FEB.46 
and were not always choice In language and ex¬ 
pression. Once or twice Ilarold felt his sister 
shiver and press more closely to him ; but when 
he stooped his head to give her an encouraging 
word or two she flashed back a smile and a mer¬ 
ry reply. 
Just as they neared Temple Bar, there was a 
stoppage; It was evident that there could be no 
advance or retreat, and yet those behind pushed 
forward, those In front backwards; so that one 
of those surging movements common In a crowd 
made Itself felt all along the dense masses which 
thronged the street. 
Closer and tighter became Harold's clasp of his 
slater, and Intense was his fear that she should 
be hurt, as he felt how painful the pressure and 
crush were to his own stalwart, well-knit frame. 
The hoarse murmurs deepened around; the mul¬ 
titude, like so many living waves, surged to and 
fro, and Cora began to feel stifled, and a longing 
for fresh air came over her. She could feel the 
hot breath on her cheek, the huge arms thrust 
near her face, the heavy tread on her little feet, 
and her repentance for her wllfullness was very 
sincere Just then. 
Anxiously Harold glanced around, and longed 
Tor a passage through the crowd; hut great as his 
strength was, it was all required to prevent the 
delicate girl by his side being seriously hurt by 
the rough movements of those around her. 
“ l am so sorry, little sister," he said, bending 
down “ It win be less dreadful In a few mo¬ 
ments. I will take care of you.” 
“I am not afraid, Hal," she auswered, lifting 
her eyes, with a forced little smile. “ Look how 
beautifully those two letters are Interlaced. What 
a pretty mouogram they would make!” 
Brave as Cora tried to appear, sho could not 
quite disguise the trembling of her voice, nor 
force hack two large toars which welled up into 
her gray eyes, and hung for a moment on the 
long dark lashes. 
Harold saw them, and felt very angry with him¬ 
self for having yielded to her request. 
“ If I could get you out Into one of those quiet 
side streets, Cora," he said, wistfully. 
“ Don’t try, Hal; you might get hurt, or I might 
lose you," she replied. 
After this there was a short silence; neither 
spoke again until a sharp, shrill cry of anguish 
rose In their immediate neighborhood, and all 
personal anxiety was momentarily forgotten. A 
delicate-looking woman, holding a child In her 
arm3, had boon unable to support the pressure 
and Jostling around her, and had felt, the little 
fellow she carried slip from her feeble grasp, and 
knew that both were In danger, Imminent danger, 
of being crushed to death and trodden down In 
the eagerness and impetuosity of the moment. 
“Help me! oh! help mo!" she cried, faintly. 
And Instinctively Cora Sinclair unclasped her 
hands from her brother’s arm. 
“ Harold,” she said, eagerly, “ help her. I am 
all right. Look! look!” she went ou, with fever¬ 
ish eagerness, •• she Is fainting; she will be kill¬ 
ed, and the child.” _ , 
Reluctantly, and yet moved by a stronger feel¬ 
ing which he could not resist, Harold, as he re¬ 
leased his sister, managed to seize the child, and 
then turned his attention to the mother. 
“ Keep near me, Cora,” bo said earnestly, as he 
caugut the drooping rorm of the poor woman, and 
In a louder voice appealed to those around him to 
make a passage and allow them to get to one of 
the deserted side streets. His words were not 
quite without effect; but In the movement of the 
people around, who tried to accede to his request. 
Cora found herself home irresistibly forward 
several yards, and entirely separated from her 
brother.—[To be continued. 
■- 
LOVE’S A. B. 0. 
“Going to Europe?" 
The speaker was one of two gentlemen sitting 
at an open window ou the second story of the 
“OceanHotel," Long Branch. Both the young 
men w*ere smoking. 
“ Yes; I am going to Europe,” was the reply. 
“ I will be frank with you, Charley, for we were 
at school together, were chums at college, and 
have been close friends ever since. I will say to 
you what 1 could soy to no one else; and I feel I 
must unburden myself to somebody.” 
“A woman of course ?” said his friend, senten- 
tlously, selecting a rresh cigar. 
“Yes; a woman." 
“Miss Temple?” 
“Isabel Temple.” 
“Just as I supposed. But look here, Hal, Is she 
not a hit of a blue-stocking ? ” 
Harry DarnlB 7 winced. He could not bear that 
anyone should speak disparagingly of the woman 
beloved; andCharley Rosslterusei the phrase, 
he knew, disparagingly. 
“ I do not think so,” he answered. “ She ranks 
Intellect above all else; Is fond of the society of 
men of ability rather than that of mere boys; 
likes, In tact, to talk of things not persons; In 
other words, Is no gossip, as so many women are. 
If that Is belug a blue-stocking, then she. Is one ? 
“Precisely. Reads Darwin, Herbert Spencer, 
and Huxley. I don’t mean to be offensive, but 
Isn't this your half-fledged female lecturer ? Be¬ 
fore long, mark me, sho’U he haranguing from a 
platform, probably in full Bloomers, with a 
monkey-jacket and a man’s hat.” 
Even Harry could hardly repress a smile. But 
he replied, warmly j 
“You do her great injustice, she is a thorough 
woman at heart, with Infinite capacities for sym¬ 
pathy, seir-aaerlMco, tenderness, devotion. Only 
nothing has yet touched her deeper nature-’ 
“ You mean that no man has ever yet won her 
love,” Interrupted Charley. 
Harry finished, without noticing the Interrup¬ 
tion : “As she Is full of character, she feels the 
need of doing something; and so throws herself 
heart, and soul Into all the movements, from the 
Radical Club down.” 
“Ohl yes; goes to feminine conventicles, 
where they read poems and essays, admtro each 
other, and listen to transcendental fools lectur¬ 
ing. Faith, Harry, 1 thought you had more sense 
than to fall in love with a girl of that kind. 
Grant she is pretty, charming fascinating, even 
1 am quite ready to admit the two last, and 1 
know she Is beautiful; but for Heaven’s sake 
don’t marry any woman who thinks more of her¬ 
self than she ever will of anybody else.” 
Harry took a turn up and down the room to 
calm hls Irritation, regretting that Lo had made 
a confidant of this cynical Charley. 
“You entirely mistake her," he said, at last. 
“ You should see her In the privacy of her home, 
as 1 have; for I first met her a year ago at her 
lather’s country-seat. Her little sisters fairly 
worship her; so do all the poor of the neighbor¬ 
hood. A woman more Tree from affectation, or 
who is less self-conscious, never lived ” 
“And she will have none of you?” 
In every way 1 have shown my love, hut she 
will not let me speak, she seems to wish to spare 
I me a refusal, and in that reveals the delicacy of 
a true woman.” 
“ Well, old fellow, I’m sorry for you. You’re 
not the sort of man either that really first-rate 
women dislike; and that convinces me that you 
overrate this Miss Temple, if she knew you as I 
do, she’d crawl on her hands and knees to beg 
you not to go away, but to remain here, and live 
for her.” 
“ Some day,” said Harry, with a sigh, “ she'll 
find she has a heart; and then you’ll see how you 
have maligned her. She’s the sort of a girl lo die 
for the man she loves.” 
“Stuff aud nonsense! She’ll die for nobody 
unless, when older, she dyes for herself: pardon 
the pun, I know It’s Intolerable, but It’s good 
enough for her. I only hope her lialr, Instead of 
coming out chestnut color, will come out blue. 
Jla! ha!” 
“ You may laugh at women who are Intellectu¬ 
al, and sneer at them for blues,” answered Harry, 
sternly ; “ but lor my parti wouldn't marry one 
who wasn’t. Think of being tied for a whole life¬ 
time to a silly woman. But with one as bright, 
as fuUof spirits, as cultivated as Miss Temple, 
for a wife and companion, one’s home would nev¬ 
er grow dull.” 
“ * A perfect woman, nobly plann’d 
To warn, to comfort, and command. 
And yet a Spirit still, and bright. 
With something of an aiiKel liKht.’ 
Heaven bless her! 1 hope the man who wins her, 
when I’m far away and forgotten, will be worthy 
of so rich a prize.” 
“ I wish him joy of hls icicle. The cold glitter, 
of steel; all brains, no heart. She Isn’t capable 
of learning even the A B C of love, and never will 
be. Forget her, Harry.” 
“ Well, we sUall never agree on this subject, so 
let us drop It., aad forget I ever spoke. What say 
you to a stroll on the Parade?" 
“ With all my heart,” was the response. 
“I 6hall see her to-morrow for the last time,” 
said narry, la conclusion. “ There’s to be a pic¬ 
nic at Paradise Rocks. After that—well, Europe." 
Little did either of the speakers Imagine that 
there had been a listener to their conversation, 
much less that the lls ener was the very lady 
under discussion. But so It was. Miss Temple had 
come to call on a friend at the hotel, and findlug 
her out, had sat down at the table, in her private 
parlor, to pen her a note. Now this parlor was 
the next room to that occupied by Charley 
ltosslter, and as the windows ot both apartments 
were open, sho heard distinctly every word that 
was spoken. It was Harry’s admission that he 
was going abroad, which first attracted her at¬ 
tention. 
A sudden pang shot through her heart, a 
spasm of absolute physical pain. Harry had 
been so devoted to her for more than a year, that 
she had taken It for granted he would always be 
so. She had, therefore, no wish to change these 
pleasant relations; as Harry had said, she 
shrank from him when ha became too demon¬ 
strative ; but now that she found ho was going 
away, she awoke to the consciousness that he 
was necessary to her happiness, aud it burst on 
her like a revelation. 
She listened, spell-bound, to what followed. 
It never even occurred to her that she was eaves¬ 
dropping; she was too intensely absorbed. 
Wlfllc her cheek flushed, halt angrily, more than 
once, at Charley’s cynical criticisms, her heart 
throbbed with strange pleasure at Harry's 
generous defence of her; the more generous she 
felt because he admitted that lie was without 
hope. And It began to dawn on her that she had 
been, unintentionally, a little selflsh in oxpecllug 
to keep him at her side, on her own terms, 
receiving everything and giving nothing. She 
saw, too, that she had misunderstood herselt. 
She had been saying all along, aud her set had 
said It also, that only weak, silly wom.m fall In 
love; that men were all alike selfish; that her 
sex wero the victims of their affections—’• loo 
emotional altogether,” as the high priest ot the 
rpythetlo club put It. it should be her care, 
Isabel had early declared, to avoid this weak¬ 
ness. Life surely had enough in it, even for a 
woman, without the need of love. But now her 
fine-spun philosophy fell from about her. Now, 
when one whose society had, somehow, become 
essential to her, talked of going away for ever, 
sho suddenly discovered what a dreary waste of 
years lay betoro her—what a hopeless, purpose¬ 
less future. And she compared Harry, mentally, 
with the other men she knew, realizing, as she 
had never done before, how superior he was to 
all of them ; nobler, truer, manlier, more Intelli¬ 
gent, better cultivated, chivalrous beyond words 
—a Sir Launcelot In all that was great and good. 
And she blushed, with secret pleasure, us she 
thought It. 
But he was going away for years. It was too 
late to recall the past. Yet there was one hope— 
a slender one, but still a hope. They were to meet 
to-morrow at the ptc-nlc; and though she could 
not take the Initiative, yet something might hap¬ 
pen. Perhaps—perhaps- 
Suddenly sue roused herself, with an effort, for 
she had been thus muslDg for long after the two 
gentlemen had gone out, and rising, ran down¬ 
stairs to her pony-phaeton, feeling like some guilty 
thing, all at once remembering that she had been 
eaves-dropplng. 
There was a great dinner-party that day where 
Isabel was a guest, hut everybody remarked that 
she was not herselt. She was dull, spiritless, ab¬ 
sorbed. Her usual gay sallies, her contagious 
wit, were absent. Little sleep visited her eyes 
that night. She was thinking all the while that 
she had discovered her secret too late; she called 
It a secret now; a week ago she would have called 
It a weakness. Harry was going, and might go, 
was almost, certain to go, without a word. 
She dressed for the picnic next day with the 
greatest care. She was in a fever when she 
reached the rocks till Harry made hls appear¬ 
ance, for she feared something might happen to 
prevent hls coming. He did not., (or awhile. Join 
her; and she was Hi a fever ot apprehension till 
he did. "When, at. last, he came up, she welcomed 
him with a bright smile; and from that moment 
she was the gayest of the gay. Never had she 
been more brilliant. Half a dozen of the most in¬ 
telligent gentlemen present were about her; she 
had a retort for each; the ball of conversation 
never flagged for a moment. But, with all, she 
was restless. She was hoping that Harry would 
give her a chance to see him alone; hut he made 
no movement to do so. 
“Why does he notask me to go for a walk?” 
she said to herself. The afternoon was rapidly 
passing; her hopes began to grow faint: she re¬ 
solved on a decided step. 
“ How very warm It Is,” she cried, fanning her¬ 
self vigorously. “ I wonder If there Is more breeze 
on the beach." 
Immediately her attendants, one and all, offer¬ 
ed to escort her to the shore—Harry among them. 
She put her arm In Ills. 
“I will accept Mr. Darnley’s kind escort,” she 
said, bowtog gracefully to the rest. “They tell 
me he Is going to Europe, and It will be my last 
walk with him. The rest of you I can see dozens 
of times yet.” 
The others took the hint, and bowing, left Isa¬ 
bel and narry alone. Neither spoke until they 
had left the noisy company far behind them, and 
quite out of sight, and had reached a rocky bluff, 
with the low, level sands stretching before them, 
and the long line or breakers whitening In the 
distance. 
“ Let us sit down here,” said Isabel. 
They sat down, and, as the sun was still warm, 
narry put up her silk umbrella, and hell It over 
her. Still he did not speak. Something m Isa¬ 
bel’s manner began to give him hope, yet he could 
hardly bel'evo it; and he feared to spoil all by 
precipitation. 
“Areyou really going to Europe ?” said Isabel; 
aud her voice trembled a little lu spite of her 
effort to be calm. “ Is It not very sudden ?” 
“ It is sudden; but It Is the only thing left for 
me to do.” 
“Why?” 
There was a tenderness in the tone that was 
unmistakable, and such as Harry had never be¬ 
fore heard. He looked at her suddenly and keen¬ 
ly. Her race grew crimson with blushes; her 
eyes fell; she turned halt aside. Then, as If hard¬ 
ly knowing what she did, she began to draw lines 
In the sand with Harry’s thin Damboo cane, which 
he had put down when he opened the umbrella. 
A wild, desperate resolution took possession of 
her companion. He was no faint-hearted knight; 
but, as he had told Charley, never before had Is¬ 
abel given him even the slightest encouragement 
to speak as a lover. At this sudden shyness on 
her part he took courage, and resolved to peril all 
“on the hazard of the die." 
Only those who have been in such straits them¬ 
selves, hoping and yet fearing, but fearing more 
than they hoped, can know how he spoke. Ills 
earnestness, hls passion, made him exceptionally 
eloquent, even for himself. 
Isabel listened with a beating heart, and with 
fast-changing color. He told how long he had 
worshipped her; how her coldness had driven 
hiui to despair; how, being about to go away Tor 
ever, ho could not leave without saying all this, 
even though be had no hope. 
“Seme happier man," he said, In conclusion, 
*• will yet touch your heart. I shall not hate him. 
1 love you too purely for tffut. Heaven bless you 
both!" 
She made no reply. But If narry could have 
seen her averted race, he would have seen that 
tears were lu her eyes. After awhile, howe ver 
the tears ceased; a look of perfect happiness ir¬ 
radiated her countenance; and then a roguish 
smile began to play round the corners of her 
mouth. She stopped, and traced, once more, 
something In the sand. But what she traced 
now were large Roman letters— the letters “ A 
B CL” 
•• Haven't you even a word for me ?” said Har¬ 
ry. after a pause. “ I haven't, at least, offended 
you?” 
“ I have some letters for you, as you may see, If 
they will do,” she answered, looking up with a 
mlschlevlous smile; and then she demurely fin¬ 
ished off the tall of the C. 
What did she mean ? Enigmatical as wero the 
words, the look made hls heart beat high, IIo 
leaned towards her. Sho did not move away, 
ne put Ills arm about her. She did not shrink ; 
on the contrary, she said, in a low whisper : 
“ Will yon—give—up—going away, If I ask 
you?" And her appealing look was even more 
eloquent than her words. 
“ I will give up ,my life, even,” he answered, 
passionately, pressing her to hls heart. 
She lay passive for a few seconds with her head 
on hls breast; then made a faint effort to release 
herself. 
“ Not yet," he said, holding her fast. “ Not till 
you have told me that you love me. It seems to 
good to be true. My happiness would be too 
greet.” 
“You must not hurry me,” she answered, with 
a saucy, bewitching glance. “ Don’t you see 1 am 
only at the ABC?” 
The look of those splendid eyes, her sweet head 
on hls cheek, the close proximtty of her tempt¬ 
ing, Inviting Ups were too much for him. What 
could he do but kiss her? 
“ There, that will do—at least, to begin with,” 
she cried, laughingly, but, blushing crimson; and 
extricating heraelf, with a sudden little move¬ 
ment, from hls arms, she said: " You, at least, 
understand the A B C.” 
He looked at her with such a puzzled air that 
she broke Into a peal of laughter. 
“Don't, be angry," she said. “ I am not laugh¬ 
ing at you. I was In a room at the hotel yester¬ 
day, next to that where you were sitting. It was 
Carrie Stewart’s room, but she had gone out, and 
I was sitting at the table, writing a message to 
her, when I heard your voice. You understand 
now. The windows looktog on the Parade were 
open In both rooms, I suppose; you must he more 
careful, Master Harry, In the future. And it was 
then I heard the talk about the A B c of love.” 
And she laughed mlschievlously again. 
“ What a veritable sprite you are,” he answer¬ 
ed, Joining In the laugh. And catching some¬ 
thing of her sporttveness, he sala : 
“ But you must bepun'shed for eaves-dropplng.” 
And he caught her once more In hls arms, before 
she could elude him, and kissed her again and 
again. 
“Oh ! hut you’re getting beyond the A B C," 
she said. “ Surely one—is—quite—enough.” 
“One will be; or I suppisc will have to be,” 
he answered. “ I am waiting for it.” 
Sae opened her eyes wide. 
“Waiting for it? Haven’t you had—a—a doz-* 
en? ” 
“ Yes! maybe. But none from you.” 
“Oh!” 
“ Certainly." 
“ From me.” 
“ Why not ?” 
She pouted. 
“ But you love me?” 
No answer. 
“ You love me ?" 
Sho looked up from under her half-veiled eyes, 
blushing rosily. 
“ It is not much to ask," he said, “ is it ? It’s 
only the A B C, you know." 
“ There, theD," she said, “ that’s the A. We’ll 
see about the B and C hy-and-bye, perhaps, If 
you behave yourself; ” aud she glided from hls 
arms again, and stood like a laughing Grace, full 
two feet distant. 
And there we leave them. But Harry was 
right. Isabel, once having loved, loved w ith her 
whole soul. 
“ She does nothing by halves ; she learned the 
entire alphabet, by Jove 1" said Charley, speak¬ 
ing of It many j ears after. “ She didn’t stop, as 
namby-pamby women do. with the A B C," 
- 
BRIC-A-BRAC. 
BY C. n. E. R. 
We are all greater dupes to our weakness tfian 
to the skill ot others; and the successes gained 
over U3 by the designing arc usually nothing 
'more than the prey taken iroin these very snare3 
we have laid ourselves. Gae man falls by his am¬ 
bition, another by hls perfidy, a third by hls aver- 
lce, and a fourth by hls lust. What are these but 
so many nets, watched, indeed by the fowler, hut 
woven by the victim ? 
The following translation was made by a 
Frenchman who professed to teach languages, 
and who thought he was telling a story In really 
beautiful English:—“A lady which was to dine 
cbld to her servant tb it she not. had used butter 
enough. This girl, for to excuse hlmselve, was 
bring a little oat on the hand, aud told that she 
came to take him lu the c r lmc finishing to eat the 
two pounds trom butler who remain. The lady 
took Immediately the cat whom was put lathe 
balances. It just, weighed that two pound. 4 This 
is all tho very much well for the butter,’ the lady 
then sho said, 1 but where Is the cat if* ” 
One often hears of “ touts" and “ tout ing.” The 
word came into use In this way-.—In the reign of 
Charles the Second, the Londoners east ot Templo 
Bar used to flock to Epsom to drink the waters, 
asthtlr West End neighbors did to Tunbridge 
Wells, on their way they were met at Tooting 
by a crowd of lodging-house keepers, tradesmen, 
etc., with so many clamorous Importunities for 
patronage, that the word “ touting" is derived 
from the name of the village where the practice 
was carried on. At least, so says Mr. Peter Cun¬ 
ningham. 
