Agnes was still more astonished, and knew 
not what to say. He began to talk of differ¬ 
ent lliiugs, and all lie said was so reasonable, 
lie never hesitated 4 he was never embar¬ 
rassed, nor yet was he loquacious; still his 
language was well chosen and attractive. 
She could only answer by common-place 
sentences, and let him talk on. At last he 
turned the conversation to town and town 
life, and asked her how she liked it. Agnes 
began <0 relate all she knew about halls and 
theaters and concerts. 
“Yes, is it not delightful to dance?” he 
asked her, suddenly. Agnes gave him an 
astonished look. “ He speaks of dancing ] ” 
she thought to herself. He pretended not to 
notice this astonishment, but continued: 
“ You arc, as it were, borne along by the 
music; you only feel the cooling breeze 
against your breast, and float along in a sea 
of light and harmony.” 
The expression in A ones’ face brightened ; 
she was going to speak, but the Student pre¬ 
vented her. 
“ To be able to forget all book dust, all 
the dry prose of everyday life at the theater, 
and when one returns from it one feels as 
though one had taken a refreshing walk in 
a magnificent forest.” 
Aoniw became quite animated; he had 
awakened all her dearest souvenirs. 
“ Yes, the theater,” she exclaimed, “ and 
wc had un excellent place in the first tier of 
boxes, so that we could sec the people, and 
that was quite as amusing as the play itself.” 
“ Indeed !” was the Student’s only answer. 
“ Yes ; and then all the balls 1 went to,— 
only think that once I went to five balls, one 
after the other, and did not come home before 
three or four o’clock in the morning. And 
then at the last-” Agnes laughed at her 
remembrances. 
“ Well, was the last ball so wonderful ?” 
lie asked, with a smile. 
“Oli no; it was nothing more than that 
Lisen Bojjs fell down, and she was so tall 
and looked so ridiculous; and Marie 
Petersen was so angry at not being invited 
to the cotillion that she went home before 
the ball was finished.” 
Agnes stopped suddenly, for she happened 
to look at the Student,, and he looked as 
serious as though thinking of something 
painful. 
“ Tell me. Miss Agnes,” lie said, in a mild 
lone, “ when you came home at three or 
four in the morning, could you, with a calm, 
happy heart, thank God for IIis protection 
over you during the night?” 
“ God ?” asked Agnes, in an astonished 
tone. 
“ Yes; you know as well as I that God is 
always present, both on small and great oc¬ 
casions. But I only wanted to know if you 
could still dance like a child. It is very 
difficult to dance like a child. One's dress 
must fit well and one’s head-dress must look 
well in the glass. Who will be there?— 
with whom is one likely to dance? These 
are the questions one asks. One must have 
one’s ears open to snap up a word here and 
there; and then to see what She wore, with 
whom He danced most, «fce.; notice if the 
supper was good and who was best dressed; 
and all this must be remembered in order to 
discuss it with one’s friends who come the 
next day Do vou not agree with me?" 
I the ground. ” You have said something like 
this. * At home you cannot think wlial oddi¬ 
ties we have, viz!, a brewer who is as fat. as a 
barrel; lie is our principal dancer! And 
then there is one we call the Student, and he 
looks like a prayer-book, printed in large 
text-’ ” 
“ That I have never said 1” exclaimed Ag¬ 
nes, in a loud tone. 
“ If not In these very words, yet with the 
same signification,” lie answered smiling. 
“Well, you have also talked of the clerk 
and laughed at the way he says ‘ Amen 1’ 
and of vottr father in his thick hob-nailed 
shoes. You know, I dare say, the old song 
of the co ntry pastor; they sing it often 
enough in town, I daresay—you have often 
listened to it; and you have laughed with 
them and told them anecdotes about the 
clergyman in the country. And perhaps, at 
the same time you were doing this, your 
father sat and thought about Ills dear daugh¬ 
ter, and prayed God to protect her.” 
Agnes did not look up, but she could not 
conceal two tears which ran down her cheek. 
“ Forgive me I” she sighed. 
“ You need not beg my pardon," be an¬ 
swered ; “ on tbe contrary, I must thank 
you for listening to these words, and not 
being angry with me. And now I hope 
you will not think, from what 1 have said, 
that I blindly hate all pleasure. But you 
know there is a difference between use and 
abuse. Now, 1 will not torment yon longer. 
You can say, with justice, that I have 
preached you a sermon ; when shall we have 
the next? Good-bye,and many thanks for 
your company!" 
Agnes did not trip along so lightly as 
usual when she went homeward. She did 
not know why, but she seemed to bear a 
voice within her, that she could not under¬ 
stand, nor yet silence; she could not think 
clearly; and when she looked at the frees, at 
the white paling, enclosing the garden; at 
the Parsonage, with its green shutters; they 
all seemed to reproach her, and even her 
father’s look seemed to do the same, although 
he smiled ns kindly as usual, and kissed her 
when she came in. She went up to her 
room; 6 he wished to cry, but could not; she 
threw herself down in a chair near the 
window, placed her arms on tbe window¬ 
sill, and looked out. She saw nothing, al¬ 
though her eyes remained fixed on the same 
Object; if any one bad asked her wliat she 
was thinking of, she would have replied that 
she did not know. Perhaps she did not 
know, either, why she went to the book¬ 
shelf, nor why she took flown a little dusty 
volume bound in black. She went back to 
her seat with it in her hand ; her eyes rested 
on the title-page, “ The Life ami Destination 
of Woman, Considered in an Evangelical 
Light.” She got no farther, but continued 
repeating to herself, " The Life of Woman 
Considered in an Evangelical Light." How 
long she might have sat so is doubtful, but 
a knock at the door interrupted her, anu her 
former friend Halvah entered with a letter 
in his hand. 
“ Here is a letter, Miss,” he said ; and re¬ 
mained standing near the door with his cap 
in his hand. 
“ A letter!" cried Agnes, awakening from 
her reverie. She sprang up ami rushed to 
talk to, no streets, no people. 1 mean to try to 
make Papa let me go back to town, but I am 
afniid he won't," 
When she had finished her letter she went 
to the door. There she remained a few mo¬ 
ments hesitating. But suddenly she opened 
the door and went hastily down stairs to 
send Halvah to the post. 
The Student had lost.—[To be continued. 
-- 
A POSTAL COURTSHIP. 
“ She is really the prettiest liltle creature 
I ever saw,” said Mr. Willoughby Vane, as 
he turned from the window for the fiftieth 
time that morning. “ Jane,” he added, ad¬ 
dressing the housemaiden, who was clearing 
away the breakfast things, “ have you any 
idea who the people are who have taken old 
Mr. Adderly’s house opposite ?” 
“ Well, yes, sir, if you please,” returned 
the handmaid. “ 1 met their cook at the 
grocer’s the other day, and she said that her 
master’s name was Black—Captain Choker 
Black—and that lie was staying here on 
leave of absence with his wife and daughter, 
the door. “ Oh, it is from Matiiii.dk,” she 
1..tr_ j.i 1 ... 
Agnes stood undecided, half smiling, half continued, seating herself with her treasure, 
embarrassed. She was not accustomed to 
such talk ; she could not deny it either, for 
had she not just, laughed at her friend’s ex¬ 
pense? “ l have never thought about that,” 
she said, “ but they never talked so of balls 
in town.” 
“ It is possible that I may be too severe,” 
said the Student, “ hut think, five evenings 
following, and until three or four in the 
morning! is this the repose, the pleasure 
that dancing should be? Is it pleasant? 
Only think how the youug girls look after a 
ball at three or four in the morning. The 
thin tulle dress, wrinkled and torn, hangs 
round them in rags. The flowers in their 
hair withered, the bright eyes dim and 
sleepy, the clear complexion pale and ivan— 
and this is t.he picture the sun sees when he 
gazes in at the window to awaken to life 
and work 1 No, let us hasten home while 
the lamps still burn their brightest, while we 
are yet gay and untired, while the music 
still sounds clearly; one then carries away a 
fair picture, upon which one may think w‘ith 
pleasure.” 
which she lore open. There were several 
sheets; she spread them out; her book was 
in the way, she threw it down and began to 
read: 
“Mr Dearest Darling 1 — Yon can’t think 
how every one asks after you —pium, mamma, 
Upt’le Erik— yes, every one, ana, last but not 
least. he, you know who I mean. Mow could 
you be so hard-hearted to gn away just now? 
Hu looks so miserable, the poor wretch! and no 
longer passes our windows proudly walking on 
Ins toes and stretching hlmsell to hi;.- full higlit. 
No, lie Is quite altered, and yest erday he began 
to take snuff 11 $ lie need; by this you can see 
bow you have turned him upside down. He 
always asks me if I have heard from you; of 
course he dances now and then wit 11 me, but 
only in order 10 talk of you, and lie declares no 
one surpasses you In the ball-room; aud then 
when 1 thank him for this compliment to me, 
he puts his bead on one side ami lisps, ‘ Vou arc, 
of course, the only exception 1' Do you know 
Dr. M. ?—he Is deflghtful! Yesterday he tried 
to dance, but tie could not keep time at all, and 
tore my new dross. You ought to see that dross, 
Agnes. It Is sea-green, with yellow stripes; 
mamma gave live rilcsdalers* a yard fur it, aud 
everybody tusked me where it was bought. The 
music plays now every Sunday in the square, 
and seven new lieutenants have come to town, 
iV tj . , , . and one named Von Hinten, who is so elmnn- 
ilul who can go home when gayety is ingl Student Hansen is engaged to Susanna 
just at its very bight?" asked Agnes Nowsnius, and ihey do nothing but took at 
“ I can and vou can too if von like- and each ol,lur “ nd walli arm ami - <»«> Agnes! 
r can, .mu you call too,11 5011 like, anti you lllngt bQ sure not to stiy anything, for t 
it you do not wish to see all this gayety end promised not t«. tell; but Mina told me. and her 
in a yawn.” cousin In Copenhagen told her, that EreokrioIc 
Agnes did not answer Tie eon tinned - will soon bo engaged. He danced with Lottes 
„ T “ill 1 , lle continued . UlCHEHT three times in a cot illion, am! on Sun. 
i will .show you two pictures Winch you, day followed her when she came from school, 
perhaps, nmy recognize. On one side a How aro you getting on? Does your Student 
pale, out-danced, fashionable lady, who sils all “ l V illc V h ] n V?L f « *|r«*»bte«nd lend you Mre- 
L -,11 ,ri 1 ; >1 ir ,„,d oi,„ 1 /' /V some books? 1 think I see you walking -ohurui- 
cougliiiig and sipping a glass ot wine. On ly by hla side, listening to Urn words of wisdom 
t he other a young, bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked which fait from his worthy lips; vou will really 
Country girl, who rises with the’sun and be quite changed into a prayer book when you 
since ljW. the lark the whnU a,,,, come hack again I Oh no, 1 don’t mean that, 
\iri - 1 1 tUe r day loug. either; you know 1 am only jostiuu. Von must 
tv Inch do you prefer r come to town soon, for wo have a singing socie- 
Agnes looked down; she felt that he ty, a riding master, a Danish theatricur-company, 
meant her and remained it,. .... and much more. I am so glad the Danish actors 
I.,.,, i. n L . I - J, He !C ‘ have come here, for the others plav such H re¬ 
sumed : Do not think that I blame you, some, dull things—enough to send you to sleep. 
Miss Agnes; but when y ou consider the Hut now we have ‘La vie Pamlenno,* and Erik 
m tlW u £ W ?J igI V OU mUSt l loW me Beard? A® Yo'uremcmbcr itwTthe t£me 
to look at town life with my countiy eyes, night student Krebs followed us home." * ♦ * 
'Phntifl I/-, /still * 1 *_ 1 _4 4-1 1 L.. 
There is still one thing 1 want to know, and 
as I have begun this subject, I may as well 
say all at once. What formed tbe usual 
subjects of conversation in town?” 
“ Ob, that is not easy to remember,” an¬ 
swered Agnes, laughing. 
“ Was it, then, so .great a matter ?” and 
the Student laughed heartily. “ Well, as 
you will not tell me, I shall' be obliged to 
guess. When you first went, to town you 
were timid, anu only answered Yes and No. 
Is it not true?” he continued. Agnes 
raised her eyes inquiringly. “ You spoke of 
your home, of the country, and-you 
spoke of me.” He looked searchingly at 
her; she became crimson. 
“How can you know that?” she stam¬ 
mered. 
“ Thank God she is still a child !” thought 
the Student. 
“ I know still more; I know what you 
have said—about me." Agnes looked’ on 
There was much more, and Agnes read 
on. Town life, with all Us flattery aud de¬ 
ceits, resumed more than ever their power 
over her. She jumped up from her chair; 
she laughed aud sang; then she fetched her 
writing materials and began to answer Ma- 
thildk’s letter She was so animated by 
the perusal of it that her pen flew over the 
paper: 
“Dearest Mathit.de; — You cannot think 
how much good your letter did me. I was so 
melancholy; I do not know why, but I needed a 
refreshing word, and so came your letter, so 
gay and friend ly; it drove away all sad thoughts 
and made mo merry again. Do you know I 
think it is that tiresome Student who makes mo 
so melancholy. He always follows me, aud 
“ Oh, indeed ! Did she happen to men- 
; lion the young lady’s name?" 
“ Yes, sir; she called her Miss Eva.” 
■ “Eva! what a charming name!" mur¬ 
mured Willoughby to himself; and then he 
added aloud: 
“ That will do, Jane, thank you.” 
Mr. Willoughby Vane was a bachelor, 
twenty-eight veal's old, rich, indolent aud 
tolerably good looking. Ue lived with a 
widowed mother in a pleasant house in the 
Clapham road, anti, having nothing else to 
do, had fallen desperately in love with his 
pretty m-a-m , and anxiously sought nn op¬ 
portunity for an introduction. However, 
having discovered the name of his enchant¬ 
ress, he determined to address her anony¬ 
mously by letter. 
Having decided upon taking this step, tbe 
next Ibiug to be done was to put it into ex¬ 
ecution ; and, having shut himself in his 
little .study, after many futile attempts, he 
succeeded in framing an epistle to the lady 
to his satisfaction ; begging her, if she valued 
his peace of mind, to return an answer to 
“ W. V., the Post-Office, Clapham Common.” 
That done, he went out for a walk, and 
dropped the letter iu the nearest box. 
Regularly three times a clay, for a week 
afterward, he called at the Post-office to see 
whether an answer bad arrived for him. As 
the week advanced Willoughby began to lose 
bis appetite, and grew so restless and irritable 
that Mrs. Vane, like a fond mother, fancied 
that, her dear boy was unwell, and begged him 
to consult their medical attendant. But her 
sou laughed at the idea, knowing well that 
his complaint was beyond the doctor’s skill to 
cure. 
He was beginning to despair of ever receiv¬ 
ing a reply, when, to his great delight, on the 
seventh morning, a letter was handed to him 
by the postmistress, written in a dainty female 
hand, and addressed 10 *• W. V.” Almost un¬ 
able to conceal bis emotion, lie quitted tbe 
shop, broke open the sea), and drank in the 
contents. 
They were evidently of a pleasing nature, 
for lie read the letter over again and again, 
kissed the envelope, put it into his breast coat- 
pocket, and hurried home to see his inamorata 
looking out of the window of the opposite 
house, as usual. 
For a moment, his first impulse was to sa¬ 
lute her respectfully, but immediately after¬ 
ward be bethought himself that, as he was still 
incog ito, the young lady would, perhaps, feel 
insulted by his action. Besides, how could 
she have any idea that he was “ W. V ?” Bo 
he went Indoors, and amused himself for three 
hours inditing a reply to her letter, which lie 
posted the same afternoon ; aud iu due course 
a second answer arrived. 
And so mailers went on, a constant inter¬ 
change of letters being kept up for a fort¬ 
night, during which lime Mr, Willoughby 
Vane spent his days running to and from 
the post-office, writing letters, and watching 
his fair neighbor from the window of tbe 
dining-room. 
“ Confound it 1 ” he would sometimes say 
to himself. “ How very provoking the dear 
girl is I She never will look this way. I 
do wish I could catch her eye, if only for a 
moment. What a horridly sour-looking old 
crab tbe mother is! Depend upon it,"Wil¬ 
loughby, that poor child is anything but 
happy at home with those two old fogies. 
Indeed, her letters hint as much.” And 
having given vent to his feelings, lie would 
put 011 his hat, and walk to the postoffice, or 
shut himself in his room and compose an¬ 
other note to his “ Dearest Eva.” 
At length, three weeks having flown 
rapidly away in this manner, he received a 
letter one morning from the young lady, 
which ran as follows: 
44 TO W. V. 
“Sir:—A s it is useless to continue a corre¬ 
spondence in this manner, I think it is now time 
for you to throw off your inuoiniito, and reveal 
your true name and position to one to whom 
you are not totally indifferent. Relieve me that 
nothing inspires love like mutual confluence. 
Prove to me that 1 have not boeu imprudent in 
answering your letters by at once informing me 
who you are. It is with no feeling of idle curi¬ 
osity I this, simply for our mutual satisfac¬ 
tion. Yours, etc., Eva." 
To which Willoughby replied by return 
of post; 
" Dearest Eva :—If you will permit me to call 
you so ! Have you not for weeks past, observed 
a young man, with hair brushed back,anxiously 
watching you from the window of the opposite 
house? And although you have apparently 
never taken the slightest notion of him, I trust 
that his features are not altogether repulsive. I 
am that individual. 
••' Charmed by the graceful nuurio of thinn eye, 
Day after uay l watch, and dream, and sigh ; 
Watch thee, dream of thoe. *i«h for thee alone. 
Fair star of Clapham—may I add tny own Y 
To quote with some alterations, the noble stanza 
of the poet Brown 1 And now I have a favor to 
ask of yon. Whenever you see me at the win- 
“ Dear Str: —Your explanation is perfectly 
satisfactory. I may also add, that your features 
are not at all repulsive to Eva." 
“ Bloss her! What a delightful little soul 
she is!” ejaculated Willoughby, 
And he went out, ordered a new suit of 
clothes, and had his hair cut. 
“Willie,” said Mrs. Vane to her son the 
next morning, “ I wish you would do some¬ 
thing to improve your mind, and not waste 
your time by looking out of the window all 
clay, as you have lately done. Come and 
read the Parliamentary debates to me, if you 
have nothing else to do." 
The worthy lady was a red-liol politician, 
and for three mortal horn's she kept him at 
this delightful task; at the expiration of 
which time he succeeded in escaping to his 
own room, where he wrote the following 
note to Eva: 
“ Dearest Eva I am overjoyed at the con¬ 
tents of your brief communication. If. us you 
say, my features are not altogether repulsive to 
you. may I hope that juu will consent to be 
mine—mine only ? Willoughby." 
Back came the reply next morning: 
“ Dear Willoug hby :—Your reply has made 
me feel very happy. 11 is very dull here—no so¬ 
ciety except my father and mother. I hope for 
more congenial companionship. 
“Thine, EVA.” 
Ill this delightful manner the days flew on 
—halcyon days, too, they were for Wil¬ 
loughby, and sweetened by tbe interchange 
of this and similar lover-like correspond¬ 
ence. On the following Monday morning 
Mrs. Vane left town on a visit to some 
friends in Devonshire, leaving her son to 
keep house at home. That same afternoon 
one of Captain Black’s servants brought the 
following note for Willoughby: 
" Willie:—H ave you any objection to my tell¬ 
ing my dear pupa nil ? Metiers have now gone 
so far that It will be Impossible for either of us 
to retract what we have written. Let us take 
papa Into our confidence. I know his kind and 
generous nature well, and have no fear that he 
will oppose our union. Pray send me a line by 
bearer. Eva.” 
The answer was us follows: 
“My Own Eva:—Do whatever you consider 
best. My fate is in your hands. It your papa 
should refuse his consent, I-. But I would 
not think ot anything so dreadful! Fear not. 
that 1 shall ever retract. Life without you 
would be a desert with no oasis to brighten it. 
“ Yours until death, Willoughby.” 
That evening, jusl as Willoughby had fin¬ 
ished dinner, lie heard a loud double knock 
at the street door; and on its being opened, 
a strange voice inquired in a loud tone: 
“ Is Mr. Willoughby Vane at home?” 
His heart heat violently as Jane, entering 
his room, said: 
"A gentleman wishes to speak to you in 
the library, sir," 
And she handed him a card inscribed 
“ Captain Choker Black, C. B. H. M.'s 
1,794th Foot.” 
" 1 will be with him in a moment,” said 
Willoughby, swallowing a couple of glasses 
of sherry to nerve him for the interview. 
“Captain Choker Black, 1 believe?” lie 
said as he entered the library. 
“ Your servant, sir,” said the gallant Cap¬ 
tain, who glass in eye, w as busily engaged 
in scrutinizing an engraving of tlie battle of 
Navarino. “ Your servant,sir. Havel the 
pleasure of addressing Mr. Willoughby?" 
Willoughby bowed. 
“ Then, sir, of course you know the busi¬ 
ness that has brought me here?” 
Terribly nervous, aud scarcely knowing 
what to answer, onr hero bowed again. 
“Come, come,sir,don’t be afraid to speak 
out! My daughter has made me her confi¬ 
dant, so let there lie no reserve between us. 
Eva has told me all *” 
Here poor Willoughby blushed up to the 
roots of his hair. 
“ You see, I knew all about it. You have 
fallen desperately in love with the poor girl; 
and, although you have never exchanged 
three words together, you are engaged to be 
married. Mighty expeditious, upon my 
word. Ha, ha, ha ! Pray excuse me for 
laughing, but tbe idea is somewhat comical! 
Iln, ha, ua!” 
As the Captain appeared to be in a very 
good humor, Willoughby’s courage began to 
rise. 
“ Don’t mention it, sir. You are her fath¬ 
er, and have a right to do what you please. 
But I sincerely trust that you have no ob¬ 
jections to offer.” 
“I? None! Believe me, I shall be de¬ 
lighted to see my Eva. comfortably settled. 
But liark ye, sir. Business is business. I 
am a plain, blunt man, and fifteen years’ so¬ 
journ with one’s regiment in India doesn’t 
help to polish one. First of all, what are 
your prospects?” 
Ami the Captain drew a note book from 
his pocket, and proceeded to examine our 
hero, as if he were in a court of justice. 
“ You are an only son, I believe ?” 
“ I am.” 
“ Good.” And down went the note in the 
pocket book. 
“Your age?” 
“ Twenty-eight next birthday.” 
“Twenty-eight! Good. Is your consti¬ 
tution healthy?” 
“ I believe so. I have had the measles, 
whooping-cough, aud mumps." 
“ Disorders peculiar to infancy. Good.” 
And the Captain scribbled away again. 
“ Are you engaged in any business or pro¬ 
fession ?” 
44 None.” 
“ Then how on earth do you live ?” 
“ On my private income, Captain.” 
“ Then all I can say is, you're an uncom¬ 
monly lucky follow to be able to subsist on 
that. I only wish I could. What is your 
income ? ” 
” About seven hundred a year.” 
“ Is it in house property, shares in limited 
companies, or the funds V If in public com¬ 
panies, I should be sorry to give two years’ 
purchase for the lot." 
“ In the new three per cents.” 
“ Good, I think I may say very good ! 
so melancholy. He always follows me. ami ask of von. Whenever you see me at the win- “Good. 1 think I may sa) 
never leaves mo alone; and I cannot send him rtm T: tu , n ‘l notice of meat present, lest my Ww gor ; of temner are vou?’* 
away either, as you mught me, for he takes mother should observe it, la a few days she will ;V.u ' 
everything in such a strange manner that it is h? koiug out of town, and then we can throw off '' CM. that s rather a difficu 
quite impossible for me to get rid of him And ah restraint. Till then, adieu! Myowneyesare auswer,” Bald Willoughby, Sm 
lie preaches to me so, that I am quite tired. Oh, ever on you. lour own first time 
Mathtlde, it is so tiresome here that I don't Willoughby Yane.” T, tt_‘ .. . . , ,, ... 
know what I shall do this winter. No one to 
About five shillings and sixpence, English. 
To which epistle, came up the following 
answer: 
“ Well, that’s rather a difficult question to 
auswer,” said Willoughby, 3 ini)ing for the 
fii^t time. 
“ Hang it, sir; not at all!” returned the 
Captain. “ If any one asked me my temper, 
I should say 4 Hasty ! sir — confoundedly 
hasty'!’ And Choker Black’s proud of it, 
sir—proud of it!” 
Bay about the average," answered Wil¬ 
loughby, timidly. 
• “Temper average,” said the Caytain, jot¬ 
ting it down. “ I think those are about all 
the questions I have to ask you. You know 
my daughter by sight?" 
“ 1 have had the pleasure of seeing her fre¬ 
quently—from the window, sir.” 
“And you think you could be happy with 
her ? ” 
“ Think, Captain! I am certain of it.” 
“ Very good. Now, karkyo, Mr. Willough¬ 
by Vane. Marry her, treat her well, and lie 
happy. Neglect her, blight her young affec¬ 
tions by harshness or cruelty, and hang me, 
sir, it I don't riddle you with bullets! Gad, 
sir, I'm a man of my word, aud I’ll do what I 
say, as sure as mv name's Choker Black !” 
“ 1 have no fear on that score, Captain. 
Unite her to me,and ifalifeof devotion—” 
“ 1 know all about that,” said the captain. 
“Keep your fine phrases for the girl’s ears. 
Give me your hand, sir; I've taken a fancy 
to you !” 
“ You flatter me, Captain !” 
"Hang it, sir, no! Choker Black never 
indulges in banter. Don’t be afraid to grasp 
my.kmid, sir; it’s yours as long as I find you 
plain sailing and straightforward. But if 
ever 1 suspect you of any artifice or decep¬ 
tion, I’ll knock you down with it. So uow 
1 hope we perfectly understand each other.” 
“ One word more,” said Willoughby. “Am 
I to understand you consent to our union ?” 
“Certainly. You can ho married to¬ 
morrow, if you please. Sir, the happiness 
of my dear child is my first consideration. 
Gad, sir, I am not a brute—not one of those 
unnatural parents people read ot iu novels. 
Choker Black may be a fire-eater in the 
field, but, at any rate, lie knows how to use 
his own flesh and blood.’’ 
“ Captain, you overwhelm me with grati¬ 
tude.” 
" Sav no more about it. Clap on your 
hat and come across the road with me, and 
I’ll introduce you to my daughter at once.” 
Scarcely' knowing what lie was about, 
Willoughby did as he was told. They 
crossed the road together, and the Captain 
opened his door with a latch-key. 
“ One moment, if you please,” said Wil¬ 
loughby, who was titivating his hair and ar¬ 
ranging his cravat. 
"Are you ready?” asked the Captain. 
"Quite.” 
“ Mr. Willoughby Yane,” cried the Cap¬ 
tain, ushering our hero into the drawing¬ 
room. Then, waving his hand, he added, 
“Allow me to introduce to you my wife 
and daughter.” 
Willoughby looked exceedingly foolish as 
he bow ed to the two ladies. On a couch by 
the fireside sal his enchantress, looking more 
be witch! ugly' radiant than ever; her m-a-vis 
being the tall, thin, angular woman iu black 
that he had frequently noticed over the way. 
" Wliat u contrast,” thought Willoughby', 
“ between mother and daughter.” 
“ Annie, my dear, Mr. \Y illonghby Vane is 
nervous, no doubt. You know the adage. 
Let us leave the young people together, and 
lie’ll soon find his longue then. Til wager,” 
said the Captain, addressing the younger of 
the two ladies, who rose from her seat. 
" Stay, sir—there is some mistake here !” 
said Willoughby. “This lady is—"and he 
pointed to the gaunt female, 
“ My daughter, sir 1” said the Captain. “My 
daughter by mv first wife.” 
‘ Aud this—” ejaculated our hero, turning 
to the young lady. 
“ Is mv second wife, sir I" 
Mr. Willoughby Vane fled from his home 
that night. About a month later bis almost 
broken-hearted mother received a letter from 
him explaining the whole atlair; and the post¬ 
mark bore the words “ Montreal, Canada.” 
-♦♦♦- 
PERSONAL NOTES. 
fleet I lane, the California Humorist. 
Bret IIarte, the California humorist, is 
an Albanian by birth, and lias tallied tliirty- 
throe on the score of life—a handsome young 
fellow, five feet eight, dark complexion, Gre¬ 
cian features, with a big nose not so very 
Grecian, mutton-chop whiskers, nicely clad, 
very quiet and unpretending in manner. 
Commenting on the foregoing, the Chris¬ 
tian Union says:—But the best tiling about 
this young author, whose wonderful power 
of characterization, chaste humor and deli¬ 
cate pathos, has given him so wide and de¬ 
sirable a reputation dining these last days, 
is, that he is a true gentleman, a man of 
great purity of life, and many domestic vir¬ 
tues. Those who have enjoyed his refined 
hospitality and that of his accomplished 
wife, and seen him surrounded by his little 
group of “ olive-plants," can attest Hint, like 
all true men, he shows to best advantage in 
his home. Iu Ibis, Beet Haute presents a 
contrast to most of the humorist writers of 
California—and she has produced a good 
many—who are generally Bohemian, and 
somewhat inclined to be “ fast.” 
Thackeray aud the Oyster. 
Mr. Fields tells the following story of 
Thackeray's first effort to swallow an oys¬ 
terSix bloated Falsiaffluti bivalves lay be¬ 
fore him in their shells. I noticed that he 
gazed at them anxiously, with fork upraised, 
then he whispered to me, with a look of an¬ 
guish, “ IIow shall 1 do it?” I described to 
him the simple process bv which the free¬ 
born citizens of America were accustomed to 
accomplish such a task'. He seemed satis¬ 
fied that the thing was feasible, selected the 
smallest one in the half-dozen, and then 
bowed his head as if he were saving grace. 
All eves were upon him, to watch the effect 
of a new sensation in the person of a great 
British author. Opening his mouth very 
wide, he struggled for a moment, and then 
all was over. I shall never forgot the comic 
look of despair he cast upon the other five 
over-occupied shells. I broke the perfect 
stillness, l>y asking him how he felt. “ Pro¬ 
foundly grateful,” lie gasped, “ aud as if I 
had swallowed a little baby." 
