THE SILENT POOL. 
Beneath the surface of the crystal water 
Metallic shines » flood of frosted green; 
Uneven. liBo a depth Ol emerald lichen. 
Thru' ranks of dark weeds gleams its fairy sheen. 
Horsetails of varied growth and plumage somber. 
Like ancient warriors in dark armor flight. 
Like fair young maidens’ arms the pnsm hucd grass- 
Clingiii«*in fond embrace Iwfore the fight. 
Round and about this Silent Pool the ash treea 
Bend down in thirsty eagerness to drink; 
Amid their gray-green leave* show, bcenlyv iVtUj . 
Long feathering laur el-spray a that Uothc the brink. 
High up in air, some thirty feet, or oyer, 
A wild white rose above the footpath rungs. 
l’earl«8* she clasps a tough, unyielding aak-trunK, 
Ami o'er the Pool gay wreaths of blossom flings. 
Idly 1 drop a pebble in the water, 
Knch somber horsetail nods a painted head ; 
Like pearl or opal geiu. the* stone sinks slowly. 
Transmuted ere it reach 1U emerald bed. 
Mystic the emerald hue beneath the water, 
IVemUifce this tint by which the scene is haunted; 
Vainly I ask my if they wake. 
Or Is the deep and silent Pool enchanted ? 
Now as the widening ripple circles shoreward, 
Tbe plumed dusky warriors flic away; . 
The elenrbr grass blades wave bright, a nr." imploring. 
Streaking with tender green the grim array. 
Leafless a gaunt-armed giant oak. etonnsacathe.d, 
lu gnarled barrenuos? m erhangs the Pool. 
Fantastic show its knotted limbs contorted. 
Grotesque and gray among the leafage cool. 
Caught here and there amt.rl the feathered foliage 
Are gllmroo*, of the far hills’ softened blue, 
While overhead the clouds, mowy-white and fleecy, 
Float slowly on a yet intenser hue. 
From Norman times 'Us said, maybe from Saxon. 
This calm tr-rolrcled lake secluded lay. 
Pure as an infant’s breast, its crystal mirror 
Baring its inmost depths to gaze of day. , 
Some speck* there are. some clay-flakes on its surface, 
To open view revcile l. like childish sm , 
No roots have they, nor downward growth, to canker 
The purity tb.it dwells the Pool within. 
Mystic the emerald hue beneath the water. 
Fairy the tint by which the scene is haunted ; 
Vainly I u«k mv senses if they wake. 
Or is the clear and silent Pool enchanted ? 
Tlin swallow flits two-bodie*l o'er the water. 
Its four wings like a windmill's sails outspread; 
Through the dark horsetails shoots the silver grayling 
I’o sic/f the May-fly skimming overhead. 
Flying from lawless love—so inns the story 
A maiden plunged beneath this silent wave; 
There, where a holly sits the bank so closely. 
She sprang and .-auk -beyond all power to rave. 
Kit hundred years and more since that dark legend— 
Legend that stained a king with lasting shame— 
And still tho deep and silent, pool lies crystal. 
Crystal and clear as that poor maiden’s lame. 
Yet. mystic is the hue beneath the water; 
Unreal the tint by which the scene is haunted; 
Again 1 ask my senses If they wake. 
Or If the Silent. Pool's indeed enchanted 
®|t JitaiTj-Cclltr. 
“Be sure and make him go fast,” called out 
Laura, Innocently silly, as usual. 
Mr. Allardeen wrote his answer and took It to 
the post-office. Again Lucinda supposed he had 
left for the day. She was snatching a few min¬ 
utes’ rest, under the shady trees in the pleasant 
morning air, when he came striding up the path. 
“Are you—not going to Join them?” questioned 
Lucinda, timidly. 
“I think not. The man at the Inn has no horse 
that I particularly care to mount.” 
The answer brought her some sudden perplex¬ 
ity. If Mr. AUardoen stayed at, home, he would 
want lunch and dinner. What was to be done? 
NothlDg bad been ordered. She and Susan had 
both thought they were free from such cares for 
the day. 
“Would you like to come In and look atmj 
portfolio of drawings, Miss Lucinda?” 
“Oh, if I might!” she exclaimed, her eyes spark¬ 
ling and her cheeks flushed. 
They went In through the glass doors. lie open¬ 
ed his portfolio and carelessly exposed Its treas¬ 
ures. Lucinda stood entranced; for how long, 
she hardly knew. She had an artist's sye: the 
very few remarks she made told him that. 
“Here’s oueot rather more pretension,” hesaid, 
throwing open the door of a smaU. closet; In 
which, on a shelf, stood a covered drawing, lean¬ 
ing against the walk “Hid you look at It when 
you were here this morning?” 
“Indeed, no. I should not open the doors of 
your private places.” 
“This Is no Bluebeard’s clost. Look there.” 
Putting up the tissue-paper which covered It, 
the drawing, a water-color, stood out to view. 
It was a quaint old kitchen; dim, shadowy, 
lighted only hy tho embers on tho hearth. Lean¬ 
ing against the stone Jamb of the great flre-place, 
with a weary look upon her young face and her 
hands clasped despondlngly, stood an unmistak¬ 
able Cinderella. 
It was not very light, and Lucinda took In noth¬ 
ing at first but a general Idea of tho power and 
pathos uf t he picture, holding her breath for very 
delight. While Mr. Allardeen watched her eagerly. 
Her eye wandered over the canvas, grasping de¬ 
tail after detail; then to the name at the top, 
“Cinderella," then to the girl’s drooping figure. 
After gazing silently, she uttered a faint excla¬ 
mation, while the red blood fled from her cheeks 
and she burst Into tears. Cinderella’s face was 
her own face; a/ie was the Cinderella. 
“TIavol vexed you?” he asked. “I did not 
mean to. If I have, you must forgive me." 
“No, no, lam not vexed,”she answered, sub¬ 
duing her tears. “.lust when I. saw her standing 
there, I felt a great pity and thought, * Oh, she 
has to be lu the kitchen, as I have.' And tho next 
momcntl saw It was myself, and—and—It Is noth¬ 
ing, Mr. Allardeen; but life does seem hard at 
times.” 
“ You woidd rather pass your days In an artist’s 
studio than In custard making, Miss Lucinda.” 
“Please don't talk of It. Oh!” she exclaimed, 
starting, as the little clock on the mantel-plcco 
struck one. “ I did not think It, was half so late.” 
•* And what ir it is ? Where are you going? You 
have not seen all the drawings.” 
“ But, there’s lunch to be thought of, and din¬ 
ner-” 
“Dinner can be dispensed with,” he Interrupted 
laughing. “ Lunch also. Confess, now—you were j 
not going to prepare dinner tor yourself.’’ 
“No, there's cold meat for me and Susan. But. 
now you have come home-” 
“ Now I have come I shall eat cold meat too. 
And tf you don't like that, Miss Lucinda, I’ll touch 
nothing but bread-and-butter.” 
“But my aunt will be so angry with me!” 
“ Leave her anger to me.” 
That, was a red-letter day for Lucinda. She 
would never In all her life forget it. After revel¬ 
ing amidst the sketches, Mr. Allardeen made her 
sit, out under the trees, now reading snatches of 
poetry to her, now talking to her unrestrainedly 
in his pleasant, voice. By the time evening came, 
Luctnda seemed to have known him for years. 
But she had not had tho courage to tell him 
that, she drew herself. She longed to tell him; 
and two or three times the words hart risen to the 
tip of her tongue—only to be suppressed. 
On the afternoon of the day following this, Mr. 
Allardeen sat, In tho large arbor, reading letters 
that tho day mall had brought, him. Leanlug back- 
comfort, ably In the rustic summer-house, a cigar 
In his mouth, he folded up his letters and then 
took up the fiewly-arrtved Art Journal. Hearing 
footsteps approach, he looked up and saw Laura 
advancing, portfolio in hand. 
“1 don’t expect you want to see mo one bit,” 
she said, throwing back her head childishly 
and her pretty hair. “Especially Just when 
you have your letters. But I came neverthe¬ 
less. I do so want you to tell mo what Is the 
trouble with this sketch. I can't get It to suit, mo. 
Oh, Mr. Allardeen,” and she laid her fingers upon 
the tip of his coat-sleeve, appcallugly, “what 
shall T do when you go away and 1 have no one 
to help mo? You have added so much to my life!” 
He made no rpply—ungallant, fellow that ho 
was—as ho threw away his cigar, took the little 
sketch, or design, from her hand, and glanced at 
It carelessly. But In a moment ho lost his listless 
air, pushed bade the hair from his forehead, laid 
the bit of drawing-paper on the table before him 
and bent over It. 
“Tills design Ip. remarkable—very remarkable 
for the work of a beginner, Laura,” ho said, at 
length. “You area perpetual surprise to mo. 
You have such a way of getting at the heart, of 
things. What do you mean hy this sketch ? Put 
your thought, Into words.” 
He was surprised, puzzled—for he thought the 
CINDERELLA. 
fConcluded from page 30.J 
The weeks went on. A grand picnic was or- 
ganlzed for a distance; some twenty people to 
snare In it. Preparations were made in the shape Jfi- ' 
of good dishes, Mrs. Munro's share of them being /\ * 
chiefly performed hy Lucinda; the day arrlv- ^ 
od, and they started an hour after breakfast. 
Mr. Allardeen had ventured to say something ■ 
about poor Miss Gay’s making one of the party, I 
but Mrs. Munro assured him that she could ' M 
not be spared. fig 
As desired by her aunt, Lucinda took tho Re 
opportunity to put Mr. Allardeen’s sitting- 
room ,to rights and give It a thorough dusting 
when, to her excessive surprise, Mr. Allardeen 
“ Why I” she exclaimed, in her astonish- ' 
ment “la It you? What have you come 
back for?” He laughed. Zr V > A 
“ To catch you In the midst of your sins, Miss cs ... ? vf ry ;; tu 
Cinderella. What were you doing In my room?” ;W,, 
“Putting It straight,” she answered. “My -4* Y W YvVj 
aunt told me to do It.” S ^ mM 
“ Then you will have the goodness not to do 
It any more—and to put that duster out of . 
your hand. 1 cannot allow young ladles to go xj 
down on their knees for me.’’ C &fek V- „ 
She blushed a good deal. Iler heart was beat- 
log violently. Taking the duster with her, stta 
was turning to leave tho room, when her eye -J- 
was caught by a small exquisite water-color re¬ 
drawing, which Air. Allardeen Inadvertently Og 
disclosed to view In moving some papers on a XSk mlWm: f 1 . re¬ 
side table. Y’ife 
“Oh, how beautiful!” was her involuntary vjjfl i, sSfej 
exclamation. “May I just look at It?” ' 
He put It into her hands and watched the 
delighted expression, of her countenance as 
she examined It in silence. 
“You are fond of drawings?” he said. ‘h' Y 
Fond? That was not the word for it. By 
the few remarks she made, he soon found she ' 
understood art fairly well, and that It was her 
chief enjoyment In life. He said no more, 
however then, and Lucinda left the room. 
The cause of his return was very simple. 
Calling at the post-office—to which hla letters 
were sometimes addressed—as he went with 
the picnic party through the town, he found 
an Important letter waiting for him, which 
required an Immediate answer. Tothedismay 
of some of the party—for Mr. Allardeen was a 
general favorite =— he turned back home to 
write It. 
“But you won’t be long, Mr. Allardeen?” 
cried Laura. “We bad better wait here for 
you ?” 
“ Certainly not. Your carriages can'go on. 
I will charter a horse and come after you.” 
OUR FEATHERY BEAUTIE8,-See page 
drawing wouderful. No roan could bo blind to 
Laura’s beauty; William Alhtrdeen had enjoyed 
It as he enjoyed a lovely picture. But, he had soon 
discovered, or 1,nought ho had, that with all her 
little gushes of sentiment, her artless candor, she 
had no moro soul than the Venus do Medici. A 
woman without a soul could not make theso 
sketches, as ho believed. Those she brought to 
him, day after day, betrayed a power or thought, 
a depth of feeling and Insight, quite beyond his 
comprehension. Tho execution was often faulty, 
hut the power was there undeniably. And this 
was the best, of t hem all. 
“ You meant something by this,” ho went on, 
as she did not speak. “You wero not simply mak- 
iug a picture. I think I read your idea. But tell 
me what It was.” 
A step sounded on the gravel walk—Lucinda 
going by to pick some parsley. Laura hastily 
gathered up her papers—she never would let any 
one sea them, save Mr. Allardeen—but by some 
means this one sketch fell, and the wind wafted 
tt to Lucinda’s feet. 
“ Don’t touch It, don’t touch it.!” Bbrleked Lau¬ 
ra. But Lucluda, meaning no harm, was tooqulck 
for her and had picked it up. 
“Why, this Is mlnel” cried Lucinda, In aston¬ 
ishment, her eye kindling with a sudden light. 
“ Where did you find It, Laura? You must have 
got, It, from my room. And what right have you 
to show my things to Mr. Allardeen?” 
“It Is not yours-It Is mine!” retorted Laura, 
who had turned ns white as a sheet; whllo Mr. 
Allardeen, singularly Interested, stood at the door 
and looked on. “Mns. I drew It myself. How 
dare you assert ridiculous falsehoods?” 
Lucinda colored painfully. She had drawn part 
of that sketch yesterday at Runset,, and filled It In 
at dawn this morning. But sho would not betray 
Laura. 
“ Let It pass then,” sho said, and would have 
turned away to get the parsley. 
But Mr. Allardeen stopped her, laying his hand 
upon the portfolio. 
“Tills can hardly be a mistake,” ho said, gently, 
“it is better to have an understanding on tho 
spot,. Do you say this drawl ng Is yours, !^s Gfjy 
—that you did Itv” 
Lucinda looked at, Laura Imploringly; but the 
latter stood sullen anil silent ns a stutuo. 
“ l ask whether you did It, Miss Gay, Did you 
do i Ills—and this?” taking others from tho port- 
1 folio. “Speak out.” 
i Lucinda took the Rketch from his hand. Down 
In one corner, following the outline of a plantain 
leaf, sho pointed to certain minute characters. 
Looking attentively, ho read the namo “Cinder¬ 
ella.” Turning, he looked at, Laura. 
“ Home mistake,” she faltered, hands and Ups 
alike trembling; “ 1 must have taken up Cindy’s 
Instead of my own.” Yes, she had taken Cindy’s 
sketches out of her room and exhibited them as 
her own. 
What passed In the next few minutes Lucinda 
could hardly over recall. It was like a bewilder¬ 
ing dream. Laura has disappeared, leaving tho 
portfolio; on every sketch within It was the pri¬ 
vate mark, “Cinderella.” In hor own sweet hu¬ 
mility she would not liavo dared to show them to 
Mr, Allardeen. But now he had seen them, had 
praised them, hud spoken the kindest, dearest 
words of hope and encouragement. He had recog¬ 
nized In her, partly untaught, untrained as 
sho was, something akin to Ills own genius. 
Was It, any wonder that, at last she laid her 
head on the table and cried, partly with Joy, 
partly at the discomfort touching Laura? Wil¬ 
liam Allardeen laid his hand gently on her 
head. 
“Don’t cry,’Cinderella. You have surely 
found your fairy godmother.” 
Whether Bho had fouud her fairy godmother 
or not, she had found him. 
“ Which will you do, my dear one ?’’ lie whis¬ 
pered. “Stay tn the kitchen here, or come 
with me to Uve at an artist’s studio 7” 
s “I—I dare say It was a mistake,” she pleaded, 
trembling and blushing. “ Please don’t tell of 
Laura.” 
“Never mind Laura; we can do without her. 
1 want you, Lucinda. Ah, my dear ono, tho 
first hour 1 saw you, with your father’s won- 
-* derful eyes, my heart, went out to you. Will 
you come to me to my studio and bo my dear 
wife—my very own little Cinderella?" 
Cinderella burst Into tears and hid her face 
In his arms. By-and-by Susan camo clattering 
' [ down to see what had become of the parsley. 
_ “Well, and I declare I’m glad of lt!”hon- 
r estly spoke Mrs. Munro, when matters were 
I disclosed to her. “Though I believe Laura 
YJ did look upon him as sure to be here, I’m glad 
of tt. It’s a first-rate match for Cindy. Anl 
I’m afraid, what with the kitchen and other 
things, life hero was rather hard for her at 
times.” 
A SALE OF A TELEGRAM. 
BY JAMES PAYN. 
I do not, as a rule, engage In commercial 
speculation; butmy dear friend Jones Insisted 
with such eloquence upon the success that 
must Indubitably follow upon the establish¬ 
ment of the Great Butter Company—an asso¬ 
ciation formed for the manufacture of that 
commodity out of a material which shall he 
nameless, but which was by no means so pre¬ 
carious and open to adulteration as cream, and 
the supply of which was practically Inex¬ 
haustible—that T suffered the name of Martin¬ 
gale to appear, tor a consideration, on the list 
of directors. 
It Is a name well known’ln society and was, 
up to that time, untainted by connection with 
