were best calculated to judge of its fidelity-the | when completed. The remarkable truthfulness of practical river-men; and he has procured the the minutest objects upon the shores of the rivers, names of nearly all the principal captains and pi-independent of the masterly style, and artistical

lots navigating the Mississippi, freely testifying to the correctness of the scenery."

The following letter from an American gentleman, the bearer of government despatches to Oregon and California, addressed to his friend, General Morris, at New York, introduces the reader to the artist in his study, and will be read with interest.

ST. LOUIS, April 13, 1846.

able historical painting in the world, and unequalled, execution of the work, will make it the most valufor magnitude and variety of interest, by any work that has ever been heard of since the art of painting was discovered. As a medium for the study of the geography of this portion of the country, it will be of inestimable value. The manners and customs of the aborigines and the settlers-the modes of cultivating and harvesting the peculiar crops-cotton, sugar, tobacco, etc.-the shipping of the prodMY DEAR GENERAL-Here I am, in this beauti-uce in all the variety of novel and curious conveyful city of St. Louis, and thus far "on my winding ances employed on these rivers for transportationway" to Oregon and California. In coming down are here so vividly portrayed, that but a slight the Ohio, our boat being of the larger class, and the stretch of the imagination would bring the noise of river at a "low stage" we were detained several the puffing steamboats from the river, and the hours at Louisville, and I took advantage of the songs of the negroes in the fields, in music to the detention to pay a visit to an old school-mate of ear, and one seems to inhale the very atmosphere mine, one of the master spirits of the age. I mean before him. Such were the impressions produced Banvard, the artist, who is engaged in the hercu- by our slight and unfavorable view of a portion of lean task of painting a panorama of the Mississippi this great picture, which Banvard expects to finish river, upon more than three miles of canvass!- this summer. It will be exhibited in New York in truthfully depicting a range of scenery of upwards the autumn-after which, it will be sent to London of two thousand miles in extent. In company with for the same purpose. The mode of exhibiting it a travelling acquaintance, an English gentleman, I is ingenious, and will require considerable macalled at the artist's studio, an immense wooden chinery. It will be placed upon upright revolving building, constructed expressly for the purpose, at cylinders and the canvass will pass gradually before the extreme outskirts of the city. After knocking the spectator, thus affording the artist an opportuseveral times, I at length succeeded in making nity of explaining the whole work. After exammyself heard, when the artist himself, in his work-ining many other beautiful specimens of the artist's ing cap and blouse, pallet and pencil in hand, came to the door to admit us. He did not at first recognize me, but when I mentioned my name, he dropped both pallet and pencil, and clasped me in his arms, so delighted was he to see me, after a separation of sixteen years.

My fellow-traveller was quite astonished at this sudden manifestation, for I had not informed him of our previous intimacy, but had merely invited him to accompany me to see in progress this wonder of the world, that is to be, this leviathan panorama. Banvard immediately conducted us into the interior of the building. He said he had selected the site for his building, far removed from the noise and bustle of the town, that he might apply himself more closely and uninterruptedly to his labor, and

skill, which adorn his studio, we dined together in the city. As our boat was now ready to start, I shook hands with Banvard, who parted from me with feelings as sad as they had been before joyful. His life has been one of curious interest, replete with stirring incidents, and I was greatly amused in listening to anecdotes of his adventures on these western rivers, where, for many years past, he has been a constant sojourner, indefatigably employed in preparing his great work.

SELIM WOODWorth.

Of the river scenery which is thus represented in this wonderful picture, we may perhaps be allowed to say something; this we quote from a pamphlet before us :—

At

be free from the intrusion of visitors. Within the studio, all seemed chaos and confusion, but the life- The Mississippi commences in many branches, like and natural appearance of a portion of his that rise, for the most part, in wild rice lakes; but great picture was displayed on one of the walls in it traverses no great distance, before it has become a yet unfinished state. Here and there were scat- a broad stream. Sometimes in its beginnings it tered about the floor piles of his original sketches, moves a wide expanse of waters, with a current bales of canvass, and heaps of boxes. Paint-boxes, scarcely perceptible, along a marshy bed. brushes, jars and kegs, were strowed about without others, its fishes are seen darting over a white order or arrangement, while along one of the walls sand, in waters almost as transparent as air. At several large cases were piled, containing rolls of other times it is compressed to a narrow and rapid finished sections of the painting. On the opposite current between ancient and hoary limestone bluffs. wall was spread a canvass, extending its whole Having acquired in a length of course, following its length, upon which the artist was then at work. meanders, of three hundred miles, a width of half a A portion of this canvass was wound upon an mile, and having formed its distinctive character, it upright roller, or drum, standing at one end of the precipitates its waters down the falls of St. Anbuilding, and as the artist completes his painting, thony. Thence it glides alternately through beauhe thus disposes of it. Not having the time to tiful meadows and deep forests, swelling in its spare, I could not stay to have all the immense advancing march with the tributes of a hundred cylinders unrolled for our inspection, for we were streams. In its progress it receives a tributary sufficiently occupied in examining that portion on which of itself has a course of more than a thousand which the artist is now engaged, and which is leagues. Thence it rolls its accumulated, turbid, nearly completed, being from the mouth of Red and sweeping mass of waters through continued river to Grand Gulf. Any description of this forests, only broken here and there by the axe, in gigantic undertaking that I should attempt in a let-lonely grandeur to the sea. The hundred shores ter, would convey but a faint idea of what it will be laved by its waters; the long course of its tributaVOL. XV. 33

CLXXXVII.

LIVING AGE.

514

ries, some of which are already ths abodes of culti- | still important to these objects, are keel-boats and
vation, and others pursuing an immense course flats. The flat-boats are called, in the vernacular
without a solitary dwelling of civilized man being phrase, "Kentucky Flats," or "Broad Horns."
seen on its banks; the numerous tribes of savages
that now roam upon its borders; the affecting and
imperishable traces of generations that are gone,
leaving no other memorial of their existence, or
materials for their history, than their tombs, that
rise at frequent intervals along its banks: the dim,
but glorious anticipations of the future-these are
subjects of contemplation that cannot but associate
themselves with the view of this river.

After the junction of the Mississippi with the Missouri, the character of the river changes; it loses its majestic calmness, and rolls onward with a wild impetuosity. From Missouri to Balize, it is a wild, furious, whirling river, never navigated safely, except with great caution.

There is something very grand in the following description of this kingly river :

They are simply an oblong ark, with a roof slightly
curved from the centre, to shed rain. They are
generally about fifteen feet wide, and from fifty to
and
eighty, and sometimes an hundred feet in length.
The timbers of the bottom are massive beams;
they are intended to be of great strength, and to
carry a burden of from two to four hundred barrels.
Great numbers of cattle, hogs, and horses, are con-
veyed to market in them. We have seen family
boats of this description, fitted up for the descent of
families to the lower country, with a stove, comfort-
able apartments, beds, and arrangements for com-
modious habitancy. We see in them, ladies, ser-
vants, cattle, horses, sheep, dogs, and poultry, all
floating on the same bottom; and on the roof, the
looms, ploughs, spinning-wheels, and domestic im-
plements of the family.

Much of the produce of the upper country, even after the invention of steam-boats, continues to

numerary

If it be in the spring, when the river below the descend to New Orleans in Kentucky flats. They fourth hand-a kind of supercargo. This mouth of the Ohio is generally over its banks, generally carry three hands, and perhaps a superalthough the sheet of water that is making its way boat, in the form of a parallelogram, lying flat and to the gulf is perhaps thirty miles wide, yet finding dead in the water, and with square timbers below its bottom planks, and carrying such a great weight, its way through deep forests and swamps that conceal all from the eye, no expanse of water is seen but the width that is carved out between the outline runs on a sand bar with a strong headway, and of woods on either bank; and it seldom exceeds, ploughs its timbers into the sand; and it is of course and oftener falls short of, a mile. But when he a work of extreme labor to get the boat afloat sees, in descending from the falls of St. Anthony, again. Its form and its weight render it difficult to that it swallows up one river after another, with mouths as wide as itself, without affecting its width at all; when he sees it receiving in succession the mighty Missouri, the broad Ohio, St. Francis, White, Arkansas, and Red rivers, all of them of great depth, length, and volume of water; when he sees this mighty river absorbing them all, and retaining a volume apparently unchanged, he begins to estimate rightly the increasing depths of current that must roll on its deep channel to the sea. ried out of the Balize, and sailing with a good breeze for hours, he sees nothing on any side but the white and turbid waters of the Mississippi long

after he is out of sight of land.

Car

The natural scenery of the river presented rich material for Banvard's pencil; he was borne along by wild rice lakes and swamps, limestone bluffs and craggy hills; through deep pine forests and beautiful prairies, where the sole inhabitants were the elk, the buffalo, the bear, and the deer, and the wild Indians that pursue them.

This immense line of river forms a means of commercial intercourse between the country and New Orleans.

The boats of the Mississippi are so various in their kinds, and so curious in their construction, that it would be difficult to reduce them to specific classes and divisions. No form of water-craft so whimsical, no shape so outlandish, can well be imagined, but what, on descending to New Orleans, it may somewhere be seen lying to the shore, or floating on the river. The New York Canal is generating monstrous conceptions of this sort; and there will soon be a rivalry between the east and the west, which can create the most ingenious floating river-monsters of passage and transport.

But the boats of passage and conveyance, that remain after the invention of steamboats, and are

give it a direction with any power of oars. Hence,
in the shallow waters it often gets aground.
When it has at length cleared the shallow waters,
and gained the heavy current of the Mississippi,
the landing such an unwieldy water-craft, in such
danger.
a current, is a matter of no little difficulty and

Åll the toil, and danger, and exposure, and are hidden, however, from the inhabitants, who moving accidents of this long and perilous voyage, contemplate the boats floating by their dwellings on the mild and delicious temperature of the air, the beautiful spring mornings, when the verdant forest, delightful azure of the sky of this country, the fine

bottom on the one hand, and the romantic bluff on
the other, the broad and smooth stream rolling
calmly down the forest, and floating the boat gently
forward, present delightful images and associations
danger, or call for labor. The boat takes care of
to the beholders. At this time there is no visible
itself; and little do the beholders imagine how dif
ferent a scene may be presented in half an hour.
Meantime, one of the hands scrapes a violin, and the
others dance. Greeting, or rude defiances, or trials
of wit, or proffers of love to the girls on shore, or
saucy messages are scattered between them and the
spectators along the banks. The boat glides on
until it disappears behind the point of wood. At
this moment, perhaps, the bugle, with which all
These scenes, and these
the boats are provided, strikes up its note in the
distance over the water.
notes echoing from the bluffs of the noble Missis-
sippi, have a charm for the imagination, which,
although heard a thousand times repeated, at all
hours and positions, present the image of a tempting
and charming youthful existence, that naturally
inspires a wish to be a boatman.

We have given at the head of this article an engraving of one of these peculiar boats, with its "jolly flat-boat men," for which we are indebted

to a kind American friend, who has also furnished while to visit it. The weather too was bad, and us with the material for the present article. In the poor artist met with ill omens on every hand. speaking of these boats, who does not immediately The tide, however, turned, as it most assuredly call to mind the well-known songs of the boatmen will turn, in all cases where success is deserved, on these American rivers, with their merry and and the young artist is now reaping a golden haryet half-melancholy airs, and which, like all music vest as his least reward. which is truly national, have grown out of the life of the people, and are imbued with the spirit of the scenery in which they have sprung.

A CRY FROM THE CONDEMNED CELL. [THE CASE OF MARY ANN HUNT.-It having been These boats come from regions thousands of satisfactorily ascertained, after a proper medical examimiles apart. They have floated to a common point nation, that there is every reason to believe that this of union. The surface of the boats covers some wretched woman is quick with child, her execution is Fowls are fluttering over the roofs as inva-stayed by order of the sheriffs of London and Middlesex. -Times.]

acres.

riable appendages. The piercing note of the chanticleer is heard; the cattle low; the horses trample as in their stables; the swine utter the cries of fighting with each other; the turkeys gobble; the dogs of a hundred regions become acquainted. The

Two prisoners in a cell,

Where felons doom'd to die

Are garner'd for the gibbet, dwell;
The time of each is nigh.

boatmen travel about from brat to boat, make A murderess and a babe unborn within that dun

inquiries and acquaintances, agree to "lash boats,"
as it is called, and form alliances to yield mutual
assistance to each other on the way to New
Orleans. After an hour or two passed in this way,
they spring on shore, to raise the wind" in the
village. If they tarry al' night, as is generally the
case, it is well for the people of the town if they do The
not become riotous in the course of the evening; in
which case, strong measures are adopted, and the
proceedings on both sides are summary and deci-
sive. With the first dawn, all is bustle and
and amust shouts, and trampling of cattle,
motion;
and barking of logs, and crowing of the fowls, the
fleet is in halfan hour all under weigh; and when
the sun rises nothing is seen but the broad stream
rolling on a before. These boats unite once more
at Natche and New Orleans; and although they
live on the same river, it is improbable that they
will eve meet again on the earth.

These, however, are not the only boats which navigate the river; the steam-boats of the Mississipi are remarkable for their immense size, as if bult to correspond with the magnitude of the ver; their style is also that of extreme elegance and splendor, and nothing, we are assured, can surpass the delights of a trip in one of them.

Such is the scenery, and such the life, on the river which employed Banvard for upwards of a year. Returning now to the time when this undaunted young man was transferring his sketches to his wonderful canvass, we have still a few words to say. His money fell short just before he had finished, and he could not get credit even for a few pieces of canvass to complete it. He, therefore, took other work, and painted insignia for a club of Odd Fellows, to furnish him with the means. During the whole time, indeed, he was obliged to practise the most rigid economy. could not afford to hire a menial assistant, and, therefore, after it was too dark to paint, he was obliged to split his own wood, and carry water for his own use.

He

The history of the exhibition also, when the three miles of picture were finished, is curious, and furnishes another illustration of the necessity there is never to despair. When first it was opened, not a single person thought it worth

geon lie.

Ere this the wretch had died,

But that the law abstains

From taking human life, whose tide

Doth flow in guiltless veins. hangman therefore waits till she hath passed her travail's pains.

Prepare the bed, and see

The woman that ye tend;
And then prepare the gallows-tree,
To be the felon's end,

Soon as a mother's anguish shall have ceased her
frame to rend.

The

Prepare the swathing-bands,

The hempen cord prepare;

Alike ye need the hangman's hands,
The nurse's tender care:

infant to the cradle-to the drop the mother
bear.

Oh! weary day on day,

For this unhappy soul,

To count the hours that pass away,

To watch the moments roll;

And view through childbirth's agonies the scaffold
as her goal.

Her crime, though nought can screen,
Yet, ere her course be run,

Think what her sufferings will have beco
For all that she hath done.

Surely Death's bitterness is past with that most
wretched one.

Think on the anguish dread

That hath avenged her deed;

Think-how that woman's heart hath bled,
If" blood for blood" you need,

And "
eye for eye, and tooth for tooth," be still
your law and creed.

Punch.

THE passions, like heavy bodies down steep hills, once in motion, move themselves, and know no ground but the bottom.-Fuller.

THOSE who place their affections at first on trifles for amusement, will find these trifles become at last their most serious concerns.-Goldsmith.

CHAPTER VI.

moment which should crown his hopes drew near! He arose from a dream in which he had beheld the alabaster cup of stainless loveliness spread forth as a couch for the moonbeams, which could not silver it with a more lustrous whiteness than that which it possessed by nature-he hurried to his darlingthe cup was indeed open, the blossom had indeed expanded, but in the midst of it was a great green canker! The gardener stood still for a moment, stunned and despairing; then he plucked up by the roots the fair plant, with all its unopened buds, and flung it from him far over the wall, far as his arm could reach, and returned in silence to his house.

And the poor uprooted lily, what became of it? On the morning appointed for that fancy bazaar to which reference las been so often made, Philip Everard was on his way to Selcombe Park. He had been detained at Marseilles by a summons to attend the death-bed of his mother.

last it was covered with buds; they were long, slender, and of snowy whiteness, and one, the topTHERE was, once upon a time, a foolish gardener most, cresting the plant with its small upward-pointwho had made a vow in his heart that he woulding spire, seemed ready to burst into bloom. Oh, cultivate no flowers. Herbs and fruits he planted how the gardener's heart burned within him as the in abundance; all that was good for food, or profitable for medicine, he tended with sedulous care; but the beauty wherewith God has enriched the earth, and the perfume which that beauty sheds forth upon the air as a thanksgiving, these were proscribed and exiled. In other words, the garden was filled with all that could minister to the body, but the influences that minister to the spirit were not suffered to enter it. And the gardener dwelt in the midst of it, and thought scorn of all who did not as he did; his life was labor without a charm, and if he saw the queenly rose, or the bounteous violet, or the holy passion-flower, adorning the gardens of his neighbors, he said in his heart, "Aha! the fools; they are spending all their toil on that whose only worth lies in its beauty, and the first east wind or over-sultry sun may destroy it forever!" and then he would go back to his potato beds with a cold, unloving self-satisfaction, and dig and water them; and if the sun parched the leaves, Of the scenes which he had there undergone we or the canker or the caterpillar injured the young will say little, save that they had left him in no shoots, he heeded it not, for the value of the plant mood to judge gently of those frivolities and follies was in its root, and that remained uninjured. It of life which have such powe to make a death-bed was said that in former days this gardener had dearly terrible. Comfortless seemed he past-well-nigh loved the beautiful flowers, but that a deadly canker hopeless the future; yet had they not availed to had destroyed those which he favored most, and this solemnize the present; and the distqurements which was the reason why he was so stern and bitter death was inflicting on the body seened more grievagainst them, and had uprooted them all, and cast ous to the dying woman than those which life had them away, and sworn that there should be no more left upon the soul! But from these painful and flowers in his garden. But this was not certain, degrading recollections, Philip Everard turned his for there was a mystery over his early days, and no mind when he set foot on the shores of England, one rightly knew whence had arisen that strange and, for the first time in his life of dischline and hatred of the kindly and innocent flowers, whose self-restraint, gave himself up wholly to the anticivery existence seems to be pure love, inasmuch as pation of coming happiness. The very stictness they live but to be beautiful and fragrant, and yet of his habit of reserve in all matters of feeling gave can know nothing of their own fragrance or beauty. intensity and completeness to this solitary self-idulTruly, it is almost as if one should try to hate the lit-gence, as the narrowness of the one outlet cases tle babes whom God sends into the world to force men to learn the sweetness of loving, in order that they may afterwards open their hearts more widely and receive the good influence more plentifully.

There came a bird through the air by nightdoubtless an angel guided it and it carried in its beak a tiny root, which it dropped into the soft newly-turned earth of that flowerless garden; and when the gardener arose in the morning some few days afterwards, behold, a small green shoot forcing its way upward through the soil! At first he knew not what it was, and he tended and watered it like his other plants, but as it grew taller he began to perceive, from the grace and tenderness of its shape, from the delicate green of the young buds, from the soft texture of the leaves, that it was indeed a flower, and that its life was in its beauty. Then a strange deep joy took possession of his soul, for this had come to him unawares and unsought; he received it as a gift, he considered it almost as a miracle, and all the care and labor and vigilance which others expended on their whole gardens he centred and lavished on this solitary flower. There grew up in his heart a love stronger than ever his hatred had been, and as the flower grew, his love waxed stronger, till it seemed to absorb his whole being; he guarded his treasure like the infancy of a queen, he sheltered it alike from the cold and the heat, no insect was suffered to rest upon its stem, no other plant to approach within the circle which his cautious hand had drawn around it. And at

the torrent to flow with a more irresistible fore. In like manner the bitterness and scorn of his di trust of human nature in general seemed to deepen, and to perfect the fulness of his confidence in the one object of his love. He first idealized Edith, and then worshipped his ideal. The feelings, the hopes, the beliefs, which had been blighted and suppressed whenever and wherever they had tried to struggle into being hitherto, had now found a green spot where they might break into abundant bloom and luxuriant growth; and in that one spot were they all contained. He had placed her image in a sanctuary in the inmost depth of his heart, and the three years of separation had been passed not merely in guarding the portal with duteous service, and expelling all profane intrusion of unseemly thoughts or words, but also in conveying to the temple every idea of nobleness or purity which he either conceived or encountered, and making it an attribute or a garment of the divinity within. Here was repose, here beauty, here perfect faith and love unfeigned, and exhaustless sympathy-here, in short, were answered all those needs of the spirit which life everywhere suggests and nowhere supplies.

With ingenuity, ceaseless, profound, unconscious, all that he beheld, either of good or evil, was by him converted into aliment for this, the secret life of his heart. If beauty, hers was more faultless; if wit, hers more delicate; if gentleness, hers more inherent and unforced; if constancy, hers more

unrecognized. He felt that he could not announce himself to her in the midst of a scene like this, yet his impatience would not suffer him to wait till the evening without seeing her. Perhaps, too, there was especial sweetness to a man of his reserved, sensitive, and romantic temperament, in the idea of this silent and unsuspected indulgence of feeling. So he walked quietly through the green alleys of the garden, till he reached the principal tent, which was erected on a spacious lawn, in front of the house; here, gliding from entrance to entrance, and cautiously looking in, he at last found an opening which commanded a full view of the counter at

within sound of her voice. At this spot he stationed himself, partly concealed by some of the ornamental drapery of the tent.

infallible; if elevation of soul, in hers he believed if possible, obtain a sight of Edith, unperceived and with a faith more unquestioning and unconquerable; while, on the other hand, if he encountered worldliness or heartlessness, or littleness, or frivolity, was not the thought of her whom none of these things had touched, or could touch, grateful as the sound of waters at noon-day? And now, shading his eyes with his hand, as the quick wheels brought him nearer and nearer to the realization of his dream, he suffered his fancy to revel in the details of the past, not as it had been for him, but as he imagined it to have been for Edith. He went back in idea to the hour of their separation; the whole scene in the boudoir was before him; Kinnaird cordial and encouraging; Aunt Peggy kind and ten-which Edith presided, and was so near as to be der; and the bowed and weeping figure on the sofa, the broken music of whose voice seemed still to ring in his ears the delicious assurance that he was indeed beloved. He saw her go forth from that chamber with a secret in her heart, deep and precious as his own; he watched her gradual recovery from the bitterness of her first anguish-her resumption of strength and composure, at least outwardly-her vigilant tending and nourishing of the fire within.quet, and from time to time addressing her with a He saw her in society but not of it, moving on with a graceful and courteous indifference, marvelled at by all for her unconsciousness of her own singular beauty, and her total carelessness of attention and admiration. He saw her walking by a light which others knew not, governed by a law which was a mystery to all save herself, growing daily in strength and purity of character, seeking, as far as she might, to withdraw from the bustle and the gayety around her, that she might quietly cultivate the tastes which he would encourage, and form herself upon the model which he approved; and his proud heart whispered to him that so and so only would he be Loved. Never once did a doubt of the reality of the picture obtrude itself; never once did his mind misgive him as to the reasonableness of his demands; never once did it occur to him that he was contemplating a reflection of himself, softened indeed and beautiful, but still possessing features of a cast more high, more serene, more severe in their nobleness, than any that he had seen in Edith. He considered not that the freshness of character which had so fascinated him in her, was rather the bloom of a flower that has never felt the heat, than the brightness of gold that has been seven times purified by fire; more lovely and alluring, perhaps, but wanting that inward law of stability which should enable it to endure the withdrawal of the influences by which it had been cherished, without failure or decay. No; his steadfast faith knew no tremor; his bright hope, no dimness; his perfect love, no fear. Alas, alas! and have we dared to vindicate woman from the common charges brought against her? Let us confess, with shame, that when she is weak, her weakness is indeed great; greater, even, than her strength when she is strong.

Edith was seated, a little fatigued with the morning's exertion; her costume was elaborate and magnificent; her beauty in its fullest splendor; Mr. Thornton, leaning with an air of perfect intimacy on the back of her chair, was playing with her boulow, almost whispered, comment on the scene around. Lord Vaughan stood near, with a halfsullen expression of face, keeping watch over her with the steadfastness, and with scarcely more than the amiability, of a bulldog, evidently suffering from what he saw, yet unable or unwilling to resign the power of seeing it. A crowd of gentlemen was grouped around the counter, the front rank constantly changing its place, as fresh comers pressed in from behind; and for each who addressed her, Edith had a smile, or a repartee, or a sentence delivered with such sparkling coquetry of manner, that it sounded like a repartee till analyzed, to complete the conquest which her beauty had begun. She was evidently and undisputedly the centre of attraction, and her consciousness of this served to excite rather than to embarrass her; while the fact, that she had carried away the palm from her handsome but quiet and inanimate rival, (concerning whom Mr. Thornton had exhibited just sufficient interest to pique her into an effort to retain him at her side,) added a secret stimulus to her enjoyment of the universal homage which she would probably have been ashamed to confess, even to herself. Such was the sight which met Philip Everard's keen, fastidious eye; let us now record a few of the words which greeted his ears.

"Will you add one treasure more to my purchases?" inquired a gentleman of distinguished appearance, for whom Edith was collecting sundry trifles, which, after a long examination as much of the seller as of the wares, he had selected. Her eyes expressed inquiry, and he answered them by laying on the counter a bank-note far exceeding in amount the value of what he had bought, and saying expressively, "One flower from your bouquet!"

"I wish I might find many more such customers," cried Edith, as with a laugh and a slight blush she gave him a rosebud. My flowers would be very much at their service."

At the lodge of Selcombe Park Everard was informed of the bazaar; to which piece of news was added the somewhat unwelcome intelligence, that two stalls were to be held by the "celebrated beauties, Miss Kinnaird and Miss Glamis," whose names No further encouragement was needed, and the were bandied about on the tongues of the passers in nosegay was rapidly dismembered, the eager buyers and out, as the acknowledged attractions of the day only stipulating that each flower should be received -subjected to such discussion and comparison as if from her own hand. Laughter and compliments they had been favorite horses on a race-course. His resounded on all sides, as, standing up, she distribsevere delicacy was pained, and his temper ruffled; uted them with inimitable grace. When she came but he put away the unpleasant thought, and dis- to the last, however, she retained it, saying, as she missing his carriage, and pulling his hat over his placed it in her brooch, "I must have one for mybrows, resolved to steal in among the crowd, and, I self, you know." She turned as she spoke to Lord