and cobweb lace, all to go into the ugly black kiln and be burned remorselessly for the good of the British Lion with a big L. "They can't humbug me!" he was wont to exclaim. "I am none of your confounded puppies who won't seize anything because it belongs to a pretty girl. I'm Her Majesty's official, and I'm devoted to the service, by gad! Duty before sentiment, by Jove !" The captain lived on with credit and renown, and one day he was waiting the arrival of the steamer from France in a thick, cold fog, and he was in very bad humor. That day he had made a discovery which caused his red face to turn crimson, and his ugly, queer, overfed eyes to stick out from the beds of wrinkles by which they were surrounded. His wife received letters from her unfortunate son ! She had been caught in the very act of reading one, and crying" Yes, by King Arthur! crying over it!" He gave her and his daughter such a lecture, garnished by such a profane expenditure of Scriptural language, that he felt satisfied when he left them, for their misery was sufficient, if it had been properly spread out, to make a whole city wretched. The captain was prepared to "fix any one who carried ashore one cigar, or one inch of lace, a pair of gloves, or any other item. As he stood thus, watching the coming ashore of the passengers with a "stony British stare," he espied a lady who walked with the gentle, appealing, uncertain step of a young widow. She was followed by a nurse, wearing the cap and apron of a French bonne; and in the arms of this nurse was a baby, in long and flowing white robes. The captain was on the alert. The lady came up to him, and, throwing back her long crape vail, addressed him in deep, musical accents: "You are the custom officer, sir ?" "I am," responded the captain, rather gruffly. Now, the widow was sufficiently beautiful to disarm even the ill-nature of Captain Muggins, and just the style of beauty he would be sure to admire. The captain was blonde, of a highly aggravated, mashed-turnips style of blondness. His hair, aggressive eyebrows, and bristling mustache and whiskers, were all of the same hue. A friend might call them auburn, but spinster ladies from whom he had ruthlessly wrested gloves, laces, etc., called him a carroty old fox!" and suffered no pangs of conscience from applying such a term to his hirsute adornments. The widow was beautiful, with a clear brown eye-or rather two of them-velvet-lidded, heavy-fringed, full and languid, prone to be cast down modestly and upraised suddenly, to the no small confusion of the luckless male bystander. She wore the full attire of woe. A small crape bonnet, with a slight frost-work of white under its brim, rested on her glossy black hair. Such hair!-waving and shining and blue-black. Her brow, so smooth and broad, was undisfigured by lunatic fringe or bang. Her eyebrows were black and delicate, but straight, not arched. Her nose might be a trifle large, but it was beautifully formed and clearly chiseled; and her mouth was beautiful, the lips so full, so heartlike in their proud arch, their coloring so fresh and rich. Then her complexion was of a soft, ruddy, indescribable brunette tint, impossible to picture in words, but wholly charming; her chin was so finely molded and her throat full and round. Altogether, the irascible captain thought, "Gad! the finest woman I've seen for years!" For the widow's form fully equaled her face, and she was handsomely dressed. "Where is your lug “I am, madame," he repeated. gage?" "Here it is. I am alone-that is, with the exception of my nurse and baby. I have to travel so much now, and always alone." Tears seemed very close to the widow's lovely eyes, and a mournfully appealing tone touched even the ironclad heart of Captain Muggins. "All right, ma'am. Have nothing to declare, I sup pose ?" "Nothing. Please examine my trunks, for I long to rest, and my baby has been quite seasick, poor darling !" The trunks were examined carefully; for, however fine a woman the widow might be, "duty before sentiment * was the captain's motto. Nothing was found, and the trunks were passed. The widow took her baby from the nurse's arms and hushed it to sleep, as it had evinced signs of disquietude by beginning to whimper. "A fine child, ma'am," said the captain, who hated babies like poison. "Is he not beautiful, my Henri ?—the image of his dear -oh!" a sob completed the sentence. He was beautiful—at least as much as could be seen of him, for he was one mass of lace and embroidery, his rosy face half concealed by a filmy vail. "He is a fine fellow-how old might he be ?" the captain's parboiled eyes shone with interest; he admired the widow more every moment. "Seven months to-morrow-poor little darling! to think how much he has traveled!" "He has, ma'am ?" "Yes; by his dear father's very strange will, I live six weeks in Paris and six in England, alternately." "Rather troublesome for you, ma'am." "Oh, I don't mind for myself," said the bewitching widow, with a swift upward flash of her adorable eyes; "but my poor little boy-fancy, I might risk his health, might even lose him," here she seemed about to give way to her feelings, but just then as the captain murmured, "Oh, I hope not," sympathetically, the bonne came up to say that the carriage waited, and with a hurried “Thank you so much- good-by," the beautiful widow disappeared. "Ah! that's something like a woman!" ejaculated the captain, as he resumed his official duties. He felt that Providence had been guilty of gross injustice in not providing him with just such a wife, instead of poor, faded, weak-eyed, heart-broken Mrs. Muggins. In three weeks the beautiful widow returned to France, and in six weeks she again had her luggage examined by the captain, who became more deeply interested than before. This sort of thing continued for nearly a year. Captain Muggins was now violently enamored of the lovely widow, who long ago had informed him that her name was Mrs. Cecil, and that her husband's death had left her very wealthy, though sadly inconvenienced by the terms of his strange will. Master Henri throve apace; he grew wonderfully large and heavy, and was a remarkably good baby-so quiet. "He is quite a sailor," said the captain, as he stood examining the trunks after rather a stormy voyage. "Yes; and, poor darling, he cried so very dreadfully during the passage, he is quite worn out." When the widow and the captain had been acquainted a year or so, the head officer of the department sent for Majesty's Customs, but he is more humble, for his beauti Captain Muggins one day. He received him in his private office, and remarked, as soon as he saw him : ful widow was a smart young snuggler from Paris. He was singularly handsome and made up well as a woman, and he had brought thousands of pounds' worth of valu"I sent for you, Muggins, for I know you are very ables through right before the redoubtable captain's sharp." nose; and as long as the captain lives he will never “Thank you, sir,” replied the captain, pleased by the hear the last of the widow's baby. compliment. "Well, Muggins, I have something rather unpleasant to say." "Yes, sir." The captain felt rather alarmed. "I've received information that a noted smuggler has been getting ahead of us for a year, bringing over diamonds, laces, etc.-thousands of pounds' worth of valuables. I have known it for some time; but, though I've tried every way, I'm blowed if I can spot him." The captain's face grew redder. GREAT MEMORIES. THE history of the world has been dotted with the names of those who have possessed remarkable memories. As far back as the remote periods of antiquity, we are told, there lived men who were famous for their wonderful powers of recollection. Mozart, when only thirteen years old, played from one hearing a new opera, which had been composed ex "I hope, sir, that you don't imagine I neglect my pressly to test his skill. A writer, referring to this inciduty ?" he said, humbly. Like all other bullies, he was a great coward. "No, I don't. But it is quite possible that some one has been a little too smart for you.” "I scarcely think that possible," said the captain. "Well, well, the thing is that the game is going on, and I want to tell you what I am going to do. I've sent to Scotland Yard for one of their sharpest men, and he'll be on the wharf the next trip." dent, says: "He not only reproduced the opera-which was a very difficult piece-from memory, without missing a single note, but on a second playing threw in variations in such a manner that all who heard him were speechless with astonishment." It is said of Themistocles that he could call by name the people of Athens, which city then numbered 20,000 inhabitants. George III., though deficient in education, never for No crimson dye of Eastern fame could equal the tint of got a name once heard or a face once seen. A detective put on his wharf-to overlook him! He left the office and returned to his duties. His blood boiled with indignation, and he scarcely replied to the many questions asked him during the day by those with whom he came in contact through his official position. A schoolteacher of London, whose name was. Dawson, possessed a remarkable memory. He could repeat the Book of Job and the Psalms, and, on a wager of £200, he repeated, without a book, Spenser's "Faerie Queene," a poem of nearly 4,000 stanzas of nine lines each. Porson, the Greek scholar, could repeat Milton's "Paradise Lost " backward. A monk who resided in Moscow in the fifteenth century could repeat the whole of the New Testament. It has been written of the Bourbons that they never forgot a man's name, nor his face, and this has been sometimes considered as a true sign of their royal natures. Houdin was once invited with his son to a gentleman's house to give a séance, and as he went up-stairs he passed When the steamer arrived and her passengers flowed ashore in a stream, the captain espied the widow advancing with her usual smile, her nurse and her baby. "Ah, how are you, my friend?" said the charmer, in the library-door, which was partially open. In that sinher usual soft, melodious accents. "Well, thank you. How is Master Henri ?" "Oh, so well, so beautiful!” The trunks were passed, and, after a few pleasant words, the widow prepared to depart, but just as Julie, the bonne, had announced the carriage, a quiet-looking man, in a salt-and-pepper suit, stepped up and laid a profane hand on the beautiful shoulder of the charming widow. "Caught again, Iky !" he said, in a pleasant manner. The widow started. She glanced around in terror alarm. "I've "No use, Iky," said the salt-and-pepper man. been wondering why you kept so quiet. Game up, old boy." The captain stood by in speechless amazement while the detective arrested the beautiful widow. And the baby, Master Henri, what of him? He was disrobed of his lace and his embroidery, and he proved to be one mass of smuggled goods, adroitly built together on the foundation of a bottle of the best French brandy, and furnished with a waxen face and an apparatus to make a noise resembling the cry of an infant. The captain is still employed as an officer of Her gle moment young Charles Houdin read off the names of twelve volumes, and recognized the position of two busts. The gentleman, during the séance, was artfully led by the father to ask some questions relating to the library, and was astonished by the accuracy of the magician's answers. Boone, the blind negro pianist, who has given performances in many countries, has a wonderful memory in connection with his art. From once hearing it, he was able to play Liszt's celebrated "Hungarian Rhapsody" withBlind Tom also performed out missing a single note. similar feats. ECONOMY in our affairs has the same effect upon our fortunes that good-breeding has on our conversation. 66 THEN A CRY OF JOY, VOICES, AUNT CARRIE'S SOBS, LIGHTS TWO STRONG ARMS IN WHOSE CLASP SHE SHUDDERS-AND THEN DOROTHY REMEMBERS NO MORE." DOROTHY'S WOOING; A ROMANCE OF STOCKBRIDGE HOUSE. BY FANNIE AYMAR MATHEWS. DOROTHY WINTHROP was twenty-four, very pretty, and very self-willed. Her family were going, as usual, to their country seat at Newport, but Dorothy suddenly made up her mind that she must go to Stockbridge for her season. Papa and mamma had been in Stockbridge years ago, when Dorothy was a little tot in a big brown hat and a little frock, and now nothing would please their daughter but to revisit the dear old place she had heard so much about. Aunt Carrie, whose pet Dorothy had been since her birth, was easily pressed into the service of chaperon to her willful niece, and July saw them comfortably ensconced at the quaint, delightful Stockbridge HouseVol. XXV., No. 3-18. that heir and successor to the old Red Lion Inn, whose ancient sign Dorothy often fancied she heard swinging and creaking as she lay and listened to the wind in the chimneys on stormy nights. What, also, did Miss Dorothy dream of? What other sound crept across the midnight silence? "Only the tones of a deep, sweet voice, Only the thrill of a whispered word!" Dorothy sat, on a sunshiny morning, in one of the parlors. She held Jonathan Edwards's "Freedom of the Will" in her listless little hands. It had seemed a proper volume to take from the library and form an acquaintance with, here, not a stone's throw from Edwards' Hall and the famed closet" where the work was written. But Miss Dorothy's dark eyes were not fixed upon the erudite pages of the Stockbridge sage; instead, they were gazing into the very depths of the leaping flames of the big wood fire, and anon they wandered to the high shelf, full of quaint teapots and old-fashioned silver, to the polished sideboards and spindle-legged tables, to the funny old bandbox underneath, and the wonderful prints of the wonderful and fashionable ladies of the year of grace 1804 that hung upon the walls, and over to the spinning-wheel in the corner, where the firelight played on the flax and where a sunbeam fell across the worn treadle, idle and noiseless to-day. There was a hum of voices outside on the piazza-a low, confused murmur, from which only a word or two could be distinguished now and then-such as "My part," "this character," "that costume," etc. Truth to tell, Stockbridge House was divided against itself; one half the young people were going to give the other half a surprise in the form of some sort of entertainment, the nature of which was to be kept a profound secret from the uninitiated until the eventful evening should arrive. Dorothy was among the number to be surprised, and, therefore, she had naught to do with this secret conclave now in progress. Nanght to do, save to dream away the day in the big, high-backed rocking-chair; to toast her little feet and find life a pleasant thing. "All alone, Miss Winthrop ?" Dorothy did not turn her head; not she, but she could not help the warm, sweet blood that rushed up like newborn roses in her round cheeks. "Yes, Mr. Van Cortlandt; I seem to be." May I sit down ?" "No; you look better standing, I think." Dorothy surveys him critically, with a provoking little smile and air of toleration that would have been amusing to any third person. And, indeed, her eyes must have been well filled as they looked. Pelham Van Cortlandt was a tall, straight fellow, with man and gentleman written on him from crown to heel. There was something princely in the pose of his well-shaped head, and, together with a certain hauteur, there lurked the sweetest smiles under his brown mustache. He was older than Dorothy by fourteen years, and on his face there was graven the record of the life men lead-not altogether holy. "Do I?" he says, laughing, and throwing his tenniscap on the table. "True," Dorothy says, with a little laugh; "I have always been a slave to the sunshine.' And they sauntered out together. The clock in the church-tower opposite chimed ten as they started, and presently the clock in the tall tower up the street answered back the ten swelling strokes again; past the Rectory, where the children were playing with the pony; past the Hall, with its gay groups on the tennis-ground; past the open gates of the historic Sedgwick Place; by the Indian Burying-ground, and under the pines and down the hill-slope, and through the wide meadow to the river, where the canoe lay sidling at its mooring. Dorothy stepped in as her companion unlocked the boat, and was about to follow her. "No, don't come in yet, please! I want some of those lovely locust-blossoms. Give me the paddle until you get them." "Very well." In some strange fashion, Pelham Van Cortland's speech seems to have deserted him this morning. He Las scarcely spoken since they left the house, and his words come now but few. Only his blue, keen eyes are restless, quitting Dorothy's face but to seek it again, their hunger unsated. In a few moments Dorothy's arms and lap are full of the fragrant blossoms. She buries her pretty chin in their clusters, and then, with a dexterous movement of the paddle, Miss Dorothy jerks herself into the middle of the stream and leaves Mr. Pelham Van Cortlandt standing alone upon the bank. He leans agaiust a tree-bole and looks at her. "Won't you allow me to be in the canoe with you?" he asks, gravely. Dorothy shakes her head, and tosses off the little blue cap from her dark, short curls. Why not ?" He folds his arms, and over his worldly wise face there comes an expression that an archangel might envy. "Tired of having you in the canoe with me," Dorothy answers, leaning lazily back among the locust-blossoms. "What would you say to having me with you perpetually?" he asks, his intense eyes prisoning her wandering glances and calling the bright blood up into her face. "I should object." Dorothy dips her hand into the water, and watches the "Yes, I really think you do. Still, if you are tired, little ripples playing about her shining rings. you might sit down." "Ah, thanks-awfully." He sits, sits and stares at Miss Dorothy, who suddenly seeks strength and knowledge from the revered Jonathan. "You could not-would not," he says, all the ruddy color dying out of his face. Dorothy nods, as she draws a flower across her lip. Dorothy !" he cries, in a whisper soft as the Summer wind that blows his words across the stream to her. "What a beastly room this is!" Mr. Van Cortlandt "Dorothy! I love you!” finally ejaculates. "You wretch! It's a perfect room!" "I mean-let us-won't you come out? I always feel And all of passion's holiest is hushed within his restrained tone. "Do you?" laughs Dorothy. "How odd!" And laugh so smothered in here-won't you?" taking the grim, graying still, she pelts him with a shower of locust-blossoms, little book from her reluctant fingers. "Where to ?" "The river, please! I-I want you to come so much!" "Well, I don't mind. I suppose the day has to be gotten through some way. Please tell Aunt Carrie that I am going." which he catches and presses to his lips. "What a deliciously funny place to tell me about it !" Miss Dorothy continues, glancing up under her long lashes, as she paddles the canoe a bit further up the stream. "Come in to me, Dorothy!" cries he, stretching out his arms. "Come! Don't torture me any longer, for God's |