recognize him. As he followed her down to you because I thought you were dead. I was as sure of it as if I had seen you lying in your coffin with the coins upon your eyes. If you get safe away, you need not hunt for me again. Try to be a, little truer to your wife instead." there was something half military and quite | he could not keep Jean's clumsy sabots on familiar in the white and gold jacket and his small feet, and Marthe substituted a knee-breeches which, with the high top- pair of her own. The blue blouse changed boots, set off so well the lithe figure of the his appearance completely; and when she Communist. At the same time he noticed fitted the heavy limousin about his neck, the movement of the troops, and compre- and tied the lappets of the plush cap well hended that they were forming for an as-over his ears, she was sure that no one could sault. Removing one of the sand-bags, he crept cautiously out under the carts, and reaching forward, secured two cartridgeboxes belonging to the dead soldiers beyond. It was done with the dexterity and agility of a fox; he was back in his place in an instant, and the opening walled up; but he had lost his cap with the white cock-calmly; "but as for the kiss, I only gave it ade, and from the blonde hair blown back from his forehead, Marthe recognized her chevalier in the livery of the actress. The soldiers were marching rapidly up the street in two lines, keeping close to the walls on either side. The only gun in the barricade was fired incessantly, and a soldier fell at each report; but on they came none the less surely, not firing a shot until actually under the barricade. Then a puff of light blue smoke rose from the front of the column, and Marthe saw two white arms toss in the air, a slender figure which sprang straight up, and then fell backward with upturned face, and the soldiers were leaping the barrier without opposition. Only three dead men! They stood within the barricade, surprised and disconcerted; then they divided into two parties, one to go back and order forward the dead-cart, and the other passed by Marthe, as she crouched behind a cluster of cedars, on their search for fugitives. Urged by a blind instinct, Marthe hurried down to the little fort, so well defended, and knelt beside her chevalier. He had been a bad man, and the love with which he had loved her had been an unworthy one. But still he had loved her. She had heard it from his own lips but a short time before, and moved by a great pity, Marthe kissed again and again the beautiful face in her lap. Was it that he was only feigning death, or that he had been stunned, and the touch of her lips aroused him? "Where are they ?" he whispered, opening his eyes, but not moving. "They have gone for the moment. Now is your chance. Come quick with me," said Marthe, who saw before her the hope of saving the man she had loved. Down one narrow side street, across a court, through an alley into another court, up the back stairs, and into Marthe's little room. "But it will never do for me to stay here. Have you no disguise you could lend me? This livery is too conspicuous, and it has already been marked." Marthe opened Jean Cottin's chest, and took from it a peasant's suit of clothes. He threw his elegant boots into a corner; but There were soldiers at the end of the street when the peasant passed out of the door and walked with a lazy slouch in the opposite direction. "What a good actor he is!" thought Marthe. "He will get off." And flying up the stairs, she hastily disjointed the stovepipe, and hid the top-boots within it, cramming the gold-broidered livery into the little stove. Then, hearing voices below, she descended again, and listened in the little passage to what the soldiers were saying. "I tell you," said one of them, "the old lady is a foreigner, and does not understand French. Where's the corporal? Let him try her with a little German." "Haben Sie," stammered the corporal, "einen Mann gesehen, Madame ?" But Marthe's mother composedly continued her knitting. She had seen the futility of replying at guess to what people said to her. "She is not German," said the corporal. "Here, Auguste, speak to her in English." And Auguste, rubbing his clasped hands nervously, and advancing very near to the old lady, inquired, "Have you seen to pass by, in a white trowser, a man with gold trimmings sewed on ?" Then Marthe's mother, placing her spectacles carefully across her nose, looked at the man steadily, and remarked, in good French, "I'm a little hard of hearing." A bluff fellow, who had listened impatiently to this conversation, exclaimed, “See here, comrades, I believe she's only shamming. He may be hidden in this very house, and I mean to search." But the search was to very little purpose, for he did not even find the livery which Marthe had just hidden. "Marthe," said her mother, after they had gone, pointing to the fragments of Jean Cottin's gift, which the jarring of the cannon had shaken from the wall, "it must have stormed terribly last night. Did you know the remnants of an ancient round tower, stand rows upon rows of little heart-shaped chevaliers, that Marthe fills with snowy cream-cheese which Jean carries to Paris, with pats of butter shaped like yellow waterlilies, and stamped with a jonquil. While Marthe is petting Bloom, her black Holland cow, we will step into her neat little salon, with its floor waxed like a mirror, and its deep-seated windows full of geraniums and fuchsias, and examine the pictures that hang upon the walls. The day that they were married, Jean and Marthe stepped into Gonpil's art store and selected every engraving, lithograph, or photograph of the paintings for which she had posed. Here they are, and a choice art collection they make, with the names of many noted men in the corners. A very few originals there are too, for Marthe treasures these souvenirs of her life as a model, and Jean is thriving, and the artists have not been exorbitant when Marthe has requested a reproduction of even a great picture. Even with the aid of his disguise, Arthur Chevalier did not escape; he was arrested on suspicion, and confined at Vincennes. It was some time after the Commune had been quelled that a neighbor read his name in a list of the prisoners who had been favored with a trial and then shot. Marthe heard it without a tremor; he had been dead to her since the day she had heard him confess his love for her in the boudoir of the actress. On the walls of Arthur Chevalier's prison was found, after his execution, a poem, which was supposed to be a prophecy, though no one came after his death to kiss him in his coffin: his neglected wife was far away, and Nathalie, though she anticipated his fate when Marthe returned the livery, could not compromise her position by any show of sympathy for a condemned Communist. This was the poem, perhaps it was not a prophecy, but a souvenir: LOVE IN DEATH. "I come not now in mockery," I did not see her as she came, My soul was wrapped in dark; The coined weights were pressing close Her words of tardy tenderness For the first time I turned to her On a mouth all unresponsive, On the close-locked lips of death, Perhaps I only dreamed them, Touch of fire! Ah, how it thrilled me! No, a thousand times far sweeter Having once drunk of thy breath. Dream on, dream on, O heart of mine! Dream, while so lowly lying That, though she scorned thee, living, The rest of the story is quickly told. A few miles from Villier-le-Bel lies a dairyfarm, belonging to the Duc d'Ayen-a moated grange, more blithe, but not less picturesque, than that of Mariana. In a cool, lowbrowed room, whose thick stone walls are ANSWER FOR ME. WHAT Would I do for you, my dear, Mere man and woman, not husband, wife, I love not easily, love but few: Light come, light go, is not my way: For when it enters surrendered hearts If I were king of the world, my dear, You could not be more my queen than now; "THERE, WEEK BY WEEK, THE PARSON STOOD, THE SCRIPTER TO EXPOUND." YES, I've been deacon of our church Nigh on to fifty year, Walked in the way of dooty, too, And kep' my conscience clear. VOL. LIV.-No. 320.-15 I've watched the children growin' up, Seen brown locks turnin' gray, Then good old "China," "Mear," and all, But that old pulpit was my pride- Jest room inside to put a cheer, (I'll own I did get narvous when Well, well! I tried to keep things straight- They laughed at all those pious scenes I'd found so edifyin'; Said, "When the parson rose to preach, He looked a'most like flyin';" Said that "Elijah's chariot Jest half-way up had tarried;" And Deacon Brown sot by and laughed, And so the p'int was carried. IN A CRANIOLOGIST. N the autumn of 1874 I went to call on | months to be a hopeless enigma. I shall Dr. Hamilton Theack, a gentleman resid-proceed to relate the incident I refer to, and ing in an elegant establishment, No.- - West how I discovered Dr. Theack's connection Twenty-third Street, New York; and this with it. In order, however, to make my visit I was induced to make by a very cu- narrative perfectly clear, it will first be necrious circumstance indeed. Accident had essary for me to speak of Dr. Theack's charshown me, or seemed to show me, that Dr. acter, and of the circumstances under which Theack was connected with an incident as I made his acquaintance. singular and mysterious as if, instead of occurring in the prosaic nineteenth century, it had taken place two hundred years ago; and I must say my curiosity was excited to the very highest degree to ascertain the solution of what had appeared to me for some I first became acquainted with him at Harvard University in 1859. He was at that time about twenty years of age, and was in many points of view a most interesting and even remarkable person. He was slight in figure, stooped somewhat, and his face was |