He leaned across the window-ledge.

"Do you not sing, Miss Cora ?”

"Yes, Mr. Clymer."

"I have never heard you."

"You have never asked me."

"I shall ask you now. Miss King, will you favor me with a song ?"

And she sang-a little sea-song, full of the murmur of waves and echo of low, wandering winds; not a powerful voice, or one of great scope, but holding the soul of all sweetness, and perfectly trained, and never attempting more than it could do. Clymer was delighted. He knew good music, and this little girl's performances were delicious.

He held out his hand toward her when she stopped. "You sing beautifully," he said, with genuine feeling in his voice. "Won't you come out here and talk to me

now ?"

"My lord must be amused," rising at once.

sacrifice to the dramatic proprieties. "Long time ago" certainly sounded much better than four weeks ago. "She was very beautiful, and you are very sorry," sighed the sympathetic voice.

"Very sorry? For a long time I thought there could be nothing else in life for me. The old scar aches sometimes now."

John Clymer was not a sentimental young man, nor an unusually untruthful one, but he wanted to interest Miss King, and he could conceive of himself in no more striking posture than that of broken-hearted lover. That attitude is supposed to be irresistible to the average feminine heart. "And you will never see her again ?"

"I do not know. She is very gay. Yet, I fancy we shall meet again."

"And then ?"

"Then, Miss Cora? For some deaths there is no resurrection!" gloomily.

She rose and glided away from him to the piano. She

She passed out of the room into the hall, and so joined him where he sat. Her white, thin draperies floated like a soft cloud; there was a scarlet gleam of garden-flowers in her hair and on her breast. Some delicate, intangible perfume drifted faintly to him as she came. She sat down in the great wicker chair he gave her, and her pose was as graceful as any marble nymph's.

She had when she talked a way of looking straight into her companion's eyes. Her own were very blue, very childlike. Then, when she was very much interestedand that happened often enough-a little frown would draw her eyebrows together, and make small, becoming wrinkles across the smooth forehead.

But to-night she was not looking at John Clymer. The small, firm white hands were dropped in her lap; her head was thrown back against the chair-top, showing all the lovely curves of chin and throat, and the earnest eyes were very far indeed out at sea.

Clymer sat looking at her so intently, that, when she suddenly turned her gaze on him, he was startled into telling the truth of his thought.

“What a glorious woman you will make !" "Shall I ? On what do you base your prediction ?"— quite unfluttered.

"No matter; I'm not going to spoil you by flattery. A child of your age ought not even to guess that she is pretty."

"A child of my age! So I am pretty, Mr. Clymer ?" The question was asked as a child might have asked it. The frank blue eyes sought his; the arched brows straightened and drooped in the piquant trick they had; and he answered, fervently:

"Lovely !"

Whereupon she laughed aloud-a trilling, honeyed laugh-a sound he had never before heard from her lips. An hour after that an hour partly filled with silence, partly with "discursive chat"-John Clymer found himself saying:

"I'm a great many years older than you, Miss Cora" (he was twenty-four), "but I am tempted to be confidential."

"I shall listen."

"Well, it is only a variation of a very old story; one you will probably hear a great many times in the course of your life. A long time ago I loved a very beautiful girl. I thought she cared for me, and-I was mistaken."

He paused, rather surprised at the shortness of his story. As to the little fiction contained in it, that was only a

of most situations. She played a sighing minor nocturne, and followed it by a pathetic little "good-by." The whole thing was exquisitely dramatic and tasteful. Then she rose and gave him her hand through the window. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Clymer."

"You are a dear little girl," warmly stooping to kiss the small hand he held. But it slid out of his grasp, and his lips touched his own fingers instead. After which Miss King disappeared.

Miss King's

After that, Clymer found smooth sailing. manner toward him was bewitching. No younger sister, pitying, admiring, sympathetic, could have regarded him with more tender eyes. Clymer was not a bad man. In a fortnight he had forgotten his role of amateur villain. She was such a gentle, tender, loving little thing. Who knew that she might not, after all, grow to be one of the exceptions that must exist to redeem the sex! And what was to hinder the prolonged existence of their present relations?

In all the time he took no lover-like steps in their friendship. There were not many waking hours that she was not in his sight, and his eyes were never weary of her. Now and then, when some reminder of Kate Berri came suddenly in his way, sharp, fierce spasms of pain would seize him, and for a few hours Miss King would see a clouded face and troubled eyes. Then the fit would pass, and there would be sunshine again.

Mrs. Griggs, good, commonplace, sensible woman, watched this growing friendship with evident satisfaction. "She was sent here for me to take care of," she told Clymer. "I shall be very sorry to let her go when the Summer is over."

I think these spasms of remembrance were the only barriers between Clymer and the way into which he finally drifted. He put Kate out of his thoughts as speedily and as thoroughly as he could. There was too much unaffected pain in it. It was easier, better, to listen to Miss King's cooing voice, to yield to the soothing magnetism of her presence.

It was

The mill filled very few hours of each day. necessary to see that the men employed made at least a pretense of work. Beyond that, his time was quite at his own disposal.

But one day-the day the machinery came-he was away nearly the whole time from early morning. Coming back at night, he found the house hushed and deserted. Mrs. Griggs had gone to the nighboring town on a shopping expe lition, and Miss King was with her. They were not to return till the next day, and Clymer was thrown

on his own resources for the evening. A letter that came in the night's mail did not help him.

"I warned you," wrote this gossiping friend. "And now rumor says that Miss Berri and Major Montrose are on matrimonial terms. A soldier's wooing-he has been here three weeks."

Clymer, lying face down among his tumbled pillows, was groaning over this new blow. I think he cried a little, such

tears as men cry on occasion when their hearts or their vanity or their self-love gets wrung by woman's fickleness. And then and there, with his face scarcely dry, he declared to himself

that, after all, Cora King

was the one of the two worth loving; that since Miss Berri had so

soon off with the old love, there was no reason why he should longer persist in keeping his share of the promise. And since "masterly inactivity" was not a part of his tactics usually, it is not strange that before he fell asleep he had determined that Miss King should at least have the opportunity of con

soling him.

ence in their relations? Possibly, Clymer, recalling past days, had assured himself that opportunity to tell his story would not be wanting. And now three, four days went by, and in all the time he spent with her he found no space for that narrative.

Not that she was less charming. She had that beauty that bears daylight. She asked no odds of light and shadow; she needed not many of dress. The sweet girl

face was unvaryingly beautiful. Clymer, after the manner of men, finding what he wanted just out of reach, began to fancy that he wanted it very much. Something of the ardor of a genuine lover began to get into his looks and little

speeches. Miss King's calm eyes apparently took no note, but Fate seemed to do a great Ideal of gratuitous interfering with his small stratagems. One night Clymer brought Miss King a letter. She had not many correspondents, but among them was a Miss Ger

trude Stanley, to whom she wrote incessantly and voluminously. Miss Stanley's replies seemed

I of the same order. Cly

On account of which state of things, I asserted, at the beginning, that John Clymer had followed the example of that traditional nursery hero.

Having made up his mind as to his future proceedings, nothing remained but to put his resolution into action. Did Miss King, returning next day, feel any subtle differ

The piano was silent that night. Clymer, going down just in the tender edge of twilight, instead of an empty parlor, as he had expected, found Miss King crouched down in a corner of a sofa, not absolutely in tears, but with a very watery shadow on her fair face.

"What is it ?" bending tenderly over her. The clouded face went into eclipse behind hands and handkerchief, but there was no word of reply.

know you, I have learned that life will be incomplete without you."

He paused in his little speech. Miss King gave no sign. He was forced to go on.

"Cora, won't you speak to me? I love you!" She sat up then, her eyes very wide open.

"Oh, Mr. Clymer !" she said, half reproachfully, half in utter amazement. He smiled at the ingenuous face and voice.

"You are not frightened, dear, and you are not going to send me away ?"

"No, only Oh! Mr. Clymer, please, you mustn't talk about it !" catching her breath.

"Very well, we won't talk about it. Only now, you know, you must tell me what troubles you ?”

Thus John from the heights of his superior age and experience. Of course she was fluttered and frightened; but the warm little hand in his was not withdrawn, and he felt a comfortable sense of proprietorship.

"Gertrude Stanley-my very dearest friend, and I have not seen her for three months-is to be in N- day after to-morrow. She is to wait there three hours for a train on the Northern Road, and she wants me to come in."

"Well ?"

"I can't ask aunt to go again so soon, and she will never let me go alone."

"There isn't any need. I am going in myself on business. We will start early and drive in, and you may spend your time with Miss Stanley while I am about my engagements."

She started up.

"DEAR MR. CLYMER:-I must confess to a ruse de guerre. My friend was Mr. George, instead of Miss Gertrude, Stanley. He came as I expected, and we were married fifteen minutes ago. It was all quite regular and proper. A friend had secured a license, and we had witnesses, etc. When you receive this we shall be on our way to Baltimore, where, I dare say, there will be quite an exciting little storm.

Dear Mr. Clymer, I am so sorry that your heart should be wrung a second time. But you recover so quickly that I think you will be quite fresh for a third experience before the Winter begins. Kate Berri is an old school-friend of mine, and I had the story of that romance before our idyl began.

"Thanks for the assistance you have given my plans. I hope you won't think me ungrateful. I shall always gladly remember

you.

"P.S.-I haven't told Kate."

CORA KING STANLEY."

There! I hope you can appreciate something of the state of mind in which John Clymer took this news, and the letter inclosed in his own, home to Mrs. Griggs. His recollections of the scene with that agitated lady are somewhat confused. He does not recur to them oftener than necessary.

"She was sent to me to keep her out of the way of this George Stanley. I thought she had forgotten him, and fancied you instead."

"It seems we were mistaken," rather bitterly. "However, being a minor, I suppose this marriage will not hold, if that is any comfort."

"A minor! She was twenty-one day before yesterday."

Two months afterward, in the glow of a dreamy October day, Kate Berri and John Clymer stood together on the

"It isn't trouble, and you have the right, certainly, if any one has."

At which crisis Mrs. Griggs appeared. That lady agreed to the arrangement with less opposition than might have been expected. Perhaps she had had some hint of the turn affairs had taken.

Miss King was very thoughtful all the next day. More than once Clymer saw tears in the blue eyes, but that was not so very strange; and if she shrank from him with a half-frightened, pleading look in her face, it was only in keeping with his ideal of girlish delicacy. But she let him kiss her at night-just the faintest, lightest touch on her forehead-and then she was out of his reach.

The ride next day was delightful. The day was perfect, and Miss King was in her gayest spirits. They reached N- and the station fifteen minutes before the train was due.

"Don't wait for me.

You said you were already late for your engagement. We shall go straight to Mrs. Graham's, and you may come for me there." Mrs. Graham was an old friend of Mrs. Griggs. "I don't like to leave you so, but it seems unavoidable," regretfully.

"I don't mind it at all; it is only a few minutes to wait. If she doesn't come, I shall go there at once. You've been very good to me, Mr. Clymer," giving him her hand.

And so he went away and left her, and for the next few hours was thoroughly absorbed in his business.

When it was over, a little startled to find how much time had gone, he went to Mrs. Graham's. That lady knew him slightly, through his connection with Mrs. Griggs.

Miss King was not there. She had called in the morning with a gentleman, and had left a note for Mr. Clymer; and in Mrs. Graham's parlor he read the following aston ishing document:

night.

66

Very well, if you are properly repentant, and are willing to be forgiven."

"Am I not? I was absurdly jealous and unreasonable from the very beginning. And when I heard you were engaged

"There never was a shadow of a foundation for that

story. Major Montrose married Laura Kane a month ago." "I know. I have a confession to make. I'd better get it over with. It's enough to make a man sink into the ground to think of it. At Mrs. Griggs's there was boarding a young lady-a Miss Cora King

Kate laughed.

"I'll spare you that, John. I know the whole of it. Cora always was a bright little thing."

"You needn't have told her about our quarrel, at all events," half vexed.

"I tell her! I haven't seen or written to her in two

years. She wrote me just after she was married, and gave you a very good character, indeed, in spite of the uncertain state of your affections."

"The little serpent !" "Don't call names.

It isn't dignified."

"It's a great relief to one's mind. For instance, when I call you dearest, best—" "Don't be absurd, John.”

A TRIBUTE TO THE BIBLE.

THE Book is immortal, believers love it and will not let it die. And they have felt its influences in a variety of forms, for no volume ever commanded such a profusion of readers or has been translated into so many languages. Such is the universality of its spirit that no book loses less by translation, none has been so frequently copied in manuscript, and none so often printed. King and noble, peasant and pauper, are delighted students of its pages.

Philosophers have humbly gleaned from its pages, and legislation has been thankfully indebted to it. Its stories charm the child, its hopes inspire the aged, and its promises soothe the bed of death. The maiden is wedded under its sanction, and the grave is closed under its comforting assurances. Its lessons are the essence of religion, the seminal truths of theology, the first principles of morals and the guiding axioms of political economy. Martyrs have often bled and been burned for attachment to it. It is the theme of universal appeal. In the entire range of literature no book is so frequently quoted or referred to. The majority of all the books ever published have been in connection with it. The fathers commented upon it, and the subtle divines of the Middle Ages refined upon its doctrines. It sustained Origen's scholarship and Chrysostom's rhetoric. It whetted the penetration of Abelard, and exercised the keen ingenuity of Aquinas. It gave life to the revival of letters, and Dante and Petrarch reveled in its imagery. It augmented the erudition of Erasmus, and roused and blessed the intrepidity of Luther. Its temples are the finest specimens of architecture, and the brightest triumphs of music are associated with its poetry. The text of no ancient author has summoned into operation such an amount of labor and learning, and it has furnished occasion for the most masterly examples of criticism and comment, grammatical investigation and logical analysis. It has also inspired the English muse with her loftiest strains. Its beams gladdened Milton in his darkness, and cheered the songs of Cowper in his sadness. It was the star which guided Columbus to the discovery of a new world. It furnished the panoply of the Puritan valor which shivered tyranny in days gone by. It is the magna charta of the world's regeneration and liberties. The records of false religion, from the Koran to the Book of Mormon, have owned its superiority and surreptitiously purloined its jewels. Among the Christian classics it loaded the treasures of Owen, charged the fullness of Hooker, barbed the point of Baxter, gave colors to the palette and sweep to the pencil of Bunyan, enriched the fragrant fancy of Taylor, sustained the loftiness of Horne and strung the plummet of Edwards. In short, this collection of artless lives and letters has changed the face of the world and ennobled myriads of its population. Holding, as I did to-day, the Bible of Luther in my hands, with its wooden cover, I could not but thank God for His precious Word, for its remarkable preservation and its most blessed and comforting truths.

you live long"; "Live happy "; "I give this love-pledge." The word "Remember" has been found engraved on a stone above the representation of a hand pulling the lobe of an ear. This action was a sign of affection, and Napoleon I., when he was in a particularly good humor with any one about him, would pull him by the ear.

The wedding-rings of kings were often of considerable value, and usually of gold; thus, Henry V.'s wedding-ring was made from one he used at his coronation, and Henry VII. paid for his an amount equal to seven pounds at the present day. But gold had not in old times the pre-eminence as a material for rings which it at present enjoys. Rings have been made of silver, which is supposed to be symbolical of sweetness and melodiousness; of iron and steel, as the representatives of durability; or of brass, leather and sedge; and persons have been legally married with curtain-rings and the bowls of keys. Among the Jews it is different, for the wedding-ring must be of a certain value, and, moreover, it must not be borrowed for the occasion, as it is sometimes among the Irish, but must be the absolute property of the bridegroom.

In old times rings were frequently worn on all the fingers, but there is a very old and widespread superstition that the fourth finger of the left hand (which is the peculiar place for the wedding-ring) is in a very special way connected with the heart. The old divines never tired of pointing out the symbolical character of the wedding-ring, and even now many women believe in portents connected with their rings. They will not take them off, and are in dismay if the worn-out band snaps or bursts. It was these beliefs and superstitions that horrified the Puritans, and made them attempt the hopeless task of abolishing the ring :

"Others were for abolishing

That tool of matrimony, a ring,

With which the unsanctifled bridegroom
Is married only to a thumb;

(As wise as ringing of a pig

That used to break up ground and dig)
The bride to nothing but her will,
That nulls the after-marriage still."

Since then no attempt has ever been made to abolish the wedding-ring, although in the present age "reformers have arisen who have wished to abolish marriage itself.

THE WEDDING-RING

A BRIDE's three ornaments were formerly: (1) A ring on her finger, which betokened true love; (2) a brooch on her breast, which betokened chastity; (3) a garland on her head, which was a crown of victory and gladness.

The wedding-ring in olden times varied in appearance according to the fancy of the maker; thus, some rings were adorned with gems, some were plain, others were engraved. The serpent with its tail in its mouth, as indicating endless affection, was a frequent symbol in early Christian times, and the clasped hands or fides was another. The wedding ring under the Lower Empire usually contained a stone, on which was engraved the heads of the bride and bridegroom, and also, as a rule, the names of the wedded pair. The practice of placing mottoes upon rings was nearly universal less than two centuries ago, and it is strange that so pretty a custom should have been allowed to fall completely out of use. The Greeks and Romans engraved mottoes on their rings, such as: "May

INDIAN HIEROGLYPHICS.

ABOVE the Omaha Mission is a lofty escarpment of coarse-grained sandstone, from one hundred to one hundred and fifty feet high; and about half-way up are carved out numerous Indian hieroglyphics, as pipes, canoes, various kinds of animals, rude representations of the Indians themselves, etc.

The question at once arises, Who carved them? The Indians now living cannot account for them, and call the rocks "medicine"'-a term which they apply to all things that are mysterious to them. The characters closely resemble those on their robes worn at the present day, and are doubtless emblematical of some important event in Indian history. Similar ones are still to be seen in other localities, especially in the mountains.

A small creek, which flows into the Missouri a few miles below the "Running Water," has an Indian name, which signifies, "Where the dead have worked," from the fact that upon the high chalky walls that form its banks are some of the same mysterious carvings.

These coarse sandstones, or chalky limestones, are well adapted for recording their hieroglyphical history, and for