At the ejaculations uttered almost simultaneously by her companion and the new-comer Lulu lifted her eyes to behold, apparently two Clarence Arundels. But a longer study of the two faces detected sufficient difference to mark their identity. In feature, form and coloring the resemblance was so wonderful as to be absolutely startling; it was in expression, and its consequent variation, that they were dissimilar. Therefore, although liable to be mistaken constantly for each other when apart, it was not difficult to distinguish them by personal comparison.

SEE ENGRAVING.

In this way it immediately became evident to Lalu that the real Clarence Arundel was the man whom she had addressed, but now in a strain warranted only by that tender relationship which after all existed only in her own fancy! And if he was the true, first Clarence, what was this intruder, who, under a false disguise, had sought and won her affections? Overcome by mingled shame and indignation as in the space of a moment these thoughts rushed over her, she freed her hand from the grasp in which it yet lingered, and hastily made her escape from the storm portended by their lowering brows.

Availing herself farther of the plea of headache, she did not go down to dinner or tea, nor even leave her room until evening. In the meantime she had received no less than four notes, begging for an opportunity to make full explanation and apology. After refusing thrice she relented in favor of the fourth petition; perhaps from interest in something else. At all events the interview was granted and the explanation received, the substance of which shall be given briefly, shorn of various tender digressions, which, however natural and pleasant under the circumstances, could add little to the force of the narration.

It will be remembered that Horace Barton left Glenside in company with Clarence Arundel. The latter intended to go on to the Continent for a while, and the former had business in London. Here he met Clayton Arundel, a cousin to Clarence, and so similar in person that even old friends would occasionally mistake one for the other. Barton, in speaking of his previous acquaintance with Clarence, mentioned the fact that they had been spending the past month together among the hills; adding, meaningly, that his companion's stay had been due to some more human attraction than hill or vale. Whereupon Clayton, curious to see the woman who could so captivate his fastidious cousin, and having no other employment for his idle moments, concluded to visit Glenside. Having fallen in love with Lulu at first sight, and finding himself mistaken for Clarence, he had not the courage at first, by undeceiving her, to lose the warm cordiality intended for another. He sought to quiet his own misgivings by a resolution to set the

matter right presently, but as this correction became every day more difficult it was delayed, until yielding to sudden temptation he had offered and been accepted. Then, fully realizing the evil of this concealment, he determined to make full confession on the morrow, little dreaming what unexpected apparition would forestall his humble avowal. Clarence, meantime, found leisure for reviewing the last weeks, and, concluding that he had been somewhat hasty, he ended by giving up his Continental plan, and returning for another trial to Glenside, where his arrival was just in season for the final catastrophic.

This explanation having been given more at length by Mr. Clayton Arundel in his own person and name, that young gentleman finished by seeking to make his peace with Miss Meredith, an endeavor in which he succeeded better than in a similar effort with his cousin Clarence, who, angry with himself for the step which had placed him in so mortifying a position, more angry yet with Lulu for the preference shown towards another, and trebly angry with his cousin for gaining the prize by such means, had gone away at the first opportunity in haughty indignation, refusing to listen to a word of apology.

Miss Lulu was more forgiving by nature, and when Clayton Arundel so eloquently pleaded his great temptation, and, while not attempting to cuse the concealment, reminded her that it was only concealment, and that, though tacitly suffering others to continue in error, he himself,

never assumed false pretences, what couldRACI

in answer to his prayers and protestations but end her upbraiding by restoring him to favor, espe cially when her heart, turning traitor, whispered that, although she might find other lovers, she would never find one whom she could so wholly love? ·

SONG.

Sweet wind that blows o'er sunny isles
The softness of the sea!
Blow thou across these moving miles
News of my love to me.

Ripples her hair like waves that sweep
About this pleasant shore:

Her eyes are bluer than the deep
Round rocky Appledore.

Her sweet breast shames the scattered spray,
Soft kissed by early light:

I dream she is the dawn of day,
That lifts me out of night.

Glass Silk.

Glass silk, as it is called, is largely used in Germany, and especially Austria, for filtering purposes in laboratories. It is made by winding the threads of melted glass on rapidly rotating and heated cylinders. Under the microscope the threads appear as fine as the ultimate fibres of silk or cotton; they break more easily than the latterbut are excessively supple. From the inalterability of the substance, it is very well suited for filter, ing acid or alkaline solutions.

THE GHOST IN HAMLET.

BY GIACOMO S. CAMPANA.

ITTLE Ella Moulson was my very first revela tion of the beautiful. I sen things which were called beautiful, and had called them so my self; but the word was nothing but a word. It conveyed to me no definite idca, nor had I any proper conception of what beauty was, till the loveliness of little Ella called it into existence.

Mr. Moulson was our nearest neighbor. IIe lived in a large, yellowish house, nearly buried in trees and shrubbery; and among those trees and in the midst of that shrubbery I used to play with Ella. There are no such trees and shrubbery nowa-days. There are no such blossoms, no such flowers, as those which grew on Mr. Moulson's lawn. No, there is nothing of the sort now.

And it is just so with the time. I appeal to the read r if it isn't-that is to say if he is over thirtyfive. Observe that I say he. I wouldn't dare to insinuate even that there is a single lady in America "over thirty-five." It is the old fellows that I am talking to-the he fellows. Now, isn't it so? Just as the weeks in former years were as long as the months are now, and the months as long (almost) as the years are now, just so were the trees greener, and grander, and shadier, and the shrubbery and flowers more bright and beautiful. Some peo; le will deny it, it is true; some, indeed, have never noticed it; but for my part I would swear to it in a minute-wouldn't you, dear (past thirty-five) reader?

I liked everything about the Moulsons; not only their house and grounds, their trees and shrubs and flowers, but themselves. Mr. Moulson, though a man of learning, and even of extraordinary acquirements, was as familiar and considerate with us children as the tenderest woman could have been; and as for Mrs. Moulson, there never was anybody that didn't like her, not even old Spitfire, the black tom-cat, who had left his mark on every skin about the place but hers. A eat that could look her in the face, and then have the heart to scratch her, should be ostracised, at the very least, sent to the cat-Coventry forever, as un feline in the last degree.

With such a lather and such a mother, nature could never have committed the unnatural blunder of making anything of Ella but the dear, delightful, sweet little creature she was. When I first heard that there was a new baby at Mr. Mouison's, I became inordinately curious to see it, and displayed no small amount of infantile ingenuity in intriguing with my mother for permission to accompany her on her first visit to Mrs. Moulson's. I succeeded and went, but it was only to be most egregiously disappointed.

The fact is, I had exalted ideas of babyism, based as they were upon the chubby, good-looking faces of sundry jolly little chefubs, of two or three months old and upwards; but the sight of this shapeless, discolored, half a day old, ugly little monster of a Moulson, revolutionized all my ideas upon the subject.

"Ma! say, ma!—is it a nigger?"

Now I do hope and trust that the judicious reader will not imagine, for one instant, that a digni.ied, well-brought up young gentleman, of considerably more than six years of age, could so far forget him self as to make use of such a highly improper expression. No, no; it was my little three-and-asister who borrined my

good mother with this unlucky juvenile indiscretion.

But though I had sense enough to hold my tongue till we got home, I believe my unexpressed thoughts were quite as dark-hued as those of my sister. In proportion to the height of my expectations was the depth of my disappointment, and from that hour I lost all faith in babies; I became, so to speak, a misopedisi-a baby-hater. Yea, truly, as far as infants were concerned (as little Sallie Simkins said when she found her doll was made of saw-dust,) my illusions were all dispelled, and my life must henceforth be a trackless desert and a barren waste.

About this time I went to visit my grandmother, and remained with her nearly a year. There were no babies there. The next morning after my return to my father's house, I passed over the stile into Mr. Moulson's grounds. The first thing I saw there was a little milk-and-rose-cheeked angel, sucking a lolly-pop. Though this phenomenon was nothing more than a magnified baby-a folio edition of my pet aversion-I was so much like a grown-up man in my inconsistency that I could hardly help falling down and worshipping it.

That was the moment when I first fell in love with Ella Moulson. I say the first time, advisedly, for it was not the last, not the only time, by a jugfull. In fact, my veracity would hardly be safe in undertakin to say how many times this operation was performed. Every time I went away to school, or left home for any cause, it had all to be done over again. Not that I would be understood to complain of the necessity of doing the thing so often. I did not remember that I ever repined at it the least bit.

From this light, perhaps I should say nonsensical, preface, the reader might naturally infer that I have a merry story to tell. I am sorry to say that such is not the fact; but it is always time enough to be sad when you can no longer be joyful.

Though every advantage of education was placed within my reach I was not designed to be a professional man. My father was a farmer, manufactured out of a retired lawyer, and it was in his rural rather than his legal footsteps that he wished me to walk. To this decision I was not averse, for I was fond of agriculture, and proud of our beautiful farm.

While I was away at college, Mrs. Moulson died. Since the death of my own mother, six years before, she had in many respects supplied that dear parent's place, and I could not have mourned a real mother more sincerely. Ella was nearly ten years old, and the loss to her was the greatest that could have befallen her. My little sister had been dead several years.

Three years after Mrs. Moulson's death I completed my college course, and returned to our quiet village of Lendon, to reside there permanently. The lion of the hour in our little community I

found to be a Miss Artwell, a city belle, who had strayed thither, no one knew whence or wherefore. She was a dashing, brilliant beauty, and considered very fascinating by the beaux of Lendon.

To the surprise of everybody, and of no one more than myself, it was the quiet, sedate, and somewhat fastidious widower, Mr. Moulson who bore away the palm, and became the husband of the dashing beauty.

When the circle shall have been squared, the perpetual motion invented, and the philosopher's stone and the disinterested politician discovered, we shall than probably be ready to answer why it is that so many men who are wise in all other respects make such egregious asses of themselves in a matrimonial point of view. Mr. Moulson had few superiors anywhere. His mind was one of the very first order, and no one living had ever heard him accused of doing a silly thing before the occurrence of this unfortunate marriage. This one act, however, was quite sufficient to bring down to the ordinary level the highest-strung wisdom of the best regulated life-time.

No one at Lendon knew anything of Mr. Moulson's bride, but it did not require much knowledge to make it evident that she would prove to be a miserable substitute for Ella's admirable mother, and a miserable help-mate for her infatuated father. She was somewhere about thirty-five years of age, though when full-rigged, she usually managed to pass for twenty-five. She had a fleshy, showy style of beauty, which pleased some and disgusted others, but which one would think the most unlikely of all things to attract a man like John Frederick Moulson.

Poor little Ella was sorely cast down by the advent of this most uncongenial mamma, but she was so anxious to please her father that she never allowed him to suspect her repugnance.

After the marriage I saw compa.atively little of Ella, and though my affection for her had not then assumed the warmth which it afterwards attained, this restriction upon our intercourse was excessively annoying to me. Its origin was as follows:

I was one day passing along the outside of Mr. Moulson's garden wall, when I suddenly heard Ella's voice in earnest, tearful entreaty, crying, "O, don't! Please, don't!"

from. After a long, stupid stare, he seemed at length to have satisfied himself that there was nothing supramundane about me, and again stuck his spade under the rose-bush which he was about to dig up.

"You shall not dig up that bush," said I, laying my arm upon his shoulder.

"Shan't, hey? And who will stop me?" "I will."

"You? sneered the fellow, with a contemptuous emphasis, inspired by his elephantine development of muscle. "You? You look like it!"

He was nearly twice my size and weight, but thanks to a more than ordinarily judicious father, there were few youths anywhere whose physique, such as it was, had been cultivated like mine. I was slender, and not above the middie height, but every muscle in my body was trained and toughened to the utmost extent of its capabilities.

"I don't want to quarrel with you," said I. "No, I shouldn't think you would," sneered the fellow, again glancing complacently at my lathy frame and his own thews and sinews.

"But if you dig up that bush you will have to dig me up with it." And I placed a foot on each

side of it.

"And that's what I will do in short order." And he attempted to suit the action to the word. But while he was trying to get the spade under my feet, with the intention of throwing me down, I suddenly caught the handle, gave it a violent wrench, thrust it between his legs, and with a rapid twist threw him heavily to the ground.

He scrambled up again, and foaming with rage, 'ran at me, as if to exterminate me on the spot. I had been very angry at first, but by this time I had become perfectly cool. I saw that he was clumsy and unskilful, and his superiority in size and strength did not give me the least uneasiness after I had gauged his force.

Hauling off with his tremendous fist, as if he were to strike a ball with a bat, he aimed a blow at my head, delivered with all his strength. Idodged the big fist, when it was already within a few inches of my nose, and thus suffered the magnificent blow to "waste its sweetness on the desert air," and before he could recover himself I pitched into him with all the strength and all the "science"

intend to do it."

"O, please don't!" resumed the child, her voice half choked with tears. "It was my dear mother's favorite rose-bush. She planted it with her own hand. O, don't, Hiram; pray don't dig it up!" "Nonsense! The new dahlias is to go here and they shall go here. I'm not a goin' to stop for the whim-whams of a brat like you."

Ella's only answer was a low cry, but it was pathetic enough to have been the death shriek of a breaking heart. The garden wall was a high one, but, putting my foot upon a high rock which lay at its base, and then placing one hand upon the top, I cleared it at a bound, alighting within two or three feet of a broad-shouldered, rosy-cheeked youth, who, with open mouth and wide-staring eyes, gazed first at me and then up into the sky, as if half inclined to think that that was where I had come

The fellow was utterly bewildered and dumbfounded. Scientific pugilism was to him a mystery hitherto undreamed of, and the blows which now rained down upon his head and face were as far removed from the sphere of his experience, or even comprehension, as would have been a Hebrew root or the perils of the Pons Asinorum.

When he found that it was impossible to hit me, and he received half a dozen blows for every one that he attempted to give, he came to the conclusion that his arms could not protect him, and that it would be safer to try what virtue there was in legs; and a wonderful nimble use he made of them.

As soon as the fellow had disappeared, I turned to Ella. The poor child was on her knees, kissing her mother's rose-bush, as if it had been a dear friend of flesh and blood like herself. Her face was bathed in tears, but a smile like an April

shower broke through them when she looked up and said:

"O, Mr. Arthur, if you had saved my own life I could not have thanked you more than I do! You don't know how I love this bush!"

Most girls in like circumstances, at such an age, would have looked decidedly ugly; but Ella's was of a sort which triumphed over all disadvantages. I had never seen her look more lovely or more truly interesting. She was proceeding to tell me how the rose-tree had been planted by her mother on her own birth-day, when my discomfited antagonist re-appeared, accompanied by Mr. Moulson, to whom he had been telling a story which had not truth enough in it to make it hang together.

When informed of the facts as they really occurred, Mr. Moulson gave the fellow a severe repremand, and forbade him to touch the rose-bush. He also thanked me cordially for my interference; but I saw that he was sadly changed. There was a mark upon his forehead which I have since learned to interpret better than I could then. It was that fearful sign in which we may read the terrible doom of the henpecked!

The next day I passed by the garden wall again, and stepping upon the rock looked over. The rose-bush was gone, and the ground where it had stood had all been dug up and raked smooth. Hiram Wedge, the fellow to whom I gave the drubbing, stood leaning against a peach-tree, with such an insolently triumphant expression upon his face, that it required no little self-denial on my part to restrain me from repeating the dose of the day before.

This incident was apparently a trival one, but there was that connected with it which boded no good for my excellent friend Mr. Moulson, and my charming little pet and playmate Ella.

Several years elapsed, during which I spent much of my time in the West, where certain interests of my father required attention. Meanwhile, Ella, the beautiful child, was budding and blooming into a more beautiful young woman.

There came a terrible shock-the death of my only remaining parent, my only near relative, my almost idolized father. The intense suffering I underwent reacted upon my health, and by the advice of my own and my late father's old friend, Dr. Worthing, I made the tour of Europe.

While travelling in the Holy Land, I received news which induced me to return at once to the United States. Mr. Moulson had died suddenly, and Ella was left to the tender mercies of her uncongenial step-mother. 1 started the day after I received the letter, and in due time arrived in New York. In going from the nearest railroad station to my own house in Lendon, I had to pass by the door of Dr. Worthing. The old gentleman was sitting in his little piazza, enjoying the freshness of the evening breeze.

"Bless my soul!" he exclaimed, as soon as he saw me, “the sight of you is 'gude for sair een,' as my Scotch grandfather used to say. How are you? how are you, my dear boy? I trust you are as hearty as you look."

"Yes, my dear doctor," replied I, "I began to

improve the moment I got out of the reach of your prescriptions."

"I'm heartily glad to hear it. But you hardly do me justice, Arthur; for the only prescription I gave you, of any importance, was precisely that which took you beyond my reach, and I see that it has succeeded."

I confessed the fact, and returned the warm grasp of his hand. the vigor of which surprised me. As soon as the ordinary salutations and inquiries were disposed of, I begged the doctor to tell me about our poor friend's death.

Well, my dear boy," replied he, "the truth is, I know very little about it, for I was unfortunately away from home at the time. I was with my grandson, who was suddenly taken very ill at college, and I did not return till the day after the funeral."

"The disease was apoplexy, I believe."

"So I wrote you, and so I have no doubt it was. He had been a fit subject for apoplexy for a number of years. He was found in the morning dead in his bed. Mrs. Moulson, it appears, slept in another room. He was lying on his back, quite cold. No noise had been heard during the night, and there was no evidence of pain or struggling. Poor Moulson! His last days were eminently unhappy ones. He was more under the control of his wife than I had any idea of. The fact is lamentably obvious in the will he left behind him. It not only makes Mrs. M. the absolute mistress of all his property, except a legacy to Ella of two thousand dollars; but also leaves the poor girl wholly under her control, and deprives her of her legacy if she should marry without the step-mother's consent."

"It cannot be possible," exclaimed I, "that Mr. Moulson ever designed to make such a will as that. It is a forgery; or else he was non compos mentis

when he made it."

"Alas, my dear friend, it is all right. Everything has been done properly. I saw him the very day the will was made. His mind was as perfect as ever it was. And as for the will, it has been rigidly scrutinized, and no one doubts that it is genuine. I examined it myself, carefully." "Who witnessed it ?"

"

"Hiram Wedge, Mrs. Moulson's factotum"That miserable wretch? Why, he would sell his soul for a hundred dollars."

"His name does not add much strength to the document, I must confess; but the other witness is old John Stapler, whose honesty nobody will ever call in question."

"Yes, Stapler is an honest man, beyond all doubt; but he is also a very ignorant one."

"So he is; but Mr. Moulson read the will to him himself, and saw him sign it."

"He may have seen him sign it, but he is too deaf to have heard much of it."

"My dear Arthur, I see that you are determined to have it your own way. Would to Heaven you were right. My feelings and my suspicions were much like your own; but I was obliged to confess in the end that there was no foundation for them, and you must eventually come to a similar conclusion."

Here our conference ended, and I took leave of the good old doctor with a heavy heart.