"Well," said Mrs. Harmer, slowly, "I don't know but what 'tis so. If Fred had set his heart so on you as nothing could have turned him, and you had thought the same, I'd have made no objections, for I think in such matters every one should suit theirselves. But, if you're out of the way, he may bring his mind to the girl I've laid out for him, and I don't deny but what that will satisfy me better. So we'll all be pleased, and I wish you much joy; but you'll have to tell me how it came about, for it's so sudden and unexpected I can't even guess."

"I'll tell you just how it was. I met Stephen on the ridge, as I told you, and he spoke to me. I answered him, but I wasn't going to stop to talk, when he asked me what was my hurry, and what was the reason he never saw me now. I was vexed, and spoke up and told him I'd seen too much of him already for my own good. Then he got angry, and said he supposed what people said was true. I told him people said a good many things, and asked him what one he meant, and he said every one had it that Fred Harmer was making up to me. What could I answer? I couldn't say no, could I?”

"I never knew you tell a lie, Avice. I don't suppose you could. What did you say?"

"How can I thank you?" she began.

46

Chut, child! I don't want no thanks. I took care of you this good while, and I always like to finish what I begin. I will say you've been a good girl to me, Avice, and I shall miss you whenever you go; Stephen's gain will be my loss. In the mean time, if you're not too proud, you may go and do the churning; I've had no time, and there it stands. If Dorade had been home I'd a-made her do it, little as she likes it; but there's small chance of her being in the way if there's anything extry to be done." "Where is Dorade?" asked Avice, noticing her absence for the first time.

"She drove Fred over to Whitechester to take the train west. One of the boys had to go on that business of their Aunt Sophy's-there came another letter this morning to hurry them. I wanted Ephe to go-he's the best hand at business-but he didn't seem to want to leave the hay, and he coaxed Fred into it. He'll be gone a fortnight or three weeks, and I'm right glad he is away just now."

Avice heartily agreed in this, though she did not say so aloud, and she sincerely wished that Dorade could have been absent as well. Dorade was no friend to her, and she knew it. It was but a feeling, an intangible something between the girls, but it was there, and each was aware of it. Dorade made no objection to Avice's presence, because she relieved her of many household cares; but she was jeal"I said I couldn't help folks talking, and it ous of her. She was jealous of Avice's superior didn't matter to him, anyway. He said it mattered beauty, feeling that her own advantages of dress a great deal—that he liked me first, and he had the and adornment could not outweigh the fresh pinkbest right, and-well, I needn't say it all; I sup-and-white charm of the other girl; she was jealpose they all say as much and mean as little," said the girl with a somewhat forced laugh. "He provoked me till I told him it was no concern of his who wanted to marry me if he did not; and then he swore he did, and he would, if I would have him; that he was sorry he had given way to his mother so much, and he was old enough to please himself, and -and-"

Had Avice been a well-educated young lady, she would doubtless have told her tale in more refined language; but it is doubtful if she would have rendered more intelligible to her listener what had taken place.

"And you agreed, like a fool of a child as you are?" But the severity of Mrs. Harmer's words was belied by her kind tone and her motherly look and smile.

"What else could I say? I've never liked any one else as I like him. His mother will make a fuss about it, I suppose, but am I bound to mind her? She did me all the harm she could once, and but for you, Mrs. Harmer, God knows how much worse it might have been! If Stephen wants me now in earnest, don't you think I've as good a right to consider him as her?"

"I guess so," said her mistress, reflectively. "It's hard to tell. Well, child," she added, briskly, seeming to awake from a reverie, “as I said before, I wish you much joy, and I hope that you've got a good husband and will make a good wife. I'll give you your wedding-dress-I always meant to do that-and perhaps a trifle more. When is it to be?" "Wednesday in next week. He's going to get the license on Saturday, and on Wednesday we'll drive over to Whitechester, and-"

"Get married? No you won't, child. I'll have the minister marry you here-as quiet as you please, but I'll have you married under my roof, and here you can stay till he gets a house to put you in, for I guess he'll hardly take you home to his mother." Avice's eyes filled with grateful tears.

ous of her mother's affection for her; and on one other point she felt a more deadly jealousy still. It was not likely that such sentiments would exist and Avice remain altogether ignorant of them; and, though of a gentle disposition, she could not help slightly resenting a dislike for which she was conscious of giving no cause; and the result was a very uncomfortable state of feeling, and a desire on the part of each to have as little as possible to do with the other.

"Is Dorade coming home to-night?" Avice asked, as she prepared to set to work.

"Yes, she'll be home some time after dark, if she does like she mostly tries to. She said she'd take the chance when she was out to spend the day in Whitechester and make some visits. She didn't have to hurry on account of the horse, for both our teams is at work, and Ben went over and got Mr. Vanvannick's black mare. He wants to trade for her if Steve will let her go."

After this there was silence for a time in the kitchen, broken only by the occasional rattle of Mrs. Harmer's irons and the splash of the churn; the matron meditated her plans, the maiden was lost in dreams of present and future bliss. Surely the elements of tragedy lie very near us in our daily lives. Which of these two happy women dreamed that he who filled their thoughts was unconscious forever alike of joy or pain? Which foresaw what a few moments was to bring? Around them, as within them, all was peace; the sun shone, and the soft afternoon breeze blew; the shadow of the hop-vines over the western window fell and flickered on the painted floor; the cluck of the motherly fowls gathering their scattered broods sounded sleepy in the stillness; the chirp of the locust filled the balmy air. Nature seemed hushed and at rest; but when Nature and human nature alike seem most in a state of stillness and repose, then beware-for the storm is close at hand.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

SIX HOTELS.

BY WIRT SIKES.

A

Our estimate of an hotel's quality is governed by two particulars: first, our need; second, its difficulties. The difficulties in the way of running an hotel for tourists in the Sierra Nevada Mountains are prodigious. The need of one at the close of a day's pounding through the forest on plug-back is enormous. The rates charged were the same which were customary throughout California for the best hotel accommodations. Judging it by our needs and its difficulties, we pronounced the Mountain House good.

MONG the thousand-and-one hotels in various | ly; and mounted our mules (which now replaced the parts of the world beneath whose roofs I horses) to resume our journey, regretting departure have found that warmest welcome of which the from this happy spot profoundly. poet spoke, none remain a more interesting memory than that upon which I came one stormy night on the way to Yosemite. All day long-and what a lengthy day it was!-we had been climbing the mountain roads through the dense pine forests of the Sierra Nevadas. The horses employed in this service are the hardest-riding creatures that ever went on four legs. Their trot is agony-particularly about 4 P. M. of a long, long, weary day. The motion can be properly compared to that which might result if each leg were a pile-driver, each hoof an iron plate, and each footfall an effort to punch a hole in the ground. The racking imparted by this process to the animal's body, and to the victim astride of that body, is something awful. To increase our longings for repose, there came up a drenching thunder-storm when we were within an hour's ride of the hotel; and no one who has not been in a thunder-storm on a peak of the Sierras has any definite idea of the capacity of the human frame for getting wet. We were lifted from our horses at the door of the hotel, lame, hungry, sore, and soggy.

It was a log cabin of the rudest sort. The landlord was as rough a specimen of wild Western humanity as I ever beheld. The landlady was a scrawny Irishwoman of the most pronounced untidiness of aspect; but her face was wreathed in a genial good-nature, that made her fair to look upon, while it displayed a wealth of red gum and a poverty of tooth which no generosity of disposition could approve. We were invited to wash ourselves in a tin basin at the door, with water dipped by ourselves from the swift-running brook at hand; but we were less in need of ablution than of desiccation, and we preferred to court dryness over the cook-stove in the kitchen. It was surprising, too, how soon we were dried, considering how thoroughly we had been wetted. And it was with appetites of wolves-midwinter wolves, keen with prolonged fasting-that we sat down to supper. The table was a rude bench; the seats were other benches; there was no cloth; there was not a whole dish on the table; there was nothing to eat but pork and potatoes; the coffee was muddy, and the butter was strong, and we fought for every mouthful with the flies, which sought to drag it from us; but ambrosia and nectar never tickled palate of jaded epicures as that supper tickled us. We slept at night on the ground, with only pineboughs for a wall about us and a roof above ussuch were the primitive accommodations of this hotel-and our clothing could not with modesty be removed, there being some twenty guests that night, among them ladies. And the next morning we breakfasted on pork and potatoes cheerfully; paid four dollars in gold for our accommodations willing

Another mountain hostelry of which memory speaks pleasantly is the Hôtel du St.-Gothard, at Andermatt, in Switzerland. The night was falling when we arrived here, too; but we had come in luxurious form up these Alpine heights—in a carriage, with a chatty postilion, trundling over smooth roads which wound up and up by gentle gradations. Mine host came out to meet us, candle in hand, followed by his retainers, just as hosts do on the stage in old plays. In earlier years, before foreign travel had taught me otherwise, I remember thinking it absurd that a host should come out-doors with a candle to greet his guest, and supposed the action to be one of those violations of Nature in which playwrights must indulge at times, owing to stage exigencies. Siegfried, our driver, unharnessed his horses at the door, leaving the carriage there, and disappeared to the servants' domain. The hotel was large and comfortable; about the size of Cozzens's in Omaha, or the Hoffman in New York; somewhat ruggedly built; and we were ushered into the cozy travelers' room, where soon after supper was served. There were present a French widow, with two neat daughters, in decorous black; a German baron, accompanied by a pompous, gray-haired man-servant, in whose care and at whose expense the baron had the aspect of being on a tour-so stern and authoritative was the man-servant; a pair of black-whiskered Frenchmen, who were so absorbed in themselves that they seemed unconscious they were not alone, and talked volubly and loudly to each other-always with cigarettes in their fingers, not even excepting at table; and an English tourist with gray hair, traveling quite alone, who had just arrived from Italy, and asked me if I would not like to take his carriage back. This hotel was a sort of half-way house between Switzerland and Italy, via the St.Gothard Pass. When we took our own carriage from Altdorf (the home of Tell), we were told that the charge would be thirty-five francs to go and ten francs to return. The Englishman had paid in a like way for his own carriage, and would have been glad to take ours to Altdorf if we had been going on into Italy, and would take his an arrangement

which would save expense for both parties. As we could not do this, the Englishman left next morning by the public coach.

hour was spent in looking at various suites at various prices, ending with the selection of two at the remote left-hand corner of the building in the fourth story. The clerk called it the second floor, the first being above an entresol, and the entresol, of course, above the ground-floor-convenient entresol, invented for the pleasure of landlords to save the disagreeable necessity of sending lodgers too high up! However, the view from the windows was magnificent, and included an hotel near by which had seven stories, so I became reconciled to my second floor in the fourth story. The apartments were roomy, and superbly furnished, and they cost sixty cents a day each. We had our meals in our rooms-life being too short for the journey to the dining-room-and therefore the expense of living was somewhat increased beyond the average; but it did not exceed two dollars a day per person.

staircases and steps, of winding and twisting, involved in going to a room in a remote part, is equal to a tramp through a small village. I found diffiWe made a delicious supper of trout and Offen-culty in getting a suite of rooms to my taste, and an thaler, and went early to bed; for we were tired, and it was, besides, too dark for strolling. But at five o'clock in the morning, wide awake as the birds, we walked about the quaint old Alpine town nestled among the mountain-peaks. The air was as sparkling to quaff as spring-water, and had a flavor of frost in it, though to-morrow was the Fourth of July; and, while it was clear and pleasant weather in the town, a storm was howling madly among the icy mountain-peaks close at hand. From the door of the hotel could be seen opposite a wayside crucifix, with a white image of the Saviour stretched on it, inclosed in an open box like a coffin for protection from sun and storm, the whole mildewed, mossy, and discolored with age; on a sudden eminence a little, old, white-plastered church, with spire and cross; jutting-roofed, diamond - windowed, ageblackened houses all about; and the telegraph and post offices just over the way. The Glacier du Rhône was also visible from the hotel-door. Going in to breakfast, at which we anticipated fish or game, we found the bill of fare to comprise only beefsteak, ham-and-eggs, veal-cutlets, and the like; and with the beefsteak which I ordered came delicious white bread and, not butter, but clear amber honey. This peculiarity of serving honey in lieu of butter is one of the Swiss customs which do not give way before the tastes of tourists, and will doubtless endure to the end of time. Our bill for precisely the same amount of entertainment we had at the Mountain House in the Sierra Nevadas was less than half the money. But the difficulties of hotel-keeping at Andermatt are not great. Although high up in the Alps, the hotel is on a great thoroughfare between two countries, which is incessantly traversed by teams bearing all the usual edibles and drinkables of civilized life.

Our ideas respecting the hotels of Switzerland are generally, I believe, to the effect that there is something rural, quaint, and primitive, about them all. One thinks of the hotels on the little Swiss lakes as mere inns, and the first view of an hotel like the Schweizerhof at Lucerne is likely to be quite a shock of surprise. This hotel is more magnificent than any in New York. Its dining-room is so rich, so gorgeous, grand, and large, that it seems like a bit out of a French palace. The dining-rooms at some of our fashionable places of summer resort-as Long Branch, for example-are cattle-sheds in comparison. Elaborate frescoes make the ceiling glow with glory of gold and color. A vast conservatory at one end fills the air with fragrance, and a great band fills it with music. I will not speak of the tables and their provision, which are in keeping with the surroundings-a detail frequently neglected in the grandest American and English hotels. The size of the house is prodigious. It includes several huge buildings, connected with each other by stone galleries, and the amount of ascending and descending

There were balconies before two of our windows -not the pinned-on balconies of American hotels, but the solid stone-work of Parisian balconies, which are simply a jutting out of a broader block of stone than those of which the wall is mainly built. With their iron railings set firmly into the stone, these balconies give no sense of unsafety, in spite of the height at which they hang. We spent the whole of our first day at Lucerne in looking out of window. The scene was so constantly entertaining that we had no dull moment in which to think of strolling out. To the right towered Mount Pilate; to the left, Righi; in front, Lake Lucerne; and beyond, across its blue space, green uplands, wooded hills, pine-covered mountains, snowy Alpine peaks, in successive reaches. If I had not seen my first snowclads from the car of a Pacific Railroad train, I know not what my sensations would have been at the first sight of the Alps from these windows. As it was, delight was extreme. If I had never seen the Mississippi and the Hudson, what would have been my ecstasy over the Rhine! And, if I had never “steamed it" on huge Lake Superior, I should have appreciated the grandeur of my first oceanvoyage more intensely. I remember the thrill of those sensations at home; but such experiences never repeat themselves. One's first kiss of love never comes back for a second trial, however much more charming the second charmer may be than the first was. And these mountains are far more grand |-higher, snowier, and more numerous-than any of which one gets a near view in California or Colorado; as the Rhine is more interesting than either the Hudson or the Mississippi, and the Atlantic Ocean is bigger than Lake Superior. Moral: don't see the Sierras, the Mississippi, the Hudson, or Lake Superior, until after you have traveled abroad. If I may be permitted to become suddenly serious after such tremendous sportiveness, I will remark that the American who goes to Europe without ever having seen the Yosemite, the Upper Mississippi, the Hud