have received a blow,-staggering backward, and whitening, and losing her breath; but almost immediately afterward she uttered a sad cry of disbelief and anguish.

"No, no," she said, "it-it isn't true! I wont believe it-I mustn't. There's half the world between us. Oh! don't try to make me believe it,-when it can't be true!" "Come with me," replied Clélie. Never-never in my life has it been my fate to see, before or since, a sight so touching as the meeting of these two young hearts. When the door of the cold, bare room opened, and Mademoiselle Esmeralda entered, the lover held out his weak arms with a sob,—a sob of rapture, and yet terrible to hear.

"I thought you'd gone back on me, Esmeraldy," he cried. "I thought you'd gone back on me."

Clélie and I turned away and left them as the girl fell upon her knees at his side.

The effect produced upon the fatherwho had followed Mademoiselle as usual, and whom we found patiently seated upon the bottom step of the flight of stairs, awaiting our arrival-was almost indescribable.

He sank back upon his seat with a gasp, clutching at his hat with both hands. He also disbelieved.

During the recovery of the Monsieur Wash, though but little was said upon the subject, it is my opinion that the minds of each of our number pointed only toward one course in the future.

In Mademoiselle's demeanor there appeared a certain air of new courage and determination, though she was still pallid and anxious. It was as if she had passed a climax and had gained strength. Monsieur, the father, was alternately nervous and dejected, or in feverishly high spirits. Occasionally he sat for some time without speaking, merely gazing into the fire with a hand upon each knee; and it was one evening, after a more than usually prolonged silence of this description, that he finally took upon himself the burden which lay upon us unitedly.

"Esmeraldy," he remarked, tremulously, and with manifest trepidation,-" Esmeraldy, I've been thinkin'-it's time-we broke it to mother."

The girl lost color, but she lifted her head steadily.

"Yes, father," she answered, "it's time." "Yes," he echoed, rubbing his knees slowly, "it's time; an', Esmeraldy, it's a thing to to sorter set a man back."

"Yes, father," she answered again.

"Yes," as before, though his voice broke somewhat; "an' I dessay you know how it'll be, Esmeraldy, that you'll have to choose between mother and Wash."

She sat by her lover, and for answer she dropped her face upon his hand with a sob.

"It's nat'ral," he said, "an' it's right. I wouldn't want it no other way. An' you mustn't mind, Esmeraldy, it's bein' kinder rough on me, as can't go back on mother, havin' swore to cherish her till death do us part. You've allus been a good gal to me, an' we've thought a heap on each other, an' I reckon it can allus be the same way, even though we're sep'rated, fur it's nat'ral you should have chose Wash, an'-an' I wouldn't have it no other way, Esmeraldy. Now I'll go an' have it out with mother."

We were all sufficiently unprepared for the announcement to be startled by it. Mademoiselle Esmeralda, who was weeping bitterly, half sprang to her feet.

"To-night!" she said. "Oh! father!"

"Yes," he replied; "I've been thinking over it, an' I don't see no other way, an' it may as well be to-night as any other time."

After leaving us he was absent for about an hour. When he returned, there were traces in his appearance of the storm through which he had passed. His hands trembled with agitation; he even looked weakened as he sank into his chair. We regarded him with commiseration.

"It's over," he half whispered, "an' it was even rougher than I thought it would be. She was terrible outed, was mother. I reckon I never see her so outed before. She jest raged and tore. It was most more than I could stand, Esmeraldy," and he dropped his head upon his hands for support. "Seemed like it was the Markis as laid heaviest upon her," he proceeded. "She was terrible sot on the Markis, an' every time she think of him, she'd just rear-she'd just rear. I never stood up agen mother afore,

an' I hope I sha'n't never have it to do again in my time. I'm kinder wore out." Little by little we learned much of what had passed, though he evidently withheld the most for the sake of Mademoiselle, and it was some time before he broke the news to her that her mother's doors were closed against her.

"I think you'll find it pleasanter a-stoppin' here," he said, "if Mis' Dimar'll board ye until-until the time fur startin' home. Her sperrit was so up that she said she didn't aim to see you no more, an' you know how she is, Esmeraldy, when her sperrit's up."

The girl went and clung around his neck, kneeling at his side, and shedding tears. "Oh! father!" she cried, "you've bore a great deal for me; you've bore more than any one knows, and all for me."

He looked rather grave, as he shook his head at the fire.

“That's so, Esmeraldy," he replied; "but we allus seemed nigh to each other, somehow, and when it come to the wust, I was bound to kinder make a stand fur you, as I couldn't have made fur myself. I couldn't have done it fur myself. Lord! No!" So Mademoiselle remained with us, and Clélie assisted her to prepare her simple outfit, and in the evening the tall young lover came into our apartment and sat looking on, which aspect of affairs, I will confess, was entirely new to Clélie, and yet did not displease her.

"Their candor moves me," she said. "He openly regards her with adoration. At parting she accompanies him to the door, and he embraces her tenderly, and yet one is not repelled. It is the love of the lost Arcadia-serious and innocent."

Finally, we went with them one morning to the American Chapel in the Rue de Berri, and they were united in our presence and that of Monsieur, who was indescribably

affected.

After the completion of the ceremony, he presented Monsieur Wash with a package.

"It's papers as I've had drawd up fur Esmeraldy," he said. "It'll start you well out in the world, an' after me and mother's gone, there's no one but you and her to have the rest. The Lord-may the Lord bless ye!"

We accompanied them to Havre, and did not leave them until the last moment. Monsieur was strangely excited, and clung to the hands of his daughter and son-in-law, talking fast and nervously, and pouring out messages to be delivered to his distant friends.

"Tell 'em I'd like powerful well to see 'em all, an' I'd have come only-only things was kinder onconvenient. Sometime, perhaps

But here he was obliged to clear his throat, as his voice had become extremely husky. And, having done this, he added in an undertone:

"You see, Esmeraldy, I couldn't, because of mother, as I've swore not to go back on. Wash, he wouldn't go back on you, however high your sperrit was, an' I can't go back on mother."

The figures of the young couple standing at the side, Monsieur Wash holding his wife to his breast with one strong arm, were the last we saw as the ship moved slowly away.

"It is obscurity to which they are returning," I said, half unconsciously. "It is love," said Clélie.

The father, who had been standing apart, came back to us, replacing in his pocket his handkerchief.

"They are young an' likely, you see," 'said Monsieur, "an' life before them, an' it's nat'ral as she should have chose Wash, as was young too, an' sot on her. Lord, it's nat'ral, an' I wouldn't have it no otherways."

NOT what the chemists say they be, Are pearls-they never grew; They come not from the hollow sea, They come from heaven in dew!

Down in the Indian sea it slips, Through green and briny whirls, Where great shells catch it in their lips, And kiss it into pearls!

In

It was an attempt on the part of two sharpers to play upon me an old London confidence game which gave me my only chance to see John Bull as a rogue. this character he proved no bungler, but a most consummate actor. Indeed, the circumstance revealed to me more clearly than almost anything else, how much we have got to learn of this people, and how "mellow" and considerate John can be even in the character of a London highwayman.

For some reason or other, the confidencemen have always taken a shine to me. About the first time I went to New York, Peter Funk sold me a watch, though I saw what he had done in a few moments afterward, and went into the next place where watches were being slaughtered, and advised the innocent bidders standing about (!) not to purchase, as things were not what they seemed, and privately showed some of them my own time-keeper! And in very recent years, during a half-hour's walk on Broadway, I have had at least three long-forgotten acquaintances rush up to me with extended hand and hearty exclamations of surprise and delight. But on these occasions I have always been able to command Bret Hart's famous smile, which I have found as effective as a policeman's badge.

The London confidence-man found me one night at a public place of amusement, and, of course, knew me at a glance. He was a German (my visor always goes up when I see a German), and was a curious spectator of things in and about London, like myself, and expected soon to visit America. I hardly know how we got acquainted. I think some incident in the crowd, as we stood near each other in the area, caused us to exchange glances and then remarks. He evidently "took" to me

at once. Travelers are quick to know travelers, and always find themselves in sympathy; they are in one boat, while the stay-at-home world is in another. We were soon exchanging notes about London and other matters, and after the performance was over, walked out of the theater together. We were a good deal jostled by the crowd, but an empty pocket is never afraid of being picked, and the frail creature who did her share of the jostling, and who declared we looked enough alike to be brothers, played her part well but to little purpose. We did not separate till we had exchanged cards, and my delightful German had made some inquiries about my hotel; he was not suited where he was and was on the lookout for a chance to improve his quarters, and as he had an especial liking for Americans," they were so much more like Germans than the English were," and had many questions to ask about that country, he should be delighted to stop beneath the same roof with me, if the locality suited him, etc., etc.

Accordingly, next day, at 12 м, he called around. We had lunch together and much interesting conversation. He proved extremely well-informed about England and the English, and was extremely entertaining. He had much to say about a London friend of his, a banker, who had lived in America, and whom I ought to know. After an hour spent in this way, he proposed a walk, and said, if I wished it, he would present me to his friend.

To this, after some hesitation, I assented, and we set out for King's Cross, a part of town I had not yet visited. After walking about half an hour, during which time my companion beguiled the way with a very lively account of a steeple-chase he had recently taken part in through his friend the banker, at his suggestion we stopped at one of the numerous ale-houses for some refreshment. It was not a very invitinglooking place, and I felt disposed to take our ale standing at the bar, American fashion, and pass on; but my German was not going to be so coolly matter-of-fact as that, and led the way to the coffee-room, which, however, we found locked; but one of the bar-maids handed him the key, and we went in. It was a dingy, unused-looking room,

could not dance, so she danced with two or three other gentlemen, and then came to me and asked me to get her a pair of gloves. I thought this a little hodd, but offered 'er 'alf a crown, and told 'er to get them 'erself. This she refused; said she never paid less than a crown for her gloves; wouldn't be seen with a pair that cost only 'alf a crown; and, as I did not like to appear mean, I said, 'Come out with me, you shall 'ave the gloves.' I gave her a sovereign, and she told me to wait outside while she went in the shop and got the gloves. I paced up and down in front of the place for 'alf an hour, and then went in to see what 'ad become of her, and get my change. The shop-girl laughed, and said she'd been gone 'alf an hour; so I see I 'ad been sold, and went straight back to my 'otel.

"Luckily," he continued, "I got a note changed when I paid for the wine, or I should 'ave given her a five-poun' note, and so lost it all."

The tone and manner in which this narrative was delivered were irresistibly mirthprovoking, and we laughed immoderately at the poor fellow's greenness.

"Here," said I to myself, "is a specimen of my unsophisticated Englishman of the very first water. He is as fresh as a newblown rose, and never ought to let go the apron-string of his sister Mary."

My German said something about the danger of going about London with much money in one's pocket.

"I'm not afraid," said the verdant, "and I always carry my money right here too," taking out from the breast pocket of his coat a loose package of Bank of England notes. "'Ow am I going to lose that with my coat buttoned so?"

But my friend assured him he might easily lose it; that he had better have left it with his lawyer or his banker; that he himself never carried but a few pounds about him, and no prudent traveler ever did, and, on appealing to me, I added my testimony to the same effect, declaring that I seldom left my hotel with as much as a five-pound note in my pocket.

"But I 'ave enough more," said the complacent idiot, "if I lose this. You see, me and my sister Mary have just come into a little property, about £17,000,-that is what brought me up to London; it's an unpleasant subject, a family quarrel, but right is right, and what the law gives one, that he may call his own, mayn't he? Well, the law has just given me and me sister

Mary me father's estate which me elder brother George had held since me father's and mother's death. This is 'ow it 'appened. The old family nurse, when she came to die, let it out that me brother George was born out of wedlock,—that is before me father and mother were married, and so was not the legal heir of the property. The old doctor was referred to, his dates were looked up and compared with the parish records, and the nurse's story was confirmed. So we went to law about it, and the case has just been decided in our favor in the Court of Queen's Bench. It makes bad blood, but I shall not treat me brother George as he has treated me and sister Mary. After he has had time to cool off and think it over, I shall go to 'im and say, ''Ere, George, you are me brother, I cannot forget that,-'ere, take this sum and set yourself up in busi

We both applauded this good resolution, and urged him by all means to carry it into effect.

"But George did not do just right with the property," he went on; "you see, part of it came from uncle William, and uncle William in his will provided that £500 of it should be disbursed among the poor, not the Hinglish poor only, but the poor of different nations. This brother George did not do. But this I shall do without delay, and to get this £500 well off my 'ands, according to my huncle's will is now my chief concern. Hof course, I cannot go around looking up the poor,-the needy cases,-and must mostly depend upon others to do it for me. I shall spend £100 of it among the poor of my own town and neighborhood, and shall 'ope to meet trustworthy gentlemen now and then, whom I can rely upon to distribute a portion of it among the poor of their countries. I gave £50 of it yesterday to a gentleman at my 'otel, from Glasgow, to spend among his poor."

"A stranger to you?" said I, with reproof and astonishment in

my look.

"Oh, yes; but then he showed me that he had money of his own and did not need mine; that was all I required him to do."

The German and I exchanged glances as we finished our second ale, when the former said, speaking my own thought:

"Well, you'll have little trouble in finding people to take your money on such terms. I, myself, would very gladly be charitable at some one else's expense, and the late war has made many poor people in my country."