"You propose treason-what stands to you for-treason-and talk of honesty." In spite of herself her voice grew quick and eager. "Suppose I stooped to bargain with you, Captain Hurst? Each time that I looked at you I should think, 'Here is a traitor! Each time that we broke bread together I should be eating tainted food. No, sir! Your cause is a poor thing at the best, but you might at least be loyal to it."

Hurst saw his well-planned scheme as so much madness now. Barbara had not spared him. Not only had she treated his suit as an impertinence; she had shown him, too, the meanness of this bargain which he had tried to make with her.

"It was for love of you-for love of you," he stammered, passing a hand across his eyes.

"No!" Again there was a clear, cold The Cornhill Magazine.

challenge in her voice. "True love marches with true deeds. See, Captain Hurst, you think your battle is with Mr. Blair of Blair. It is with me. Mr. Blair is in the house, or he is not. Find him."

She was gone, and the red dawn sweeping through the doorway seemed full of menace to the Captain. He had lost Barbara. He had forfeited

his honor. He would lose Blair himself, so some sullen whisper told him.

"My God, I have lost her!" he muttered.

Full day came up in triumph across the wintry moor. And Hurst stood at the door, looking with wild eyes across the stern and loyal hills. They, like Barbara, stood firm; while he was an outcast, stripped of every rag that might have clothed his shame.

Halliwell Sutcliffe.

[It is often difficult to avoid circumstances which involve a septic touch. What assurance is there of the cleanliness of the glass at refreshments bars; of the knife and fork at the café? What filth may linger in the chinks of the coin of the realm; what objectionable dirt may be left on the door handle?-The Lancet.]

After the repeated shocks which our respected contemporary has lately been dealing to the nerves of its readers, we think it necessary to draw up a few simple hygienic memoranda for public and domestic guidance.

On Rising in the Morning.

1. Don't take the water in, unless you are sure it has been distilled, treated with barium chloride and permanganate of potassium, and redistilled over K H S 0, to fix any ammonia. If

the housemaid does not possess this elementary chemical knowledge, deIcline to wash at all, and have an airbath.

2. Use a new tooth-brush, or else have a fresh set of false teeth, each day-whichever you think is less dangerous.

3. Do your hair with your fingersbrushes and combs are simply deadly bacillus-traps.

4. Keep your soap, sponge and shaving tackle under an air-pump, to choke off the microbes.

5. Stop in bed.

On Taking Breakfast.

1. Don't read your letters or newspapers until they have been baked, saturated with a disinfectant, and put through the mangle. The PostmasterGeneral is most careless in these re

Richards; and a romance of old Quebec entitled "In Treaty with Honor," by Mary Catherine Crowley.

The Athenæum prints the following curious note:

Some ten years ago, on the publication of Mrs. Oliphant's "Life of Laurence Oliphant," interest was stimulated in one of the most extraordinary mystics of modern times, Thomas Lake Harris. By his followers he was regarded as a prophet, almost as a Messiah; by others he was denounced as a charlatan. Soon after the controversy excited by Mrs. Oliphants' volume had subsided Mr. Harris announced that he had discovered the secret of immortality by the inspiration of "The Divine Breath." His religion became one directly associated with the fight against physical death, and some strength was given to his arguments by a sort of rejuvenation which took place in his own body. Mr. Harris, however, died on March 23rd last, a fact which has been kept very secret hitherto. His biographer will probably be Mr. Edwin Markham, the poet, who in the meantime is preparing a volume of selections from Mr. Harris's writings. Other members of the community are arranging for reminiscences and experiences.

Mrs. Eva Emery Dye finds new material for a romantic biography in the annals of Oregon, in a volume called from its hero's name, "McDonald of Oregon: A Tale of Two Shores," which A. C. McClurg & Co. are about to publish. The chance casting away of a party of Japanese on the Oregon coast many years ago inspired McDonald, a fully historical personage, to enact a similar drama in his own proper self with the characters and continents reversed. Landing on the shores of Japan he was passed from governor to governor until he reached the capital. There he was permitted to establish a school, and it was actually his pupils who acted as interpreters during the negotiations with Commodore Perry,

generally supposed to be the first of Americans to enter Japan. Mrs. Dye has long been aware of the facts in McDonald's unusual career, having obtained them largely from his own lips; but she deferred publication until his papers finally reposed in her hands. It will be remembered that the hero of this new book entered largely into her story of "McLoughlin and Old Oregon," to which this later volume is in a sense a sequel.

Commenting with warm appreciation upon the Rev. Samuel McChord Crother's "The Gentle Reader" The Academy remarks:

From America we receive more books of such essays or papers than come from all the English publishers. The reason possibly is that, since there are more readers and writers in America than in England, therefore there are more examples of each different kind of book. But the essay, or the occasional paper, is becoming rarer and rarer in England. The essayist labors, of course, under a great disadvantage. Steele, Hazlitt, Stevenson, one or another is sure to be thrown in his teeth by the reviewers, just as it used to be the foolish fashion to tell a minor poet that he was not a Milton. But the novelist labors under the same burden: Fielding, Scott and Thackeray have lived and written; and the thought does not deter the novelist. The dearth of essays is probably due to the prevalence of fiction. The stimulus or the sedative, doctors tell us, must be increased, if it is to preserve its efficacity. The palate enured to chilis finds no flavor in white pepper. And the taste formed on novels, the hottest and strongest kindest of mental food, finds the essay insipid. So far as the interpretation of life goes, we are ready to believe that a novel-a good novelgives more of it than an equally good essay; but we may be permitted a sigh for the disappearance of a peculiarly pleasant form of literary art.