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That evening, when Colonel Dwight called, she did not see him, and again, on the succeeding evening when he came, she pleaded an excuse, and did not go down, but left her father to entertain him. On the succeeding day she received an impassioned lover's note from him, in which he accused her of caprice and coquetry. It was meet that he should call her so, she thought, but she felt then that she could not see him, but sitting down, she penned him a note, telling of her long engagement to her cousin, his attachment to her, her father's expectations, and her own decision of remaining true to her promise.

Colonel Dwight received this from the servant, and read it with conflicting emotions.

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'Ha, she does not say she loves this soldier cousin, Adolphe!" he exclaimed. "I have the girl's heart, and now I must be bold, and push the victory till I obtain the prize herself, with all the accompaniments. And it is easy enough to do. Women's hearts are like wax, and a bold and daring suitor can mould them at his will. Let me but manage to see this French girl once more, and I can accomplish the rest. Persuasive words and her own heart will complete the work. She will fly with me, and then, as my wife, Monsieur Villiers will not refuse to take his daughter again to his heart and fortune, and this cousin can in the army find solace for bis lost love."

The next day, as Theresa sat in her apartment, she again received a note from Colonel Dwight, handed by her waiting-maid whom he had bribed into service. It ran thus:

"Will Mademoiselle Theresa meet Colonel Dwight this afternoon in the garden? He leaves Quebec to-morrow, with but little hopes of a return, and he craves this meeting as a last favor from one whom he has learned to love, and whose image will go with him wherever his footsteps lead.

"At five P. M. he will be there, and will watch and wait for the coming of Mademoiselle Theresa." Theresa read this note. It would do no harm to meet the English officer, and she would go for a moment only, and bid him adieu, and he would know then that she had not intended to trifle with him.

At dinner, Monsieur Villiers said joyfully: "Theresa, Adolphe will be with us by to-morrow! How happy we shall be! I count the hours now; and before he returns again to the army, you two shall be united, for it is not well to wait longer. Adolphe is brave, and if anything should occur that I should not live till the war is ended, then I could die content, knowing I left you as his wife."

Theresa did not reply. She heard her father, but where was her heart? She could not tell. A blending together of the two-the English officer and her cousin Adolphe-was within it. Which regard would prove victor she could not decide; but she was determined to conceal her feeling for the Englishman, and by making her cousin and her father happy, fulfill her promise.

The hours of the afternoon wore away, and five o'clock drew nigh. As the fingers of the little ormula clock on the marble mantel in her room marked the hour. Theresa, with palpitating heart and trembling hand, opened the door and glided down

the stairway leading to the garden in the rear of the house.

Colonel Dwight awaited her there, and advancing eagerly toward her, he led her to a scat under a high, overshadowing oak.

A half hour elapsed, and the words of the Englishman were beginning to tell upon the heart of the French girl. She was half persuaded to go with him, and become his wife.

But suddenly looking up, she started to her feet, with an exclamation of alarm, crying out:

"Mon dieu! 'tis Adolphe come to reproach me!" Colonel Dwight also sprang to his feet, for he saw, what was no sudden vision, but real flesh and blood, a handsome young French youth, in huntsman's dress, at scarcely a rod's distance, intently regarding them. He knew full well it was Adolphe, who, in this suit, had travelled from the distant French encampment. His brow darkened angrily, and grasping Theresa by the arm, he sought to turn her steps away, and to flee with her from the spot.

But the words of the young man arrested them. Stretching out one arm toward them, while the other rested on his rifle, and with a stern yet sad gaze in the eyes that looked upon them, he exclaimed:

"Mon dieu, Theresa! What do I behold? My betrothed in the company of another, and he one of of our country's enemies? It is as I feared! You are untrue to me!"

Theresa stood for a moment, riveted to the spot; then, shaking off the grasp of Colonel Dwight, with a sudden cry of mingled joy and grief, she rushed towards Adolphe, who had not moved, and bursting into tears, she threw herself at his feet.

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Oh, Adolphe!" she cried, " you have come to awake me from the fascinations of the charmer! I am true to you! Take me home to my father. I cannot leave him or you, my own Adolphe!"

The young man raised her tenderly, and looking deeply and earnestly into her eyes, he asked in saddened tones:

"Do you go of your own free will, There:a, or has my coming terrified you to this! Answer me truly, as you value the future peace and happiness of our household."

Clinging to him with a tighter clasp, she replied: "Yes, yes, take me home, for I cannot go with him!" with a shuddering look toward Colonel Dwight, who stood, pale with rage, a spectator of the scene. "Oh, Adolphe, I am yours, and only yours," she continued. "Then do not leave me, or look sternly upon me, but let me go with you to my father, and he will bless us both, in joy at your safe return."

Drawing Theresa's arm within his own, the young man now turned toward the English officer.

"You have heard the lady's words," he said, sternly. "She has fixed her choice. I forgive you for the injury you would have caused me,” and then they turned toward the house.

Colonel Dwight walked away, with bowed head at his discomfiture. His first impulse was to inform of the young French soldier's presence in Quebec; yet it would avail him nothing, for Theresa was lost to him, and it would only give rise to conjectures

concerning his own disappointment, for his admiration of her was well known. He had already re signed his commission, and made arrangements to leave the city, deeming Theresa secure as his companion, and so, the next vessel bore among its passengers the discomfited British officer.

Great was the joy of Monsieur Villiers to behold Adolphe enter with his daughter, and after listening to an account of his many detentions, and the perils he endured on the way, and learning the brief period of his stay-for he must set out on his return the next day he insisted he must give Theresa to him ere he went away. And so that night, in Monsieur Villiers' mansion, there was a quiet wedding ceremony performed by the old French priest, in which Theresa and Adolphe were united, and when on the morrow, the brave French youth departed again for camp, he carried with him, to brighten and cheer his life, the blessing of his happy wife, Theresa.

Within the ensuing year the war closed, the British still retaining their hold in the Canadas. When peace was fully restored, finding that their countrymen would not again hold Quebec, Monsieur Villiers with Adolphe and his wife, Theresa, departed for la bella France, where a long and happy life crowned the trials they had met in the New World.

SUITED AND NON-SUITED;

OR,

LOUISA BURTON'S STRATAGEM.

BY CAROLINE F. PRESTON.

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"Next week Thursday. And, by the way, I regret to say that I shall not be here to receive him. I am obliged to go to Washington, on business, to be gone a week; you must be as polite as possible to him, and perhaps you will get acquainted sooner if I am away."

"Yes sir, I will endeavor to treat him as politely as possible."

Already an idea had entered Louisa's mind. She would give this Mr. Fanshaw a false impression of herself. She would assume the airs and manners of a complete rustic, destitute of all accomplishments, and the refinements of a cultivated lady. Thus she might discourage his suit, and lead him to withdraw voluntarily from the proposed engagement.

The next Tuesday her uncle left for Washington. and on Wednesday Louisa made a visit to the city,

LOUISA, said her uncle one morning, " I have returning with a red wig. She already had made

something to say to you."

"Well, sir?"

up secretly two dresses in dowdy style, which disfigured her to her satisfaction. Next she took her

"You are now nineteen, and it is quite time you maid into her confidence, having made up her mind were thinking of getting married." to play the role of a rustic maiden.

"Are you tired of me, sir ?"

On Thursday morning she put on one of her new

"No, but I don't want any old maids in my fam- dresses, and her wig, and could not help bursting ily. That I am resolved upon." into a laugh at the figure which met her eyes in the mirror.

"But when James Houghton proposed for my hand a few weeks ago, you refused your permission."

"Of course I did, I don't want a penniless young lawyer in my family."

"I have money."

"I shouldn't know you, Miss, I declare," said her maid. "You look horrid."

"Thank you, Abigail. That's just the way I want to look."

"I'd never suspect you was good-looking, Miss

"And that entitles you to look for a rich hus- Louisa, or had a decent shape." band."

"Poverty is James Houghton's only fault." "And it is fault enough. But no more of him, I have other views for you."

"May I inquire what?"

"I am about to tell you. John Fanshaw, the son of an old friend of mine, who has just completed the tour of Europe, is about to visit us, with the intention of offering you his hand. I have already talked the matter over with his father, and he consents. He will give his son an estate adjoining yours, and the two united will make an excellent property."

"It seems then it is all settled," said Louisa, composedly.

"Of course you won't be foolish enough to refuse him. He is handsome, well educated and rich. What more could you ask?" |

"I am

am glad to hear of it, I wonder what Mr. Fanshaw will think of me."

"I don't believe he will fall in love with you." "I hope not,"

"Yes, I think I shall do," said Louisa. "Now, I must try to be as rustic in my speech as possible, and be as ignorant of everything that young ladies of my position may be expected to know. I never practised much, but I guess I can do it."

At three o'clock the train arrived from the city, and with it came the expected young gentleman, who was at once driven to Mr. Burton's residence.

John Fanshaw was anxious to see the young lady whom it was so expedient for him to marry. Not having any previous attachment, and not being of a romantic nature, he was not unwilling, provided the lady was likely to do credit to his taste. But he was disposed to be fastidious, and had some

preference as to the style of wife he would select. Ushered into the parlor he awaited with some curiosity the advent of the young lady. He was disagreeably startled when a young woman entered, dressed with the worst possible style, and with coarse red hair. Her face otherwise was not so bad. Indeed he could have seen it had good points if he had not been prejudiced by the hair and illfitting dress.

"How dy do, Mr. Fanshaw?" said Louisa, in broad accents, advancing with outstretched hand.

Quite well, thank you," he answered, hesitatingly. "Do I address Miss Burton ?"

"I expect you do," said Louisa.

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I hope you are well."

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Pooty smart, thank you," said Louisa.

"And your respected uncle, I trust is well, also?" "My respectable uncle! Lor how funny. But of course he is respectable. Yes, he's pooty smart too, but he had to go off on business, and he wanted me to look after you. He will be home in a week." "Good gracious, what vulgarity!" ejaculated John Fanshaw to himself. "And what horrid hair! What a wretched dressmaker she must have, too." "I expect you're admirin' my dress," said Louisa. "Ain't it pooty?"

The said dress had a very large figure and was of very bright hues, in fact in material, as well as cut, entirely out of taste.

"I'll go and see about dinner," said Louisa. "I don't know what we're going to have. I hope it's fried liver. I doat on liver."

"Well," ejaculated Fanshaw left to himself," if she isn't the most countrified specimen I ever met. I wouldn't marry her if she were worth four times fifty thousand dollars. To think of introducing such a creature as Mrs. Fanshaw! It makes my blood run cold. Fancy how all the fellows in my set would sneer at her. I only wish I were well ont of it."

Louisa entertained the visitor in a similar way at dinner, and watched with quiet exultation the effect which was evidently produced upon his mind.

"I don't think there's much prospect of his proposing," she thought. "If he doesn't I shall hold my uncle to his promise."

"Do you play the piano?" inquired the young man, seeing one in the room.

"Yes," said Louisa, "I can play one tune."
"Would you oblige me?"

"Oh certainly, I love to play."

She sat down and murdere l Sweet Home in the most atrocious manner, till the young man became very restive and was thankful when she had finished.

"Just as I might have anticipated," he thought. Three days passed, and Mr. Fanshaw could stand it no longer. An imperative engagement called him "Quite so," said the gentleman in some embar- back to the city, at least so he said. But he left a

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I picked it out myself," said Louisa, complacently. "Uncle didn't like it, but I think it's sweet pooty."

"What a taste!" ejaculated Fanshaw mentally. "She is like a young savage, pleased with bright colors. I wonder whether she knows anything. I'll try her."

He picked up a Tennyson from the table, and said:

note for Mr. Burton.

When that gentleman returned he was surprised to find the visitor gone. The note was handed him. He read as follows:

"Mr. Burton,-Dear Sir: You are aware that my father favored an alliance between myself and your niece, but I regret to say, that, having made the young lady's acquaintance, I doubt if I should find her congenial. Our tastes appear to differ decidedly. Let me acknowledge with gratitude the kind politeness with which she received me, and the efforts she made to make my visit a pleasant one. She is no doubt very amiable, but as I said before, I doubt if we should suit each other. Trusting you will not be offended at my plain speaking, I sub"I know it by scribe myself, Yours very respectfully,

"Are you fond of poetry, Miss Burton?"

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Well," said Louisa, "I like some. I had some writ in my album tother day that I liked first rate. Shall I say it?"

"Thank you, I wish you would." "It was like this," said Louisa. heart."

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"But, I forgot," said Louisa, suddenly, "you must be awful hungry, ain't you?"

JOHN FANSHAW." "The impudent puppy!" exclaimed Mr. Burton in a rage. "So he refuses my niece, does he? Louisa, read that letter."

She read it calmly.

"I am not surprised, uncle," she said, "Mr. Fanshaw didn't seem to fancy me much."

"Zounds, I'll show him you can get a husband," said the choleric old man. "Send for James Houghton."

James Houghton was sent for, and told that he might marry Louisa, and the wedding took place.

"Now said Mr. Burton, "I want you to go to New York, take a good house, and commence practise there. When Mr. Fanshaw sees your wife shining in society, he may be sorry he refused her." The plan was carried out.

Mr. Fanshaw did meet the young lady in society, "Not so bad as that," said Fanshaw with a faint but did not at first recognize in the elegant and selfsmile. possessed woman, the awkward girl whose hand he

THE SEARCH FOR HAPPINESS.

Turning out from the beaten rut,

had rejected. When he learned the secret, he was provoked with himself for not having seen through the trick. But it was too late! Louisa had found a husband whom she regarded as infinitely his superior, and is not likely soon to regret the stratagem which won her James Houghton as a husband.

An Auction Scene.

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us.

"Nine cents," said an old gentleman opposite to

"Nine !-nine!-who says ten? Going at nine! going! gone! Yours, sir. Cash takes it at nine cents."

"I didn't bid," said the old gentleman. "I don't want it wouldn't give you five cents for the whole piece."

(Auctioneer getting mad.) "If any one bids again they will have to take the article or get into trouble," (throwing down angrily the piece of calico.) "Give me something else. Ah! gentlemen, here is a fine piece of diaper. What can I get for this? What do I hear?-anything you please!"

"I'll start it at five." "Ten," says another. "Twelve and a half," says a third. "Thirteen!" cries an old lady-" fourteen!" "fifteen!" cried several voices.

"Fifteen I am offered! fifteen-done at fifteen! can't dwell; going! g-o-i-n-g! GONE! Yours, sir. Step up, whoever bid."

No one came up. All eyes staring in various parts of the room.

Gone, then, at fourteen. Yours, sir; walk up." But no bidder could be made to walk up. "Thirteen, then, madam, you can have it at your

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Here, I'll take it at thirteen," exclaimed a voice at the other end of the room. All eyes were turned in that direction, but no claimant came forward. "Who says they'll take it at thirteen ?"

"I do," said an old farmer.

"I'm afraid it is stolen goods!" says the bidder. The auctioneer now quite mad, sprang down, and was about collaring the old man, when a voice right behind cried:

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it!"

I stepped within a poor man's hut:
"Poor man," I questioned, " tell me, pray,
Hath Happiness ere passed this way?"
Said he, "She's never crossed my path,
Or sat beside my humble hearth!"

I sought a man of wealth untold,

And found him counting o'er his gold:

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'Rich man," I questioned, " canst thou tell The place where Happiness doth dwell?" He answered, "She whom thou dost mean Is often talked of-never seen!"

Soon after, on my mission bent,

I saw a hermit, near his tent:
"Whence comes Happiness, hermit true ?"
Said I to him ere he withdrew,
"Alas!" he answered, with a groan,
"That is a name to me unknown!"
Meeting a statesman, old and gray,
Who held a nation under sway,

I cried, "Oh, sage of noble mien,
Hast thou aught of Happiness seen?"
"Her blest abode," said he, "I've sought
For three-score years-but found it not!"
Alas! thought I, if rich and poor,
The man of fame, the wretch obscure,
Have sought for Happiness in vain,
Why should I hope to ascertain ROAC
The 'biding-place and earthly throne
Of one who is so little known?
While thus thinking the matter er,
I stopped beside a widow's door,
And, looking in, a child I saw
Sleeping upon a bed of straw;
Then I listened-although 'twas rude-
And heard the widow pray for food.

LIBRARY.

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Bishop Clarkson states that the Russians settled in Dakato regularly burn hay in their houses for fuel, and find it cheaper than wood. "I was told that a ton of hay was fully equal to a cord of hard wood for heating purposes, and a ton of hay can be cut and put up for from seventy-five cents to one dollar, and then it can be done right at home, and stored up for winter's use. It is the solving in a

Don't strike him! it was I that said you stole great measure of the fuel question. The Americans,

The auctioneer turned round, when a big dog, apparently at his heels, snuffed and barked most fariously. With a sudden spring upon his counter, he ordered the crowd to leave. An acquaintance at our elbow, no longer able to contain himself, burst into a loud laugh, as a genteel little man passed out at the door, whom he told us was a ventriloquist.

after they saw the Russians using it, got to twisting hay like a rope and burning it in common stoves. I was told that a piece of hay so twisted would produce as much heat as a cottonwood stick of the same size.

Cleanliness promotes health of body and delicacy of mind.

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Little Puppies. What is more ridiculous or comical than the abtics of a little clumsy pup? It is almost impossible to watch one, when he is in a playful mood, without enjoying a hearty laugh. Sometimes he will rnsh pellmell across the room, only to bump his head against the leg of a chair; then he will sit down very suddenly, and watch that chair-leg with a suspicious eye, ready to pounce upon it if it offers to hit him again! Again, he will bark with all his might at nothing whatever, and often makes such

an ambitious effort in this line that he loses his equilibrium, and falls down. Then, if you laugh, he stares at you as if trying to fathom the cause of your mirth. The three little dogs in the picture are fair samples of their class, and the expression which the artist has given them is very life-like and real. They have discovered a snail, travelling with its house on its back, and they are at once overwhelmed with curiosity and amazement, not unmingled with alarm, as they draw dack and stare at it with wide-open eyes.

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