps;
Till, faint and breathless, we can but float
Idly, and listen to many a note
From horns of the Tritons flung afar;
And see, on the watery rim,

The circling Dorides swim,

And Cypris, poised on her dove-drawn car!
Torn from the deepest caves,
Sea-blooms brighten the waves:
The breaker throws pearls on the sand,
And inlets pierce to the heart of the land,
Winding by dorf and mill,

Where the shores are green and the waters still,
And the force, but now so wild,
Mirrors the maiden and sports with the child!
Spent from the sea, we gain its brink,
With soul aroused and limbs aflame:
Half are we drawn, and half we sink,
But rise no more the same.

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Dear is the Minstrel, yet the Man is more;
But should I turn the pages of his brain,
The lighter muscle of my verse would strain
And break beneath his lore.

How charge with music powers so vast and free,
Save one be great as he?

Behold him, as ye jostle with the throng
Through narrow ways, that do your beings
wrong-

Self-chosen lanes, wherein ye press
In louder Storm and Stress,
Passing the lesser bounty by
Because the greater seems too high,
And that sublimest joy forego,
To seek, aspire, and know!
Behold in him, since our strong line began,
The first full-statured man!

Dear is the Minstrel, even to hearts of prose; But he who sets all aspiration free

Is dearer to humanity.

Still through our age the shadowy Leader goes ; Still whispers cheer, or waves his warning sign; The man who, most of men,

Heeded the parable from lips divine,

And made one talent ten!

BAYARD TAYLOR.

MR. LATOUCHE, from whose "Travels in Portugal" we have already quoted several times, tells us something of a general faith among the Portuguese in hidden treasures:

purpose of seeking for the hiding-place of a fabulously large diamond, concealed, under I know not what circumstances, either in the city or in its near neighborhood. I am ignorant of the rules and regulations of this clubwhether the entrance is heavy, the subscription high, or how many black-balls exclude. I should imagine that the search for a single gem, among the streets, and squares, and suburbs, of a large city, must be very much like looking for a needle in a bottle of hay; nor do I well see how such a search could be set about without exciting comment and suspicion. I presume the members perambulate each other's gardens after nightfall with dark-lanterns. They must, of a truth, be men of a solemn and earnest temperament if they can meet together and preserve their gravity. Perhaps the club is broken up now, and for this very reason, and that solvuntur risu tabula, they could not look each other in the face without laughing.

I am not aware that the belief of the members of the Diamond Club in the hidden stone rests upon any thing resembling evidence, or upon any thing at all, except the fact that a great number of fine gems, particularly diamonds, do exist in the country. The Portuguese obtained many precious stones of great value from India during the palmy days of their connection with that country; and more still, chiefly diamonds, from their Brazilian dependencies. I have seen, at evening parties in Lisbon and Oporto, a far greater show of good diamonds than would be seen, on similar occasions, in London or Paris; the stones, indeed, mostly ill-cut and ill-set, but representing an immense money value.

It is hardly to be believed with what childish credulity stories of hidden treasures are told and accepted in all parts of Portugal. There is more time and labor wasted in searching for imaginary concealed riches than would earn real wealth if properly directed. Some small foundation, indeed, for this general credulity exists in the hoarding propensities necessarily produced in former times of insecurity and danger; and one or two well-attested instances of the discovery of hidden treasure have come to my own knowledge. An English merchant having occasion to make some repairs in a house rented by him, in or near the town of Regoa, the workmen, either in pulling down a wall or in taking up a floor, came upon a receptacle containing about two hundred millreis, in gold and silver coin-about forty or fifty pounds. A goldsmith of Viseu told me that the garden-wall of a neighbor threatening to fall, it was ordered to be pulled down; and that on one very heavy stone in it being removed, an earthen pot was laid bare in a little hollow behind where it had stood, and in this pot were found no less than seven golden moidores! These discoveries were not magnificent ones, and it is not likely that the following: few which now and again are made, are more so; but they serve to keep up the prevailing appetite for treasure-seeking.

There has always prevailed a belief that an immense treasure was hidden away-I have never heard under what circumstances-in the uninhabited royal palace of Queluz, near Lisbon; and ineffectual efforts have from time to time been made to find it. A few years ago, great interest was suddenly created by the announcement that an old sergeant of artillery had sent, on his death-bed, for a high officer of the court, and had confided to him that he -the sergeant-was the sole survivor of the party which had been intrusted with the concealment of the treasure in question. He then proceeded to describe accurately the situation in which it was to be found. There was, as may be imagined, prodigious excitement among the lords and ladies of the court; and, on a certain day, a large party of them went to the deserted palace. The particular plank designated by the sergeant, in the particular room which he mentioned, was found. The workmen brought for the purpose forced it up with their tools, and between it and the ceiling below was found a space, in which there was-nothing at all! Then more planks were pulled up, then the floors of other rooms, then holes were made in likely-looking places in the walls; but still no treasure, and the courtly party had to return without it: but the palace of Queluz has been left in a state the reverse of what is known to lawyers as 66 tenantable repair."

Another instance of credulity is of so astounding a nature that, if I had not heard the account on unexceptional authority, I should not venture to relate it. In the city of Oporto, a society or club has been formed, for the sole

Or music and the theatre in Germany the author of "German Home-Life" writes the

Among the amusements of German life that bore, the so-called "musical party' is unknown. People who love music come together; they play their trios or quartets; sing their duos and solos, madrigals and glees; stop, take this or that passage over again; discuss the composer's intention; try it one way and another, enjoy it, and pass on to fresh enjoyments. There is no yawning audience bored to death in the background, longing to talk; guilty, perhaps, of that indiscretion, to the fury or despair of the performer, and the mute misery of the hostess. There is no "showing off" and forced acclamations, no grimace, and no vanity in the German evening. These lovers of music meet together with the reverence and simplicity of primitive Christians reading the legacies of the evangelists; and, having interpreted their beloved masters to the best of their abilities, go their quiet way rejoicing. Of the absurdity of gathering a crowd of unmusical people together, calling it a "musical party," and paying a professional person to bore the assembly, the sincere German mind is, happily, incapable.

After these open-air concerts you have the theatre. With us the flare of the foot-lights

always smacks somewhat of dissipation. To have been often to the theatre seems to savor of frivolity, perhaps even of extravagance. They manage these things better in Germany, where theatre-going enters as much into the daily existence of men and women as the meals they eat and the clothes they wear. The drama is regarded seriously; the stage is not looked upon merely as a source of amusement; it is treated as a potent means of education, moral as well as intellectual. Princes of the smaller states are princely in their support of the drama: the Ministry for Public Instruction votes its yearly sum, and the grandduke adds his munificent contribution; as Goethe says, German culture owes more to the liberality and generous encouragement of the little, despised, so-called "tin-pot" state governments than she is ever likely to owe to the more distant imperial sympathies of a united Fatherland. Had Dresden, Weimar, Hanover, Stuttgart, and Brunswick, been only provincial towns, surely results would have been far different from what they are.

According to the terms of your abonnement you will be able to go more or less frequently to the theatre. Generally a lady will arrange to have her fauteuil on the same night with, and in the immediate vicinity of, friends. Men are not allowed in the dress-circle, nor women in the stalls, which are devoted to the ubiquitous military. Officers obtain their abonnement under specially favorable conditions, and are free to come and go without worry from box-keepers or seat-guardians. It is the correct thing for them to put in an appearance for an hour or so during the evening. If his royal highness be there he is better pleased to see the parterre of his pleasure-house filled with gay uniforms. Should the play weary or the ballet bore him, he can look down with pride on his gallant little army, and think what fine fellows it is composed of. Next to the royal box is the Fremdenloge, generally occupied by distinguished strangers passing through the town. The names and titles of its occupants will be duly chronicled in to-morrow's Anzeige. You are at liberty to sell your ticket of abonnement should other engagements prevent your availing yourself of it. The agent will charge you a small commission for conducting the transaction. A lady goes to the theatre with her maid or a friend, and, without any impropriety, returns after the same simple fashion. The performances will begin at half-past six or seven at latest, and she will be at home again by nine or sooner. In the theatre, as in the coffee-garden, strict division of the sexes. In larger towns, where the passing through of many travelers makes the local laws less stringent, it is not unusual to see men and women sitting together, but they are almost invariably strangers and pilgrims. Birds of passage enjoy a freedom in such particulars that the Einheimischen cannot boast; and it is all these easy privileges, these rational, inexpensive, and early amusements, that make a residence in Germany so charming to English people of intelligence but small means.

Notices.

SCIENTIFIC BOOKS.-Send 10 cents for General Catalogue of Works on Architecture, Astronomy, Chemistry. Engineering, Mechanics, Geology, Mathematics, etc. D. VAN NOSTRAND, Publisher, 23 Murray Street, New York.

TO RAILWAY TRAVELERS.-In order to save trouble and anxiety in reference to which route to select previous to commencing your journey, be careful and purchase a copy of APPLETONS' RAILWAY GUIDE. Thousands and tens of thousands of Railway Travelers would as soon think of starting on their journey without their baggage as without a copy of the GUIDE. Price, 25 cents. D. APPLETON & Co., Publishers, New York.

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division of the estate the homestead fell to the children of Mr. Verplanck, and has ever since been in the family.

The house has been carefully preserved, with all its antique peculiarities. During the Revolution it was the scene of many an interesting episode. In 1778 General Lafayette was for some time dangerously sick there with a fever, and was attended by Dr. John Cochran. During his convalescence he was visited by Dr. Thatcher, who says, in his journal, that he was received by the marquis "in a polite and affable manner." Long before then wheat had been shipped from this place to France and exchanged for pure wine, with which the vaults of the mansion were well stocked, and it was cordially bestowed upon the young nobleman and his friends. Dr. Thatcher describes Lafayette as elegant in figure, with an "interesting face of perfect symmetry, and a fine, animated, hazel eye."

It was the headquarters of Baron Steuben, the celebrated Prussian disciplinarian, at the same time that Washington was in Newburg, on the opposite shore of the Hudson. It was during that most trying period of the Revolution, the year of inactivity of Congress, of distress all over the country, and of complaint, discontent, and almost revolt, among officers and soldiers throughout the army. Barracks extended along the line of the road south of Fishkill village for a mile and a half, beyond which there were a few log-houses, where it was said the soldiers were sent to hide when their clothes could be mended no longer and actually fell off them.

There is a cozy room opening from the great dining-room of the Verplanck Homestead, which the baron used for his library. The antique shelves remain, and the decorations are all of the century gone. One day Washington, Knox, Hamilton, and Morris, had been dining with the baron, and retired to this apartment for a confidential wail over the miserable state of the treasury. Morris was complaining bitterly.

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"Well, then, I do not think you are so honest a man as my cook. He came to me one day and said: 'Baron, you have nothing to cook but a piece of lean beef which is hung up by a string before the fire. Your negro wagoner can turn the string as well as I; you have promised me ten dollars a month, but, as you have nothing to cook, I wish to be discharged and no longer be chargeable to you.' That was an honest felMorris."

low,

Marquis de Chastellux, a member of the French Academy, who came to America as a major-general with Count de Rochambeau, spent some days with the baron at the Verplanck homestead. Mabois, the distinguished Secretary of Legation from France, was also for a short time the baron's guest at this place, and spoke in his letters of the military precision with which every dish was served at table.

It was under this slanting roof that the idea first found expression which was proposed by Colonel Nicola, on behalf of himself and others, to Washington at Newburg, that he (Washington) should be made King of the United States, for the "national advantage!" It is said that Washington was astonished and grieved, and severely reprimanded Nicola for entertaining such a thought for an instant.

Here, too, the celebrated Society of the Cincinnati was organized. The meeting took place on the 13th of May, 1783, in the square room to the north of the broad hall which runs through the house. Baron Steuben, as the senior officer, presided, and his chair was placed between the two windows which appear at the left hand of the door in the sketch. The society originated in the mind of General Knox, its object being to cement and perpetuate the friendship of its founders, and transmit the same sentiment to their descendants. Washington was made its first presideut, and officiated until his death.

The chairs used on this memorable occasion are still preserved. Some of them are of wood, and may be seen upon the veranda of the house. Other articles of furniture, rendered priceless through contact with illustrious men, are cherished with tender reverence. A mahogany side - board, dark as ebony from years, stands in the same corner of the dining-room which it has occupied for a century. It seems invested with tongues, and harrows the visitor's mind with the eloquence, wit, learning, magnetic genius, and cultivated wisdom of that by-gone and golden period.

The new part of the mansion, of which the sketch reveals a corner to the left, has been in existence about seventy years. The drawing-room is a model of elegance and good taste in its appointments, and contains, among other relics, some fine specimens of cut-glass ornaments from the "Old Walton House" before it was dismantled; also some antique vases of great beauty, and an easychair of Walton memory. Another heirloom is an arm chair of Bishop Berkeley.

The Verplanck family are one of the oldest and most honorable of the New York families of Holland origin. Every generation, since the old Indian sachem Sakoraghuck signed the deed by which he and his tribe parted with their hunting-grounds, has had its good and gifted men. Judge Daniel Crommelin Verplanck was, for many years, a member of Congress; his city bome was a large, yellow mansion standing on the spot in Wall Street where the Assay-Office has since been built. He was a gentleman of great intelligence and force of character. He married the daughter of Dr. Johnson, the first president of Columbia College.

His father was Samuel Verplanck, who was betrothed to his cousin, Judith Crommelin, when seven years of age. She was the daughter of a wealthy banker of the Huguenot stock in Amsterdam. When the young man was of the proper age he was sent to make the tour of Europe and bring home his bride. He was married in the banker's great stone house, the doors opening from the wide mar

ble entrance-hall upon a fair Dutch garden. The counting-room was upon one side of the passage and the drawing-room, bright with gilding, upon the other. The lady was particularly accomplished, and versed, not only in the several modern languages, but in Greek and Latin, speaking the latter fluently.

It was this lady who, in her beautiful old age, trained her grandson Gulian, so well known to New York political and social life, and to all lovers of Shakespeare, to love books and study. She taught him, when a mere babe, to declaim passages from Latin authors, standing on a table, and rewarded him with hot pound-cake. It is said that she used to put sugar-plums near his bedside, to be at hand in case he should awake and take a fancy to repeat his lessons in the night. The boy was a born scholar. He took to books as other boys take to marbles. He entered Columbia College at eleven. The tradition is that he studied Greek lying flat on the floor, with his thumb in his mouth, and the fingers of the other hand employed in twisting a lock of the brown hair on his forehead.

He rose to eminence in the law, in politics, and in literature. He served in the State Legislature, and was sent to Congress. One of his chief acts while in the councils of the nation was to secure the passage of a bill (in 1831) for the additional security of literary property. In 1834 he was the Whig candidate for the mayoralty of the city, but Cornelius W. Lawrence, the Democratic candidate, was elected by about two hundred majority. In 1855 he was made Vice-Chancellor of the Board of Regents of the University of the State of New York. He was also one of the six gentlemen, "of the very highest character," who formed the Board of Commissioners of Emigration charged with the oversight and care of the vast influx of strangers from the Old World. It took eight years for this board (which was at that time wholly free from party influences) to obtain the privilege of a special landing-place for immigrants. But finally a grant from the Legislature enabled them to lease Castle Garden for this purpose. Mr. Verplanck ministered to the public welfare in innumerable ways. He was a trustee of the Society Library, one of the wardens of Trinity Church, one of the governors of the New York Hospital, one of the most active members of the New York Historical Society, and one of the trustees of the Public School Society. He was an author of no little distinction-some of his legal writ ings are among the most elaborate, learned, and exhaustive that have ever been produced in America-and was editor of one of the best editions of Shakespeare printed in this country.

He spent his summers in the old homestead, and it was here that many of his finest literary conceptions saw the light. He enter tained generously, and most of the celebrities of his day were, from time to time, invited to this lovely retreat.

Few houses are hallowed by more varied or charming associations than the Verplanck Homestead on the Hudson.

MARA

J

LAMB.

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JOANNA went at once to her own little room. She wished to be alone; but she did not wish to think about Mr. Hendall, nor what he had said, nor how he had looked; she was afraid, she knew not wherefore: so she took a pin from her toilet-cushion, and, fastening her treasured picture to the wall, she sat down in front of it, her hands clasping her knees, her dainty, fresh, and piquant face upturned-a pleasing picture herself, had any one been by to see.

But there was no spell in "The Bluebird's Nest" to bar all thought of Arthur Hendall, and Joanna really did not see the picture upon which her eyes were fixed as she sat pondering in her very young head the distressing question, Had she been cruel and disdainful in rejecting the picture-frame, or had she acted-commendably? It was a question to be decided by herself alone, for she wouldn't have Pamela know her thoughtshow very, very silly they would appear to the wise Pamela Joanna, pressing her hands against her burning cheeks, wished Pamela were not so wise, or that she herself were wiser, for what did ail her silly, fluttering beart, she could not tell.

And then the door opened abruptly, and Miss Basil looked in with a much-perturbed

countenance.

"Mercy preserve us, child!" she exclaimed, in a tremulous voice that matched her anxious face, "what are you doing there? I've knocked and knocked! Mrs. Basil has sent for you."

"O Pamela!" cried Joanna, starting up in dire confusion. "I-I was contemplating this picture. See, 'Mela, is it not beautiful?"

Miss Basil hardly vouchsafed it a glance. Could she have surmised what a confession Joanna had to make about that bit of cardboard, she would not, it is true, have regarded the picture more favorably, but she certainly could not have looked upon it so indifferently. Looking at pictures is an idle waste of time," said she, coldly, "excusable only in children. I never could see any good of them; but if you must stick that painted box-top up there, don't waste your time gazing on it."

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"Nice" was Miss Basil's idea of full dress. As soon as she had delivered this command, she shut the door, and Joanna was left alone with her "feelings." Between the indignation excited by the ignominious misnomer applied to her treasure, and the surprise caused by "the grandmama's" unexpected summons, she was in a state of excitement that interfered sadly with the performance of her toilet. She put on a fresh muslin in trembling haste, tied a ribbon around her refractory locks; then, unable to adjust her collar to her satisfaction, she ran to Miss Basil's room to ask for aid.

The door of Miss Basil's room was ajar, and Joanna was arrested on the threshold by the sight of her cousin, in her best dress-a plain, somewhat worn black silk-saying her prayers in her accustomed corner.

Joanna shook with a superstitious thrill. The sight of Miss Basil saying her prayers after nightfall, or before the dawn, was not alarming; but "something dreadful must surely be going to happen," she thought, "when Pamela takes time to dress up and say her prayers in broad daylight." But Joanna did not tremble long at the sight. "I dare say," was her sober, second thought, "she is only praying that I may be relieved from the bonds of vanity and presumption; that's the way she characterizes me." So she pinned her collar as best she could, and went down-stairs.

In the hall she met young Hendall. Nothing was further from this young man's wishes, so he assured himself, than to engage the little Joanna's artless affections; yet her little airs of distance and reserve wounded his

vanity far more than the studied slights of any young belle with whom he could wage an equal warfare.

"Stay, stay, Joanna!" he cried, stretching out his hands to bar her progress. "Stay one moment; I—"

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My aunt!" exclaimed Arthur, dropping his hands and recoiling. "Why has she sent for you?"

"Is it a strange thing that she should send for me?" said Joanna, with rather a lofty air. "I assure you, she often does." But she blushed when she said this, for, though it was true that Mrs. Basil, upon one trifling pretext or another, did often send for her husband's granddaughter, she had never before accompanied her summons by any message relative to dress, and Joanna could not escape the conviction that the injunction to make herself nice augured something of importance to herself-perhaps the long-desired introduction to society.

"Joanna!" exclaimed Arthur, impetuously, seizing her hands, and speaking in an excited whisper, "if my aunt-that is, if you -if your feelings-if-"

Joanna heard him, her eyes growing larger and larger, and her breath coming quicker and quicker, until the sound of a man's step in the room across the hall interrupted this incoherent speech. Arthur dropped her hands abruptly, and she, with surprise in voice and manner, said:

"I do not understand you, Mr. Hendall."

"It is nothing," Arthur said, turning away hurriedly, and muttering to himself that he was a fool; and Joanna, after a moment of bewildered hesitation, passed on her way, in a strange flutter at the thought that possibly Mr. Hendall was in some way concerned in "the grandmamma's" message.

Mrs. Basil was in the sitting-room, which now was made to serve all the purposes of a parlor. A cheerless apartment it was—a dingy carpet was on the floor, worn, oldfashioned pieces of furniture stood at decorous right angles in their fixed places, and the severe old family-portraits frowned on the sober-colored walls. There was nothing bright to be seen here, except the honeysuckle and the sunshine at the open window.

Near this window Mrs. Basil was seated in a sort of state-her draperies disposed with care, her ivory-headed staff beside her, her dainty hands folded in her lap, and an expression of studied blandness enthroned upon her countenance.

Opposite her stood, or rather moved, a young man, tall, vigorous, sunburned, with brown hair and beard, and large blue eyes. His face lacked the perfect contour and delicate finish that distinguished young Hendall's; but it was, nevertheless, a pleasing face, at once expressive of strength and ten

derness.

"Twelve years is a long time in the life of a man of twenty-eight," he was saying, as Joanna entered; "and-" but, looking up, with a sort of restless expectancy, instead of finishing his sentence, he started abruptly toward her.

Joanna recognized, instantly, the gentleman she had seen at Carter's, and, thinking that he might be one of Mrs. Basil's numerous relations, and remembering how ready that Miss Ruffner had always been to report her misdoing, she quickly decided that the object of his visit must be to reveal the extravagance of which she had been guilty. Her first impulse was to run away; but, as she stood a moment, hesitating, the stranger, advancing, held out his large, shapely hand, and said, with a kindly smile:

"The little Joanna, I know. But she hardly remembers me, I fear."

"Oh, yes," answered Joanna, who, having conquered her cowardly wish to flee, was now ready to encounter, with her usual straightforward courage, whatever this unlooked-for visit might portend. "It is not so very long since we met."

"It is longer than you can realize, child," said Mrs. Basil, indulgently. "This is Mr. Basil Redmond, Joanna, your grandfather's kinsman and namesake. It is some years since he left us; yet I suppose you must remember him, as we all do."

She made this assertion with a confident air, as though she defied contradiction.

Basil Redmond's arrival had followed so closely upon the hint of his coming, that there had been no time to prepare for the kind of reception Mrs. Basil had desired to give him. She had, it is true, essayed without delay the task of breaking the momentous tidings to Miss Basil-a task not to be undertaken, she felt, without some trepida

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