IN a recent note it was stated that the decomposition or decay of eggs might be greatly retarded by the use of a coating of paraffine. A second application of this substance has recently been made, with favorable results. A number of American peaches which had been coated with melted paraffine and packed in hay recently arrived in London in a fresh state, and were eaten after a lapse of more than twenty days. This application of paraffine is protected by letters-patent granted to Mr. R. Loomis, of this city, and includes the preservation of eggs, fruit, and vegetables.

THE French town of Nérac is about to be lighted by gas made from cork-waste and cuttings. These are distilled in a close vessel or retort, and the gas obtained is said to be brighter and whiter than that of coal. The blue or non-luminous zone is smaller, and the gas itself has a greater density than that from ordinary coal.

Miscellanea.

WE give below the last of our budget

of "Wedding-Anecdotes: "

Sometimes the united services of clergymen of differing persuasions make the marriageceremony a trifle difficult. A Methodist minister, who was about to marry an Episcopal lady, called upon her minister to secure his services, and to ask that a friend, who was a presiding elder in his church, might assist in the office of marrying. The Episcopal brother, who was a High Anglican, replied:

"I would like to oblige you, sir, in your wish, "but I fear I cannot, as I do not recognize the validity of your orders!"

"My orders not valid, sir?" exclaimed the indignant Wesleyan. "I tell you, it's a purer ministry that has come down from John Wesley than a ministry that has come down by your apostolic succession through all their dirty popes!"

As a general rule, ministers find, on the principle that "a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," that it is always better to take the fee at the time of the wedding than to wait for any after-judgment of the matter. A certain clergyman to this day bears a grudge against New Jersey because a Jerseyman, after his wedding, asked if he should pay at the time or settle when he came for the certificate. The modest minister said, "Oh, when you come for the certificate." And that man has never come yet!

There seems to be a strange atmosphere of mistakes about the wedding-service. Even the printers join in this. An English edition of the "Prayer - Book" came out some time ago with the following misplacement of a single letter: "Wilt thou love, honor, and cherish," etc., etc., "and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her as long as ye both shall like"-a change from "live" to "like," well suited to the changing habits of present matrimonial life!

Another very common mistake among ignorant people, who want the Episcopal service, is in the alliterative sentence, "To have and to hold from this day forward." I know a clergyman who assures me he very frequently has it rendered, "To have and to behold from this day forward."

The nervousness of the parties to be married very often accounts for some of these mistakes. A pretty-well frightened groom on one occasion, feeling that he must be brave and speak up well when the officiating clergy

man asked any question, boldly replied to the question addressed to the father of the bride, "Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" "My sponsors in baptism!"

Another frightened youth, remembering in the presence of some beautiful bridesmaids the answer to one of the questions in the order of baptism, replied to the question, "Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?" "I renounce them all, and, by God's help, will endeavor not to follow nor be led by them!"

Readers of Thomas Hardy's story, "Far from the Madding Crowd," will remember the scene in which Bathsheba, on taking charge of the farm, inquires how it came to pass that Mrs. Ball ever consented to name her son

"Cain." Joseph Poorgran and the others explain that the "pore" woman was flustered at the time of the christening, and got the Bible brothers mixed up in her mind, and thought at the moment "as how it was Abel what killed Cain, and not t'other way; however, they tried to soften it down a bit by calling him Cainey.'"

On the same principle in England, at a wholesale parish wedding, where some dozen couples were to be united en masse on a Sunday, a shy sort of man got crowded in the wrong place, next to a strong, bustling woman, who had likewise missed her man, and, before they knew it, they were married, as was also the odd couple number two. Hereupon the shy man made so bold as to tell the minister of the mistake, and, while he was debating in his own mind what was to be done, the old woman exclaimed, "Sure, and let it be; isn't it fair all round, after all, and isn't one man as good as the other? the divil a bit's the difference, says Bridget McShane!"

WE select from All the Year Round a second batch of "Notifications Extraordinary," being wholly on matters matrimonial:

A Leavenworth official proclaimed his happiness and warned off all aspirants to the hand of the woman whose affections he had secured as follows: "Engaged: Miss Anne Gould, to John Caudal, city marshal, both of Leavenworth, Kansas. From this time henceforth and forever, until Miss Anne Gould becomes a widow, all young men are requested to withdraw their particular attentions." If Kansas lovers are given to publishing their little arrangements in this way, a Kansas newspaper must be almost as lively reading as the Cherokee Times, which, recording the marriage of Mr. Sariah Pratt and Miss Mary Foote, says: "Sariah is one of the best boys Cherokee ever had, and, now that he will Foote it the rest of his journey, we wish both him and his handsome young wife a happy wedded life, with a good round number of Pratt-ling responsibilities to cheer the way and make life truly blest." The Cherokee editor's playfulness would hardly have been appreciated a quarter of a century ago, when the following specimen was thought a neat thing in marriage notices: "Married simultaneously, on the 24th ult., by the Rev. J. W. Wallace, J. H. Burritt, Esq., of Connecticut, to Miss Ann W. Watson; and Mr. Augustus Wood, to Miss Sarah Wair, Columbia County, Georgia. The ceremony was conducted under the most engaging forms of decency, and was ministered with sober and impressive dignity. The subsequent hilarity was rendered doubly entertaining by the most pleasing urbanity and decorum of the guests; the convivial board exhibited an elegant profusion of all that fancy

could mingle, or the most splendid liberality collect; nor did the nuptial evening afford a banquet less grateful to the intellectual senses. The mind was regaled with all that is captivating in colloquial fruition, and transported with all that is divine in the union of congenial spirits:

While hovering seraphs lingered near,

And dropped their harps, so charmed to hear!'"

In the happy coming-time, when the sexes shall stand upon a footing of perfect equality, the dupes of fair flirts will, doubtless, find twelve good women and true ready to make defaulting damsels pay for promise-breaking. A jilted lover will not need to take his revenge in an irregular way, like the gentleman who advertised in the General Advertiser: "Whereas, on Sunday, April 12, 1750, there was seen in Cheapside, between the hours of four and five in the afternoon, a young gentleman, dressed in a light-colored coat, with a blue waistcoat trimmed with silver lace, along with a young lady in mourning, going toward St. Martin's near Aldersgate. This is, therefore, to acquaint the said gentleman (as a friend) to be as expeditious as possible in the affair, lest otherwise he should unhappily meet with the same disappointment at last, by another stepping in in the mean time, as a young gentleman has been lately served by the aforesaid young lady, who, after a courtship of these four months last past, and that with her approbation, and in the most public manner possible, and with the utmost honor as could possibly become a gentleman. Take this, sir, only as a friendly hint." Far less courteous, under similar provocation, was the discarded suitor who proclaimed: "Whereas, Parmelia B- did promise to marry me on the 19th instant, but, instead of doing so, did flunk and run off, I brand her as a liar and a person of bad character generally." Possibly the fickle Parmelia had very good reasons for changing her mind; at any rate, the rejected groom might have vented his wrath in milder terms. Mary Dodd, of Livingston County, Kentucky, was fully justified in denouncing a gay deceiver as she did, in the Kentucky Reporter, of the 5th of September, 1817: "Take notice, and beware of the swindler Jesse Dougherty, who married me in November last, and some time after marriage informed me that he had another wife alive, and before I recovered the villain left me, and took one of my best horses. One of my neighbors was so good as to follow him and take the horse from him, and bring him back. The said Dougherty is about forty years of age, five feet ten inches high, roundshouldered, thick lips, complexion and hair dark, gray eyes, remarkably ugly and ill-natured, very fond of ardent spirits, and by profession a notorious liar. This is, therefore, to warn all widows to beware of the swindler, as all he wants is their property, and he cares not where they go after he gets that. The said Dougherty has a number of wives living, perhaps eight or ten (the number not positively known), and will, no doubt, if he can get them, have eight or ten more. I believe that is the way he makes his living.-MARY DODD."

A WRITER in Chambers's Journal, from whom we have formerly quoted, thinks that Americans are very fond of using the word "institution:"

Institution, originally a political word, has been given a very wide meaning. Besides speaking of the "institutions of the country," American writers mention the buzzards of Charleston as one of the institutions of that

city, and inform us that a taste for driving is one of the institutions of New York. Writing from China to the New York Times, Mr. Seward described a typhoon as "an Eastern institution, which, though doubtless entertaining as a topic for future narrative, is seldom amusing as an experience."

He gives also instances of some of the quaint phrases arising from our political life:

Some of these strange phrases are derived from the habits of animals. A party is said to snake when it follows an underhand policy; if a politician proves false to his pledges, the papers announce that he has "crawfished awfully," an allusion to the retrograde motions of the crawfish. When a group of members support a bill in which they have no direct interest, in order to secure the help of its promoters for a bill of their own, they are said to be "log-rolling," a term taken from the backwoods, where a man who has cut down a big tree gets his neighbors to help him in rolling it away, and in return helps them with their logs. To "gas" is to talk only for the purpose of prolonging a debate. A man who can be depended upon by his party is said to be "sound on the goose." On the other hand, a doubtful supporter is spoken of as "weak in the knees." Determination is backbone.

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Backbone," says a leader in the Republic of New York, "is the material that makes an upright man." A party that always votes together is said to "vote solid." A party conference is a caucus," its programme is a "platform," and these two words, we may remark en passant, are being too freely used in some quarters even among ourselves. A member of Congress does not make a speech, he " orates;" if he can embarrass his adversary, he rejoices at having "cornered him; if his speech is a good one, it is a 66 rouser; if it fails, it is a "fizzle," so called from the hiss of the priming in a gun that misses fire.

He is of opinion, however, that with us trade has even more cant words than polities, and gives the following instances:

Money has forty or fifty different namessuch singular terms as dye-stuffs, spondulics, shadscales, and charms, figuring in the list. Insolvent banks are called wild-cat banks, and their notes are wild-cats. The smallest

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cobbler's shop is a "boot-store;" a draper's is dry-goods store;" and to "run a store" is to keep a shop. A figure of speech derived from the last expression is "to run your face," which means to go upon credit. "To make a pile" is to make money; to be "dead broke" is to become bankrupt. These commercial phrases penetrate into every day life. "What's to pay?" means simply what's the matter? "A drive in these hills pays," says a writer in an American magazine; "it is pure enjoyment." Another Americanism, "to be well posted up" in a subject, originally derived from the posting up of a ledger, has been adopted by some English writers. Similarly there are nautical words which are used on all possible occasions. Where an English railway-guard calls out before starting his train, "Take your places!" the American train conductor shouts, "Get aboard, get aboard!" and then signals the driver to go ahead." A pushing, active man is said to be "goaheaditive," and from this adjective a barbarous substantive has in due course been developed; and on the declaration of war between France and Prussia, in 1870, the New York Times strove to impress its readers with

the fact that, "in this complication of European difficulties, a favorable opportunity was afforded to American goaheaditiveness.”

THE subjoined, from the London Daily News, on the first fire of the season, is very good, but we wish the writer would understand that not every American is devoted to the stove. In the South the open fire is the rule, and it is far from being uncommon in the North and West:

The first fire makes an epoch like the first snow-fall of the new winter: it brings back memories of old enjoyments suited to the season; it almost makes us forget to look forward to the long, inevitable season of cold and of sunless days. Certainly this is an advantage we possess over our kinsmen of the Teutonic race who use stoves-over the German, the American, as also over the Russian. Montaigne mentions how he was once amused by hearing a German gentleman defend stoves on exactly the same grounds as Frenchmen usually spoke up for fires. Surely the patriotic Teuton would scarcely have said that much of the religio foci clings to the stove. Warm that device may be, and capable when scientifically adapted of giving perpetual summer within the house. But as the stove is used in Continental cities merely to heat the air which is in the house without circulating or changing it, stuffiness is its first-born and drowsiness its next of kin. "Men scarcely know how beautiful fire is," Shelley says, and certainly no stove-using race of men can know by daily experience. It was the most natural thing that the domestic religions of the ancient world should cling about the hearth, where the lovely, mysterious element plays, making light and warmth in his sport. No wonder the Lares, the spirits of dead ancestors, liked to hover there, and forget their gray Elysium. No wonder that the city hearth was a holy thing, where the fire was never to fade. But fancy a vestal virgin tending a sacred stove! The idea is absurd on the face of it. Far better for the poetry if not for the comfort of the thing even a French fire, like that of the marshal on which our correspondent has moralized; far better the pine-cones with their fragrance, the logs that burn capriciously, the heat that goes up the wide chimney, than the practical stove of Germany. It is well that a man should be able to say, "Ha, ha! I have seen the fire," even if he can scarcely add in conscience that he has been very thoroughly warmed, which it must be confessed he rarely is in really cold weather. It is a pleasant custom that has come in of burning old drift-wood in London fireplaces. The salt timber crackles very cheerfully; a hundred delicate shades of yellow and violet and blue and green and purple flames shine out, and the cavernous wood-fire presents more pictures to the imaginative than

the fire of coals can offer. Every one in that magic world sees what he brings the power of seeing. Few people are tempted with crowns of faery, few but children, to whom fire is still magical, and the pictures of fire-land as real almost as the scenes of daylit life. We lose this constructive imagination as we grow older, and "look before and after," as we sit by the fire, instead of watching the wonderful pictures of a world outside space and time.

THE revival of "Macbeth" at the Lyceum (says the Pall Mall Gazette) has stirred up the spirit of Shakespearean criticism to give forth some very astounding utterances. Perhaps the wildest of all are to be found in certain letters which have been published by Dr. Charles Mackay in the Athenæum. A Celtic scholar is still a rara avis among us; and perhaps it is well that it is so, since it seems impossible for a knowledge of Gaelic and a spirit of impartiality to exist in the same brain. Of the philological blindness induced by Celtic studies, Dr. Mackay is a brilliant example. Not long ago, in a little book about English literature, he gravely set forth that "quick" -a good English word if ever there was onewith its cognate "queck," still passing current on the main-land to vouch for its Teutonie pedigree, was derived from the Gaelic cng, five, by some occult symbolism about the five senses. And he now tries to make out by a deal more of the same sort of fanciful rodomontade that all the obsolete or obscure words used by Shakespeare are Celtic; nay, that the poet himself was a Celt, both on the father's and the mother's side. As to the mother, her family took their name of Arden from the forest in which they lived, and to try to found a pedigree from the poet's father writing his name "Chaksper" is simply ridiculous, as it is extremely doubtful whether he could write his name at all; and if he wrote it in any such form, it is clear he could not spell, as the earliest bearer of the name, who was somehow or other connected with the Port of Youghal, in the time of Edward III., wrote it Shakespere. The meaning, one would think, is as evident as the meaning of Brakespeare, or any other compound of the sort. But Dr. Mackay cannot see it, and tries to make out that the word is the Celtic "shac, or seac, dry, and speir, shanks, as we have in our day the Saxon names of Sheepshank and Cruikshank, suggested by a per sonal malformation or deformity in days when surnames were not common, and applied as a nickname to some early ancestor of the family." The obvious answer to this is, that in days when people called each other "Sheepshanks" or Crookshanks" they were per fectly capable of putting together the simple compound "Dry-shanks," if they had wished to make any personal remark about the poet's ancestor, without taking the trouble to fish up two Gaelic words, of which probably they had never heard, to express their contempt for his shanks.

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CHAPTER IX.

"It seemed some mountain, rent and riven,
A channel for the stream had given,
So high the cliffs of limestone gray
Hung o'er the torrent's way."

"THINK," says Sylvia, deliberately, “that I should like to climb that height." She points as she speaks, and we all look

PAINT ROCK.

round. Immediately behind the Paint Rock, on which we are gathered, stands an abrupt and rugged hill, towering several hundred feet higher, and showing an almost precipitous side.

"I wonder what you will propose to do next?" I say. "Who do you fancy will risk his neck by climbing that mountain with you?"

"The view from there must be very fine," she remarks, "a great deal finer than thiswhich I don't consider at all remarkable.-Mr. Lanier"-she turns with her sweetest smile to that gentleman-" will you go with me?"

Mr. Lanier hesitates. Pity him, all prudent people who dislike unnecessary exertion and avoid useless risks! He is comfortably seated under a pine-tree, fanning the young lady who proposes this feat, and, being as averse to it as a man could be, he looks at the mountain in troubled silence for an instant. Then he says:

"You have no idea what you are proposing. It is quite impossible for you to ascend that hill. There is no path, and the side is terribly steep-it would be dangerous to attempt such a thing."

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Her

"Dangerous!" lip curls. Every thing is dangerous, except walking on level ground-and even then one might fall in the river. I know I can climb up there-and I mean to do it!"

"Bravo, Miss Norwood!" cries an unexpected voice-the voice of a gay young widow, who has been devoting her fas cinations to Eric. "If you succeed, I'll follow you."

'Had you not better come with me, Mrs. Cardigan?" says Sylvia. "Perhaps, after we have made the ascent, some of the gentlemen may feel it safe to follow."

"More likely we shall be obliged to go below and gather up your frag

ments," says one of the gentlemen, composedly.

"Yes, I believe I will go with you," says Mrs. Cardigan. "It is very stupid to do no more than hundreds of other people have done."

"That sentiment has been the cause of more foolish risks than could be reckoned," says Eric, "but, if you are in earnest about climbing the hill-and are not afraid of a sunstroke-I'll take you up."

"Thank you," says Mrs. Cardigan, graciously. "People never have sunstrokes in the mountains, I believe.-Well, Miss Norwood, are you ready?"

Yes, Sylvia says she is ready, and she rises without a glance at her companion. But that unhappy man rises also, with an heroic attempt to look cheerful.

"I haven't an idea that you can reach the top-and I'm sure you'll be sorry that you made the attempt," he says; "but of course I'll do my best to take you up."

"Pray don't come on my account," says Sylvia. "I need very little assistance in climbing."

This is not very gracious encouragement to overheat himself in the most unpleasant manner, besides risking his neck; but Mr. Lanier feels that he is put upon his mettle, and he will not recede.

"Lead the way, Markhan," he says. "You understand this business of scrambling over rocks and swinging to bushes better than I do."

"Eric shall not lead the way!" cries Sylvia, springing forward. "I made the proposal, and I insist upon going first."

Poor Mr. Lanier! It is impossible not to laugh at the glance with which he regards the height before him as he follows the young lady, who with her riding-skirt looped to her ankles takes her way along the neck of land which connects the rock with the mountain.

"How much energy Miss Norwood has!" says Miss Hollis, with a little shudder. "I do not think I should like to be her escorton a mountain."

breaking her own neck," puts in Charley's quiet voice. "She climbs like a deer, and her head is as cool as-as an iceberg. But

hand, and planting her alpenstock with the other. Eric and Mrs. Cardigan take a slightly different route, and the two couples keep tolerably well abreast of each other. Now and then they pause to rest, and once we see Sylvia mounted on a large rock, waving her handkerchief to us in an ecstatic manner, while Mr. Lanier leans exhausted against it. "What hot work it must be!" say the lookers-on.

"I am as devoted to Nature as anybody," remarks Miss Hollis, "but I must say that I think such an exertion as this foolish-don't you, Mr. Kenyon?"

"I am opposed on principle to all unnecessary exertion," answers Mr. Kenyon," and just now I am so well satisfied to be under this tree-with you-that the finest view in the world could not tempt me away."

As the adventurous climbers mount higher and yet higher, it makes one giddy to look at them, hanging by such precarious foothold on the precipitous hill. Several times we prophesy that they will be forced to return without gaining the summit, but they go on undauntedly, sending showers of loose stones down the mountain at every step. Occasion

"Once we see Sylvia mounted on a large rock, waving ally we lose sight of them among the rocks

her handkerchief."

and bushes, but again they are in full view, and we can see them, for they have joined

I wouldn't insure Lanier's neck," the speak- forces, dragging each other up some particuer ends, calmly.

The ascent of the hill is slow and very difficult. Sylvia was correct in saying that

"Look at my gloves!"

she requires little assistance-which is fortunate, since it is evidently quite as much as her escort can do to assist himself. She leads the way, grasping the bushes with one

larly steep ascent. At last, a faint, prolonged shout tells us that they have reached the top, and we recognize Mrs. Cardigan in the figure that waves a handkerchief on an alpenstock exultantly.

"The question now is, how long will they stay there?" says a member of the party, who is anxious for his dinner.

They remain for what seems to us a long time, and it is not until most of the gentlemen have made themselves hoarse by shouts that are probably not heard, and certainly not answered, that they begin the descent. This is almost as difficult as the ascent, and it is still some time before they appear on the rock, with faces flushed scarlet, dresses torn, and an utter insolvency in the matter of breath. Sylvia speaks first.

"Look at my gloves!" she says, extending her hands.

We look, and appreciate fifty per cent. higher the difficulties of the ascent. The gloves are dog-skin gauntlets, and the entire palms are peeled off white.

"You should keep those in remembrance of the Paint Rock Mountain," says some one.

"She has plenty of mementos," says Mr. Lanier. "Look here!"

We look and laugh. He is very much of a dandy in the matter of dress, this hapless gentleman, and to see all his coat-pockets bulging with stones, and crammed with ferns and mosses, is a sight which might move the gravest to mirth, and the most insensible to compassion.

"She wanted to fill my hat, too," he says, "but I humbly submitted that I had no way to carry it except on my head, and it would have been inconvenient to have had several pounds of stones and moss in it."

"Not to such an enthusiast as yourself, I should think," remarks one of the amused by-standers.

Eric on his part is laden with a fragment of rock so large that no pocket which was ever made would contain it, and how he has managed to bring it down the mountainnot to speak of bringing Mrs. Cardigan also -we are unable to imagine.

"He seemed to have no difficulty about it," says that lady; "but, if an emergency had arisen, I am sure he would have let me go and kept the rock."

"I should have been more excusable in such a case than you think," he answers. "I have several specimens of the Paint Rock, but none so perfect as this. Look at the streaks of color on it-why, it is admir able!"

"And unique, I suppose; while women are easy enough to find," she says, laughing. -"But I hope nobody thinks me in earnest," she goes on, turning to the others. Mr. Markham is the most capable and careful escort, and when he needed both hands to assist me he laid his specimen tenderly down, and then went back for it."

"But what did you see to repay you for all this?" we ask.

"See!" replied Sylvia; "why, twenty times at least as much as you see here. Hundreds of mountains in that direction -1 sweeping motion toward North Carolina"and the whole State of Tennessee as far as the Cumberland Mountains. - Didn't we, Eric?"

"Not exactly the whole State," says Eric. "but the Cumberland Mountains certainly We were on the top of the ridge, and the view was very fine."

Soon after this-the day having consid erably passed its meridian- we scramble down the steep path at the side of the rock, and take our way to the carriages. Standing there in the cool shade of the trees that fringe the river, we look up at the great cliff, and are struck afresh by its majesty. Its rugged escarpments stand out boldly, for no shrub grows on the broken and irregular face of the precipice.

When we are about to start, Eric says: "By-the-by, Charley, since you found the ford so good, we might as well cross there instead of undergoing the delay of the ferry."

A quick glance passes between Charley and Sylvia-a glance compounded equally of amusement and consternation-then the former answers, coolly:

"I wouldn't advise you to do so. The ford is well, rather deep. We crossed there, but we decided to try the ferry-boat on our return."

Charley is an impostor," says Eric. "When he throws off his indolence-which is half affectation—he is not only energetic, but daring to recklessness."

"And Sylvia is as rash as he is," I say. They should never be allowed to go out together."

"Sometimes they don't ask permission -this morning, for instance, they did not," says Mrs. Cardigan, with a laugh.

We reach the Springs in time for a late dinner, and indemnify ourselves for the fatigue of the morning by an afternoon siesta of unusual length. It is nearly sunset when we gather on the lawn near the river-bank. All the tide of watering place life is astir. People are sitting or walking under the shade of the large trees; across a stretch of greensward stands the hotel with a tide of welldressed humanity flowing up and down its long piazzas; over the river the last rays of sunlight are shining on the crests of the hills at the base of which the stream flows.

We are idly enjoying this picture, and Aunt Markham is telling the latest items of gossip afloat during the day, when Mrs. Cardigan comes up. She is very handsome, this fast young widow-a brunette of the richest type, with a degree of style that would mark even a plain woman.

"Who will walk to Lover's Leap to see the sunset?" she asks. "Surely you are not all exhausted by our Paint Rock expedition? -Miss Norwood, I find that by climbing that mountain we have enrolled ourselves on the list of heroines-did you know it?"

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Reputation must be easily made in this part of the world," says Sylvia, laughing.

The stroll to Lover's Leap is a short one, and the ascent of the cliff comparatively easy. We soon find ourselves on top, with the narrow road winding like a thread below, and the turbulent river chafing over its rocks.

"If I were one of the class of lovers who make leaps," says Charley, meditatively, "I should prefer this place for the purpose to any other that I have ever seen. It has several advantages. In the first place, the height is good; in the second place, one could spring without difficulty into the water."

"And then swim out, if one liked," says Mrs. Cardigan, laughing. "But you are right -it is the best Lover's Leap I have ever seen. And I think we have the best view of the Springs from here."

It is a very good view, indeed. We overlook the green valley, with the hotel in the foreground, and a beautiful stretch of varying landscape behind. Blue, wooded hills inclose it like the walls of an amphitheatre, and we see beyond still bluer heights, with the pomp of the sunset-sky spread above. It is a pomp which is dazzling in its glory. Fantastically-shaped clouds of crimson and rose color are shot with luminous splendor, and

their edges are gilded with a radiance at which we can scarcely look.

"What royal magnificence!" says Sylvia. "Sometimes the sun dies like a sovereign." "Rather too much magnificence!" says

Eric.

"At least there are too many clouds; I fear we shall have bad weather again." "That will be a pity," I observe," since Aunt Markham has consented to start back to Asheville to-morrow."

"What!" cries Mrs. Cardigan, with an expression of the most sincere dismay, "are you going to leave the Springs? Oh, how sorry I am! hoped we should climb a great many more mountains together.-O Mr. Markham! how can you be so faithless? You know you promised to take me up this mountain"-and she points to the one behind the cliff on which we are seated.

"I am at your service," says Eric. "Shall we climb it now?"

"You know that is nonsense; how can we climb it with the sun gone and twilight about to fall? But, if you leave to-morrow, I shall consider that you have broken your plighted faith, and perhaps I shall throw myself from this rock like the hapless and ubi quitous Indian maiden who was afflicted with suicidal mania a hundred years or so ago."

"In that case we can't think of leaving you behind," says Sylvia. "Why should you not come with us? The gorge of the French Broad from this point to Asheville is a great deal better worth seeing than any thing you can find here."

"It would be a good idea," Mrs. Cardigan answers. "If I return by Wolf Creek—as I came-I shall fail to see the finest scenery on the river-shall I not?"

"You will have seen none at all," says Eric. "The grandeur of the gorge is all

above here."

"Then I must see it!" she says. "I have only waited for a good opportunity to do so, and I am sure I could not find a better one than this."

So the matter seems to be settled. I suggest aside to Charley that he had better invite Miss Hollis to join our party also; but he does not receive the idea with favor.

"I think we are best as we are," he says. "I would rather vote for decreasing than increasing our number."

We linger on the summit of the cliff until the sunset-tints have melted into dusk and the clouds have lost their splendor. Even then it is hard to turn and go—not knowing when we shall look on so fair a scene again. The great hills stand around, wrapped in their everlasting silence; the river surges along its stormy way below; soft evening shadows have fallen over the valley; purple shades are gathering on all the mountain-sides; a faint yet lovely glow of color still lingers in the west; the air is delicious in its freshness.

"Why cannot one grasp such hours as this, and make them last?" says Sylvia, with a sigh.

"Here comes the Asheville stage," says Mr. Lanier, leaning over the edge of the cliff.

Mrs. Cardigan looks over also, and drops a flower on the head of an outside passenger, who glances up with a start.

"Heavens! how ugly he is!" she says. "If he were young and handsome, now, what an opening for a romance!"

"I am sure he would be young and handsome if possible," says Charley; "but I beg to observe that ugly men are by no means insensible to openings for romance. I belong to that class myself, so I know whereof I speak."

66 'Charley, such remarks are never in good taste," says Sylvia. "Don't try to extort compliments, but help me down this cliff."

"I thought you never required help in climbing," says Mr. Lanier, watching with some jealousy the hands which surrender themselves to Charley.

"This is not climbing-it is descending," replies the young lady, coolly, "and I don't want to fall. It is much easier to mount than to go down."

I do not think that Mr. Lanier is altogether convinced by this positive statement -or perhaps he remembers how often his assistance was declined during the descent of the morning. At all events, he walks by my side as we return to the hotel-a fact which does not seem to damp Sylvia's spirits, for we hear her voice chatting gayly to Charley as they stroll in front.

The next morning we prepare to leave the Springs, but, despite the conversation on Lover's Leap the evening before, most of us are surprised when Mrs. Cardigan appears in traveling-dress, and announces that she has taken a seat in the stage.

"I only regret that I shall be separated from you all," she says, "and that I can't go on the top of the coach. One can see so little inside-but one does not like to mount on the top without a gentleman.”

At this we all look at Eric, who, after a moment's hesitation, does what is expected of him with tolerable grace.

"If you will allow me," he says, "I will take a seat with you on the top of the coach. You can see nothing at all inside, and you need some one who is familiar with the river to point out the noted places to you."

"Oh, how delightful that would be!" cries Mrs. Cardigan, rapturously. "But I cannot be selfish enough to consent to such a thing! You must not leave your charming carriage to mount on that jolting stagedon't tempt me, please! Good-by."

She waves her hand and turns away. Eric shrugs his shoulders slightly and follows. There is a moment or two of laughing dispute at the door of the coach, then she suffers herself to be elevated to the deck-seat, and he follows.

"Please don't blame me, Mrs. Markham!" she cries. "He will go!" "Don't drive the horses hard, John," says Eric. "Take the day leisurely. We will stop at Alexander's."

With this the coach drives off- Mrs. Cardigan's blue veil fluttering like a pennon of victory in the breeze, while Eric holds an umbrella over her. We all laugh at the sight. It is something altogether novel to see Eric playing the part of cavalier.

"What a taking way some women-wid. ows, especially-have!" says Charley. "If Eric is not taken for good by the time he