"I would beg pardon," said he to Richard, "for having been a party to this swindle, if I had not been so duped myself. I suppose you relied on my judgment, and I'll try to make you whole, in some way."

"Do you really think," said Richard, "that the Colonel is an ingrained rogue? Is he not a gentleman, forced by pressing circumstances to turn some very short corners ? "

The Doctor looked at Richard incredulously.

"I should not like to think, Doctor," he hastened to explain, "that Miss Seabray's father is a rogue."

"French," said the Doctor, softening, "that's the only good thing about Seabray. He's a man of broken fortunesbut she's a beautiful girl." He rode along in silence, looking at the grass, and added, "She's a charming girl, and if it wasn't for her father, I don't know what I might do. The Colonel is figuring to marry her to my amiable friend, back there, for he's in the power of our beloved barefooted brother, in some way. At any rate, Chinny is rich-for this country-and the Colonel is cramped for money; so they have struck up a bargain, and the consideration, on Scabray's part, is his daughter."

had left New Bolton, and would not be back in two weeks; so he postponed the cowhiding to a more convenient season, and concluded to try wall-eyed pike.

Miss Plumb urged Richard to stay there a few days, but he declined. So she prepared, with her own gracious hands, a lunch that would have fed a pic-nic party of Choctaws, and intrusted to him a note for Miss Seabray, with many kind messages.

"When you come to found a city on your land here, please make our house your headquarters," said she to him. "I have some improvements in ornamentation, which I hope to see incorporated into your plan."

Richard promised to adopt her suggestions, and rode away in a gloomy fit of the blues, which came as the clouds come, and would go as they go, to come again some sunny morning.

Chinny was not naturally a very lively companion; and on this particular occasion he was splenetic, even bellicose, when Plumb's Wood had sunk into the grass behind them.

"She will not know of a bargain. She has pride," said the Doctor, "and wants to go to Europe, and Chinny's money will take her there in as fine style as any other man's money will. She flies high in her notions. She's no ground-bird, and, in my opinion, thinks as much of money as is good for her health. All this she gets from the Colonel. She is not to blame; but still that won't make it any pleasanter. If you want something in your house, French, next to the unpardonable sin, marry a flirt, or the child of a scamp."

He was moody and confidential by turns all the way to Plumb's Lake, and not entirely consistent, either, in many of his remarks concerning Miss Seabray.

bein' blackguarded, but I can't stand bein' throwed into the slush, 'mongst pollywogs; and I'll have him throwed out of his office of paymaster, to pay for it. The loss in money won't be much, but regardin' the disgrace of bein' throwed out by his friends, it'll be a little tedious on him."

In this bewitching way did one of the founders of Globe City exhilarate the young man whose interests had now become identified with the West, while a soft June breeze was rolling the long emerald waves against their horses' feet.

At the New Bolton Hotel they found Colonel Seabray and two men waiting for Chinny. One was a speculator and the other a railroad man. They had

been passing the happy hours away at a social game of poker, and were in high feather-shaking hands heartily with Chinny, and laughing very loud. Though the Colonel was not noisily hilarious, he looked pleased. He had lost many blocks in Globe City, ånd gathered, in place of them, five hundred dollars in cash, at the social game he had managed to make so agreeable-to himself.

The men wanted to buy Chinny's interest in a tract known as Turkey Bend; but he did not want to sell, not even for fifteen thousand dollars, although he had previously offered it for one thousand. Never before had there been a man in New Bolton so little in want of money as Chinny. He had it to lend; and what he now desired was to find some responsible men to take it "off his hands."

After much talk, however, he sold a half interest for ten thousand dollars, payable in preferred stock of the proposed railway; and in this trade he agreed to transfer his entire interest for fifteen thousand dollars, if tendered within one year from date. This was equal to canonization; and Chinny loomed up, at once, as the largest kind of a local saint. Having sold a small interest in his Turkey Bend estate for one hundred thousand dollars, as was currently reported, he would now dredge out the mouth of New Bolton Harbor, and establish a direct trade with.Europe.

There was water communication all the way by the Welland Canal; plenty of timber to build ships with, plenty of wheat to load them, plenty of sailors to sail them, and much money in the speculation. Colonel Seabray said so; Chinny said so, and he knew where money lay, as well as if he were Nature's private banker, and kept a key to all her treasure-vaults.

Chinny's stock ruled high in all the markets. He could build a church out of his own pocket, and had gone so far as to hint that it was policy to build one; that it would help the place more than any thing else-except a hotel.

While Chinny was thus towering in the financial sky, Richard was fast descending. His easy bearing had left him, and he no longer walked the streets of New Bolton with that condescending air befitting the founder of a city. He was disposed to "sing small" over his recent purchase, for it would prove a dead loss, except the shadowy claim to the quarter-section on Plumb's Lake.

As a land-speculator he had failed, from having too much hope and not enough money. Money is freight and ballast; hope is sail, and had carried him over. He thought that if hopeful people could afford to be schooled by experience, it was a good way to get an education; but in his case, the preliminary course had exhausted his pocket.

So he determined to return to his first love-the law; and for this purpose he shut himself up to review. He was busily engaged at his books one day, when there came a rap at the door. He did not answer, and the rap was repeated, this time louder.

"Mr. French," said the familiar voice of Colonel Seabray, "I have a note for you."

Then he repeated the rap, and presently Richard heard a little scuffle of feet, like a man standing on tip-toe to peer over the door. The next moment there was a thump, as if he had gone down on his knees to look through the keyhole. Richard thought it must be something urgent, and got up to open the door, but stopped as he was stretching out his hand, for he heard the Colonel's breath whistling in the keyhole. He was trying to blow out the obstruction Richard had placed there. Failing in this, the Colonel got on his feet, and went, with unsteady steps, to the stairs, where he made a great many soundings off into the abyss, trying to find bottom with his foot; then slowly feeling his way down, he finally took the last two stairs at one step, and sprawled headlong across the hall. That seemed to sober him somewhat.

"Hello, Colonel," said Chinny, "you missed a step, eh? Was you lookin' for me?"

"No; I had a note here for French, but I can't find him. Suppose you take it," said the Colonel. "I can't go climbing up and down these stairs for a little law-thing;" and then they both went into the bar-room, out of Richard's hearing, where the Colonel made copious inward applications for his contusions.

Richard returned to his room, annoyed at the little scene he had just witnessed from the top of the stairs, and at himself for his incivility. He had not called on Mary since her return from Chicago; and now to refuse her note, was barbarNo lawyer, he believed, could hope for permanent success, who so disregarded social duties. Besides, by going up there he would learn what the note contained without asking Chinny for it; and that evening he called on Mary.

ous.

"Then you really did not come here to see Miss Plumb?" said she.

66 Certainly not. I should have gone to Plumb's Lake for that purpose," he replied.

"She is here, and has been all day." "You surprise me," said Richard. "You certainly surprise me," she replied. "I think it is too bad that Miss Plumb should escape the eyes of one she so admires. She wants to see you, and sent a note by father."

"To me? I did not get any." "Yes, to you. It is not often that we have young lawyers out here, and we must make the most of them."

"She did not come here on purpose to see me?" said Richard.

"I believe she is getting some sugar and molasses, also," said Mary, laughing. "You know the Doctor is there; and she is too hospitable to let him go unsweetened. Don't be jealous, now, please; though the Doctor is rich, goodlooking, not old, not intolerably queer, as a great many doctors are. -But to relieve your mind," she continued, "I must tell you, as a profound secret, that few girls like doctors, because they know too much."

"Who do?"

"Doctors," replied Mary.

"But I thought you admired men who were wise and learned," said he.

"Not for wisdom and learning alone, for these make men owlish and disagreeable. We like that which makes men famous. Miss Plumb, for instance, would be likely to admire such a man as Mr. Gault, a young lawyer in Chicago, who often called at uncle's house."

"What makes you think so?" he asked, quickly.

"Because he's so delightful and such an ornament to society," said Mary. "Whenever I heard him talk, it seemed as if he had just been gleaning through the gardens of literature, and was returning with his arms full of flowers."

"A shining, showy, surface man," said Richard. "A shallow stream with nothing but sparkle would not suit Miss Plumb. She wants something deeper and less transparent."

"Perhaps so; even if it were a mudpuddle," said Mary, looking at him archly.

"I would like to see this paragon," said Richard, trying not to seem annoyed or appear very jealous. “I suppose, to use a floral comparison," continued Richard, "that Mr. Gault must be, among moss-roses, the very mossiest."

"The top-blossom of culture, I assure you," replied Mary.

"I have no doubt," said he, "that emulation expired in a spasm, when Gault ceased to be a boyish bud, and shone full-blown on Society's eyes, didn't it?"

"Oh, no! Emulation and envy have spasms, and cramps, and all kinds of contortions, but don't expire-at any rate, not in Chicago,” said Mary, as she saw Richard wince a little.

"I used to know Gault," said Richard, "or I would not have said what I did. He is a very large man, with black

hair."

"No, you mistake the man," she replied.

"I beg his pardon," said Richard, getting up, and extending his hand. "Allow me to apologize to Mr. Gault's friend, and congratulate you both on

the mutual good taste that made you such friends. I must say good-by."

But he did not say good-by again, for there was something in Mary's eyes that prevented him. He tried to "believe that it was best to say so, and henceforth devote himself to his books. He tried to go, and got to the piazza, where he made the profound remark that it strengthened him to look at the stars; and then they both found so many to look at-lucky and unlucky mixed together, and hard to sort, and so much strength to be gained, too, withal-that it was late when Richard climbed to his room and composed himself to happy dreams.

Probably there is nothing so suggestive to a man as the act of dressing. Every wrinkle and button reminds him of something to be done or undone. In Richard's case something was to be done; and by the time he had got ready to walk down-stairs he was conscious of having reviewed a long procession of yesterday's events, and at the heels of the caravan marched a resolution to get a room, and commence practice.

He soon found an abandoned landoffice, which he hired, subject to the sale of the lot on which it stood. This was a step ahead.

When Mary Seabray sat up in bed, next morning, she was conscious of having seen a long caravan of camels, in a dream, and each one was loaded down with a cargo of headaches, consigned to her. Then she was conscious of a knock at the door, and the next moment of the presence of Miss Plumb.

So she piled the pillows up to recline on, and blushed a little as she said,

"I had such a delightful time last night!"

Miss Plumb's lips quivered slightly, as she nodded and smiled, and folded Mary's black hair around and around her fingers.

"He was so complimentary to you," said Mary.

"Don't ask me to believe that, Mary. Why, if I were a man, I should be perfectly fascinated with you," said Miss

Plumb; “and I know that I could not care for any one else. It makes the tears come into my eyes to see how beautiful you are, lying there;" and she buried her face in the pillow. Then, tossing back her hair, she smoothed her face with both hands, till it shone again.

"I did as you suggested," said Mary; "but do you know that I was frightened at one time, he seemed so jealous of Mr. Gault?"

Both girls laughed heartily at this. "I cannot trust myself to do that again," she continued. "The fact is, I am half glad that he is going to pay more attention to his books than he

does to us. His presence here makes Chinny so jealous and annoys father. I don't know why it is that every thing I do hurts some one's feelings. I must be destined to great things in this world, or the elements would not be so disturbed when I wink. Perhaps my mission is to marry some poor wretch, and make a man of him. Did you ever wonder whether a correct censusreport would show that most women married for money, or to please their friends, or for some other motive than love?"

"When I say no," replied Miss Plumb, smoothing the hair on the pillow, "please imagine me as using a capital 'N' and a capital 'O,' which means that I never did wonder; and I do not want to hear you talk about it. As for Chinny, I wish I had him to deal with as a lover."

"I wish you had him as a lover, or hater, or any thing else, if you'd only keep him; and I will recommend you to his highness. But really, now, let us be practical, and assume that the Fates (please imagine me as using five capitals) will do their worst,—and you know they are always doing it,-don't you think Chinny could be made something of, by a woman of ingenuity?"

"will you please imagine me as using the largest kind of capitals, when I answer 'no,' to that question?"

"But if you could only hear father talk, and see him when he comes home sometimes. I never saw a man glare as he did last night, when he found that Richard had been here."

"I do not want to hear him talk," said Miss Plumb. "The natural right of a parent does not extend so far as to let a father destroy a daughter's happiness."

"Neither can I destroy his," said Mary.

"You can your own, though," replied Miss Plumb, "by indulging such thoughts. Be advised by me, and follow my plan."

"Look me in the eye," said Mary, stretching out her snowy arm, and turning Miss Plumb's face toward her own. "Is it safe to follow your plan? I am almost jealous at the thought of it.

You never heard of the lawyer, did you, who commenced pleading his client's case with a widow, and ended by pleading his own?"

"No, but I've heard of a girl who commenced pleading Chinny's case, and ended by pleading a lawyer's. Look me in the eye, and say you do not love Richard French.”

"I do not love Rich-"

"No, no, no!" said Miss Plumb, putting her hand over Mary's lips. "Look me in the eye, Mrs. Chinny, directly in the eye;" and Miss Plumb ran out of the room laughing, where Mary soon joined her. The headache had gone now, and the two radiant girls sat sipping their coffee alone, telling secrets too confidential for paper.

Most of their talk was about Richard, who was, at that moment, wondering just how much poverty he could stand, to the square inch, without being crushed.

If ever there was a Protestant by descent, tradition, educational influence, and religious conviction, I suppose I was one. A Puritan ancestry on my father's side, whose graves for near two hundred years I some time since mused over at Hartford, had determined my cast in the Roundhead type, and I hated popery as ferociously as I was capable of hating any thing. Not that I knew much about it, but Protestant martyrologies and histories of the Reformation had, with other concurrent influences, engendered a state of feeling which, though correct enough, perhaps, in some of its impulses, was beyond peradventure eminently unjudicial. well remember, when a boy, the abhorrent interest with which I watched the building of St. Peter's Cathedral at Cincinnati. Several years were spent in laying its ponderous foundations-in places eight to fifteen feet thick, and I Bounded them many a time in search of

I

inquisitorial vaults made ready for their furniture of pain, and as season after season the grand enclosure grew, I wandered through crypt and gallery hunting for secret chambers, and estimating as best I could the resistance that its massive masonry would oppose to an artillery enfilade down Seventh-streetin which I proposed to make my knowledge of the building useful. For that it was a fortress under the guise of a church, was probably at that time the best settled of all my articles of faith. But the church grew through fifteen years of building to architectural maturity, and I suppose I grew some too; at all events, I outgrew alike the belief in its dungeons, and the desire to knock it down.

All my family, and their collaterals, were Baptists,-a denomination, as I suppose, more diametrically antagonistic, in respect of church government, doctrine, and religious methods, to the