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FOR APRIL, 1879.

Was he thinking of his lost love, Milicent ? did he picture her a willing fugitive, a happy, if guilty woman, draining the cup of joy with feverish eagerness, only to find the dregs of shame and bitterness ?

Nay, the fire in Gilbert Armstrong's eyes was not the savage glare of jealousy, the look on his face was not that of a man who knew he had suffered a shameful loss. But there was something in his countenance which had not been there formerly; a subtle change of expression, telling that the man's mind had passed through a trying ordeal, and had gathered strength from desperation.

The sound of his housekeeper's voice aroused him from his reverie, and he turned into the parlor where breakfast awaited him in solitary state. Susan Marks brought his tea and rasher, and enlivened the quiet room, while she remained, with scraps of the choice and original conversation which distinguished her.

"I don't know whether it's cats, or what have done it," she said as Gilbert sat down, "but something has rolled on my gilly flowers and stocks, and broke 'em all down in the night."

"Where?" asked her master.

"On the border there, you can see for yourself," said Susan advancing to the window. Gilbert rose, and came to her side. Following the direction of her gaze he saw that some of the plants nearest the pathway were crushed

and broken.

"Perhaps Bruno may have got loose," he suggested, his eyes still upon the border.

"Then he must have chained himself up again, for I was in the yard at six o'clock this morning, and he was tied up then."

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"It must have been cats then," said Gilnever mind, I will tidy the borders for you to-day, Susan, I mean to have an idle

day."

"Well," replied the old woman, not easily conciliated, "it is not often you do a bit of gardening here; though you are so fond of it. Now Mrs. Gray's garden "

A shadow passed over her master's face, but he answered with a loud laugh-a shade too loud perhaps for real jollity,

"So I never garden at home, eh, Mrs. Marks; what do you suppose I was doing last night before dark, while you were gossiping up

town ? "

"Not gardening, I'm sure," retorted the old

woman, "else I should have seen it."

"It was too dark when you came home," he

that waste patch by the woodhouse."

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"Never! cried Susan Marks. "Well that will be a good job done. What shall you sow there ?

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"Sow!" And Gilbert Armstrong paused. "Aye sow! You won't let it lie fallow, I reckon ? "

"Oh no, I shall finish digging, and rake it to day, then I shall consider."

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"Ah! that's just like you men," rejoined Mrs. Marks contemptuously, now I should sow some winter lettuces and radishes, they are always useful, you know."

"A capital idea," said Gilbert Armstrong, and then betook himself to breakfast, while his serving woman retired to her domestic work.

When his meal was over, Gilbert went out to his mill; he sauntered through the rooms and looked at his men, went into his office and read his letters, but he did all with an air of being either idle or pre-occupied. This was no unusual thing with him, and merely caused his men to remark with a grin, when his back was turned, that "the black cat was on the governor's shoulder again."

He loitered down the garden pathway, and looked moodily at the crushed and broken flowers; with a dark shadow upon his face. At length he took his spade-it had the appearance of having been newly-used-and crossing the mill-yard, he stepped into a disused patch of ground which stood between the fine old garden, and the mill-buildings. The men, variously engaged, saw him enter.

"'Tis to be hoped," said one to another, he'll dig his bad humour into the ground," to which his fellow assented.

If to work with a will was digging his bad humour into the ground, then Gilbert Armstrong did so. A portion of the spot had been dug before, as he had told Susan Marks, and there was an earthy smell from the newlyturned clods. This patch had formerly been part of the garden, so the soil was light and easy to turn, yet the sweat poured from Gilbert's forehead as he worked hard to reclaim this tiny waste bit of his possession. Over and over he dug the spot, the ugly shadow darker than ever on his stern face; he raked the clods smooth, and made neat the edges; and when one o'clock struck, the unused slip of ground by the woodhouse, was lying carefully tilled under the October sunshine, looking as if good seed was sewn there. Did Gilbert's bad humour lie under those sods?

As the Colemarsh clock struck the hour,

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death to come and end her suffering. She was bowed down with shame and misery; her lover had forsaken her, he had thought over his plans for their union, and at the last moment had shrunk from the sacrifice involved in making her his wife.

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So she reasoned with herself, and I think in that long miserable day, Milicent Gray paid the penalty of her folly and deceit. The next morning, humbled and heart-broken, she rose at her usual hour, and prepared to receive her pupils. Her mother in vain begged her to take one day more of rest and nursing, but she refused. What did it matter, she asked herself bitterly, all the days were to be alike, dreary and common-place in future; the brief summer sun which had warmed and glorified existence for her of late, had been suddenly withdrawn, and she must grope her way on in darkness to the end. She taught her pupils as usual, the lessons were repeated in the old slipshod manner; it was not possible for the teacher to be more neglectful in her sorrow, than she had been lately in her secret joy; and at length the day came to an end.

were at their noontide meal, and the mill yard was deserted.

"Just twelve hours," muttered Gilbert, "since he was to meet her in the garden."

After his dinner Gilbert Armstrong redeemed his promise to Susan Marks, and devoted the afternoon to re-adorning the borders which had so suffered from the predatory cats,-or

But Susan Marks had no doubts on the subject, she was easily satisfied, and was by no means imaginative. Moreover her master set a trap among the newly-arranged shrubs and flowers, to ensnare the warlike grimalkins who had made a battlefield of her borders, and the worthy woman was content.

The sun went down on Gilbert's toil, and after receiving his housekeeper's thanks and commendations, he left his home in the gathering twilight. For three hours he wandered in Crowhurst Lane, and over the black bare common, where the quiet stars only saw him. Upon what agonies of love, of madness, of remorse, did they look down?

At last, wearied and worn, he reached his dark and silent home, finding no welcome, seeing no loving face, hearing no sweet voice, and lonely and broken he went to bed, sinking into a deathlike slumber, too deep for haunting dreams.

So ended Gilbert Armstrong's idle day.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE SECOND OFFER.

The firelight was playing on the walls of the little cottage parlour where Milicent Gray sat alone. It was the second evening since she had waited, listening for Wilfred North's footsteps, in the dark and misty garden, and she had heard nothing in the mean time of the lover who had failed to keep his appointment, after pleading for it so passionately in Crowhurst Lane.

Milicent sat in an arm-chair before the fire, her head leaning on her hand, and her eyes fixed upon the leaping flames. Her face was very white, and under the fathomless dark eyes were purple rings telling of watching and tears. She had lived those two days as in a dream; her little pupils came at the accustomed hour on the morning after the night-watch in the garden, but Mrs. Gray, alarmed at her daughter's appearance, had sent them home again. The unhappy girl was only too glad to confess herself ill, in order that she might be left in peace. So on that bright October day, while Gilbert Armstrong worked in his garden, the girl he loved lay stricken and feeble on her bed in the little cottage, crying in her heart for

After tea Mrs. Gray went into the town to take some needlework, and the autumn dusk fell on the cottage, while Milicent sat musing in the cheerful firelight.

Over and over, her jaded imagination pictured the last meeting with her lover, and dwelt upon his tenderness, his passion, his utter refusal to take the No which she was too weak to persist in, and yet he had forsaken her. In vain love pleaded for him, urging excuses for his failing to keep his appointment, whispering hope for the future, but under all this, there lay a deep conviction in the girl's heart that Wilfred North would come to her as a lover

nevermore.

me.

"No," she said to herself, " he has forsaken If an accident had prevented his coming, I should have seen or heard from him during these two days. He has listened to worldly counsel, or his love refused the grand test at the last moment, and he has given me up."

A hand was on the latch of the door, a once familiar footstep, whose echo had not sounded there of late, was on the threshold, and as Milicent rose from her chair with a start, Gilbert Armstrong entered the room.

In her perturbed state of mind, his abrupt entrance did not surprise the girl as it would have done a few days before, when she would have wondered why he came, after so long an absence, but the face of all the world was changed to her now, and she returned his quiet greeting with apparent calmness.

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FOR APRIL, 1879.

Gilbert drew a chair to her side and sat down. She stole an involuntary look at his face, for even to her vague senses, there appeared to be something strange in his manner.

"Have you heard the news?" he asked abruptly.

"No," she answered with a startled look in her eyes, and her thoughts instantly upon Wilfred North.

"Mr. Wilfred North has gone abroad." His voice had a dry hardness in its tone, as of a man repeating a set form of words prepared beforehand.

"Gone abroad," she echoed.

"Yes, I met Best, his man, in Beaminster today, and he tells me that Mr. Wilfred is off on one of his wild tours again."

Milicent did not answer. She looked into the fire, her heart swelling within her. Her worst forebodings had been realised, Wilfred had foresaken her. Pride, wounded love, and shamed maidenhood rose in her heart, and caused her bosom to heave with sore anguish. She struggled hard to control herself, but the passionate weakness overmastered her, and she burst into a torrent of tears.

Gilbert Armstrong let her weep unrestrainedly, but his teeth were set hard, and his brow wrinkled with a heavy frown as he silently watched the torrent of her tears. At length the storm spent itself, and Milicent looked at him with an ashamed, humble look on her face.

She

was about to speak, but he interrupted her.

but

"Not a word, Milicent, I know all." She sprang to her feet with a faint he laid a strong hand upon her arm, rising as

he did so.

cry,

"Yes," he said, "I was in Crowhurst Lane on Wednesday night. I heard your appointment with Wilfred North. He has forsaken you, Milicent, for all his promises."

She had no words in her agony to answer him.

"Let this be a secret between us," he continued, "there is no fear that Wilfred North will speak when he returns, but lest his idle tongue should be viler than even I think it, give me the right to protect your name from re

proach."

Milicent's face grew very white; now that she knew her lover had forsaken her, a desire to avenge herself sprang up in the wounded heart. While Gilbert Armstrong pleaded, this desire grew, and with its contemplation the girl also looked her wretched life, the tame comupon monplace, miserable existence, which was to

mean for her nothing more than always teaching stupid children, now Wilfred was false, and had deserted her.

"Speak to me, Milicent," pleaded Gilbert, "do not let all my love be in vain. Do not sacrifice yourself and me to a man who has deceived you."

It was his last argument, and it won his

cause.

"I will not," she answered in a cold clear voice. "If you will keep this secret, Gilbert, I will be your wife."

A change passed over his face, the drawn muscles relaxed, and the light of an intense joy spread over his countenance.

But Milicent Gray said no word of love, and no kiss of betrothal, given or taken in sweetest confidence, hallowed this ominous compact.

(To be continued.)

UNFORGOTTEN.

I marvel much that truest hearts
When healed from deep regret,
Will join again life's severed parts,
And oftentimes forget.

As if they thought love could not keep
His own dear memories green,
Except the eyes for ever weep

For woe o'er what has been;
And so they lull the past to sleep,
Because its touch is keen.

It is not so, oh! loved and lost,
In this lorn heart of mine-
Wild as it is and tempest tossed,
Each pulse is wholly thine.
Within its closure lone and deep,

Thy tender image lies,

And oft regret would wake to weep

The loss of such a prize

But time and pride have bade me keep
The water from mine eyes.

Thou art no memory of the past,

Though years on years have fled,
Since for thy fondest look and last,
I knelt beside thy bed.
Freed from its prison-house of clay
When earth received her part,
Thy human weakness passed away,
My guardian saint thou art;
An unseen presence every day
Thou livest in my heart.

My dove, gone home to God's safe nest,
From off life's stormy sea,

My flower, that withered on my breast,
When shall I come to thee?

I know thou art not far away,
For echoes of thy song

Will often haunt me when I pray,

But love and grief are strong,

And I am weary night and day,

My love, how long? how long?

L.E.X.

PRINCESS LOUISE MARGARET.

A Welcome!

(MARCH 13th, 1879.)

Welcome, fair daughter of a famous sire!
Welcome to England with the shy, sweet Spring :
Radiant with all the graciousness of youth,
Girt with the purple panoply of love,
Welcome, young bride of great Victoria's son!
Come thou with trusting heart from Fatherland,
To find a mother-country on the shores

Of island Britain, guarded by the sea,

Come thou from sacred shelter of thine home

In fearless confidence, to cast thy lot

With ours: Sweet Princess, England's heart is wide,
And throbs with honest tenderness for all
Who love her children, as thou lovest him
Whom from to-day thou followest as lord:
And England's heart is constant, when she gives
She takes again no more,-the springs of love
Once set a-flowing in that mighty soul
Swell ever onward with increasing force.
Not least, not poorest of the bridal gifts
Which sparkle round thee on thy marriage-morn,
Are England's welcome-England's generous love!

Deep blessings hallow thy new wedded life,
Fair princely consort of a prince beloved,
All purest blessings of the marriage-bond,
All sweetness circled in the bridal ring.
Be thine, and his whose chosen one thou art.
God give thee, Lady, in thine high estate,
That perfect sweetest harmony of home,
Which glads, on English ground, the poorest lot,
If hearts but beat to one another true.
God bless that wedded love which vows to-day
To keep, to cherish, and to guard, till death;
So shall the music of thy bridal-song
Wake fondest echoes through a life of love,
Till thou shall hear beside the gates of pearl,
The angels' "unexpressive nuptial song,"
The bridal strain of God's eternity!

H. S.

HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS OF WALES has graciously accepted from the authoress, the Poem, entitled "ALEXANDRA," which appeared in our March Number.

PLEASURES OF LIFE.-The loftiest, the most angel-like ambition is the earnest desire to contribute to the rational happiness and moral improvement of others. If we can do this-if we can smoothe the rugged path of one fellow-traveller-if we can give one good impression, is it not better than all the triumphs that wealth and power ever attained to ?

EVERYWHERE endeavour to be useful, and everywhere you are at home.

BY BUFFALO RIVER.

"The bodies of Lieuts. Melville and Coghill have been found 300 yards this side of the Buffalo River, together with the colours of the 24th Regiment, which they had succeeded in saving."- Globe, February 28th, 1879.

They found the colours of the Twenty-fourth,
Not in triumphant grasp of dusky hand,
Not waving over scene of savage mirth,
-That last indignity was spared our land.—
They found the colours safe in British care,
But heavy price was paid that charge to keep,
Two glad young lives ebbed out in silence there,
The flag they guarded pillowing Death's sleep!
Those perilled, blood-stained colours yet shall wave
In triumph over many a well-won fight,
While memories of the slaughtered young and brave
Fill manly British hearts with fervent might:
The rescued flag waves proudly overhead,
And calls the living to avenge the dead!

H. S.

REALITIES are seldom the pleasantest parts of life. Hope, memory, and even enjoyments, are more than half-imaginative. Everything is mellowed by distance; and when we come too near, the airy softness is lost, and the harsh lines of truth are offered to the eye. Half our sorrows are the breaking of different illusions.

THE FULL-SIZED PATTERNS.

The Patterns are all suited for Ladies of medium height and of proportionate figure: measuring 344 inches round the chest and 24 waist, unless otherwise stated in the description. All allowances necessary for seams, are already given to these Patterns.

The greatest care is always taken by the binders to ensure the whole of the pieces composing each pattern being folded up in it. If at any time, through accident, our subscribers should find any pieces missing, the Editor will be happy to supply the deficiency post free, during one month after publication, on receipt of a letter or post card addressed to him at 1, Kelso Place, Kensington, London, W.

THE EDMEE CORSAGE.

Our first full-sized pattern is the Louis XV corsage of the Edmée Visiting Costume shown on the second figure of our second colored plate. The pattern consists of four pieces, viz :-front, sidepiece, back and sleeve. On the front, the pleats or puffs that define the waist are marked by pricked lines, and so are the lines on which the revers turn back at the bottoms of front and side lappet. On the side piece the turned-back line of revers is marked by pricking, which also is used to indicate the form of the underside of sleeve: the top of the mousquetaire cuff is also marked by pricking.

YOUNG LADY'S CASAQUE à GILET. Our second pattern, (all the pieces of which are marked by one round hole,) is the Casaque à Gilet for a young lady about 14 or 15 years of age, which is represented on the fourth figure of our fourth plate. The pattern consists of Gilet, front, sidepiece, "back and top of sleeve. On the Gilet we have marked by pricking the line to which the edge of front is sewn. The fishes or puffs in the front are marked by pricking. We have only given the top or armhole part of the sleeve, which can easily be completed to its full length as required.

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Plate 6

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