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seeing Maurice her expressions of joy and surprise flowed forth in abundance, and she talked so fast that it was with difficulty Maurice could make her answer his questions. "Yes," she said at last, "Ma'amselle Marguerite was at home; yes, le bon maître was as well as usual; they had not expected Monsieur Maurice for a day or two; ma foi, it would be a joyful surprise; they were all in the garden; would Monsieur Maurice go to him, or should she tell Ma'amselle Marguerite to come in ?"

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But Maurice was already at the glass door and the next instant he stood within the well remembered garden, with its high stone walls where the purple plums and golden apricots grew, and was hurrying down the gravel walk through the rich beds of fruits and vegetables to the central grass-plot with its gay parterre of summer blossoms and its vinecovered summer-house. Christian Kneller was sitting there, smoking his old brown meerschaum as of old, and Marguerite was bending over the flowers, as he had so often seen her, collecting some early seeds. the sound of Maurice's quick, firm tread, so different from Mere Monica's heavy tramp, or the fairy-like footsteps of Claire, Marguerite looked hastily round. One glance was enough. It was he. For four long years-for the years had been long to her the thought of this meeting had never for a single instant been absent from her heart; but now that it had come, it seemed too much happiness to bear. Her flower seeds dropped from her hands, and she sat down on the grass unable to speak or move.

In a moment Maurice was at her side. "Marguerite, what is it? What is the matter? What ails you, Marguerite ?"

The sound of his voice, the clasp of his arm made her conscious that her joy was indeed real, but still she could not speak. "Are you not glad to see me, Marguerite?" Maurice said, as he saw the colour come back to her face.

"Oh, how glad !" she murmured softly, and bending down, she kissed the hands that so closely clasped hers.

"What was it then made my Marguerite tremble so and grow so white?"

"It was joy. Oh, Maurice, hasn't joy killed sometimes? It was such joy as that I felt when I saw you."

Loud calls from Christian Kneller now summoned Maurice to receive his welcome, and sitting on the soft velvet sward beside the old man's chair, the lovers asked and answered questions about all that had happened to each other since they parted, till, perhaps weary of listening to matters of which, through Maurice's letters he had already heard, but of which Marguerite could never hear enough, Christian Kneller dropped quietly asleep.

"Come down the long walk, Marguerite," said Maurice, as Marguerite arranged a shawl over her father's chair in such a way as to shield him from the sun; "I want to sit with you once more in the dear old alcove with its red and white roses."

Putting his arm round her, he drew her away, calling her his Reine Marguerite; and few queens have ever been as happy as Marguerite was then, clasped close in his loving embrace. Surely Karl Rudorff was wrong. Where was it that she would not have followed Maurice that happy hour?

"Over the hills and far away,

Beyond their utmost purple rim,
Beyond the night, across the day,
Through all the world,"

she would have followed him as faithfully as the happy Princess followed the fated fairy Princc in Tennyson's musical version of the lovely old story.

Once more they sat together on the old stone bench as Marguerite had often dreamed of doing when Maurice was far away. In the golden sunset they talked of their past hopes and fears, of Maurice's troubles and

triumphs, and the happy future that lay before them so rich in perfect love and noble work. As Maurice gazed fondly on the happy face that rested on his shoulder he forgot that he ever called it plain, or that the gay Camille in the old studio in Rome had pronounced it hideous; still less did he remember that he had ever doubted the depth and power of his love, which, now that all his tenderness was excited by Marguerite's deep joy at his return, seemed so true and strong.

"There is no one like my Marguerite," he said, 66 no one in the world that I could love so well!" And for that brief space, he, like Marguerite, was perfectly happy.

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CHAPTER X.

BEAUTIFUL CLAIRE.

T last Marguerite recollected her father "We must go to him, Maurice," she said. "I wonder if Claire has returned." Claire ! Maurice had forgotten her very existence.

"Where is Claire ?" he asked.

"She went to buy some silks for her embroidery. Did I not tell you? You will not know her when you see her, Maurice."

"I suppose she is quite a grown-up woman," said Maurice carelessly. "But she must have come back, and will attend to your father. Stay with me a little longer, Marguerite. It is so delicious to be alone together after being parted so long."

"And what happiness to think we shall be together every day now," said Marguerite. Yes, and soon, very soon, I shall have you for my own-my wife! Will you

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be as

Maurice was ready with his protestations, and Marguerite would willingly have listened all night, but she knew that her father would be disturbed if he did not get his supper at the usual hour, and after a little entreaty on her part, and a little resistance on his, Maurice suffered her to rise, and they went back to the summer-house where they had left Christian Kneller.

He was still there, but he was now awake, and beside him stood a figure which startled and thrilled Maurice with surprise and admiration as if some lovely Venetian " Biondina" of Giorgione or Titian had taken life and suddenly stepped out of the picture. She stood just outside the shadow of the summer-house, and the evening sunlight fell like a glory on her golden hair, her white dress and the crimson roses dropping from her hand. Maurice thought he had never seen any one so beautiful in his whole life; every feature was perfect, every line and tint faultless; the low broad forehead and delicate nose were pure Greek, the lovely little mouth with its rich crimson lips and small white teeth was full of arch and playful sweetness, the violet blue eyes looked from under their curling brown lashes with soft and smiling brightness, and her glorious hair wound about her small head in shining folds, and then falling on her neck in soft curls might well have caught the heart of any painter in its glittering meshes; her figure was tall, graceful, elastic and exquisitely rounded, and she stood looking at Maurice, as he and Marguerite came towards her, with a half shy, half saucy glance which seemed partly to plead for, partly to demand, his admiration. And Maurice as he gazed was only too ready to give her all he possessed, admiration, worship, passionate love. He forgot himself, Marguerite, the whole

good to me then as you are to your father, world-everything except that all his visions my Marguerite ?"

"If you deserve it," said Marguerite, raising her bright smiling face to his; "if you will love me as well as he does."

of the beautiful seemed to have taken form and life, and to stand before him, and for a minute he felt as if he and that fair creature were alone in the world together.

"This is little Claire, Maurice," said Mar- and he can afford to scatter them by the guerite; "could you believe it ?" dozen. Is it not so, Marguerite ?"

The sound of Marguerite's voice roused Maurice from his dream. He started and, with a violent effort, awoke to the real world again.

"Can this be my old play-fellow Claire ?" he said. "I have heard of divinities taking the forms of mortals, but in this case the story is reversed."

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Marguerite knows I never flatter her," said Maurice.

"It would not be easy to do that, Master Maurice, but little Golden Locks here is of another sort, and you must not turn her head with pretty speeches."

"Maurice means what he says," said Marguerite; he could not be a great painter

He spoke in a jesting tone, but his look if he did not admire the beautiful.” seemed to turn the jest into earnest.

"Very well," said Claire, laughing with a mixture of flattered vanity and bashfulness which Maurice thought enchanting, "You try to excuse yourself for having forgotten me by paying compliments."

"What is that, little puss ?" said her father, " did not Maurice know thee? Well, I am not surprised at that, for thou wert but a poor pale chit when he saw thee last." "Maurice thought I should always be ugly," said Claire.

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"But I love only thee, my Marguerite," whispered Maurice, vowing inwardly that nothing should ever make him false to one so good and noble; "what an idiot I should be, if I let any beauty on earth steal my heart from my own Reine Marguerite."

"I like pretty speeches," said Claire. "I like them from my father when I can coax him to give them to me, as I do sometimes, and I like them from Maurice too, but I don't think they are likely to turn my head."

She glanced at Maurice with a little air of disdain, which suited her very well, but he did not seem to notice it, and for the rest of the evening he appeared to have neither looks nor thoughts for any one but Marguerite.

To be continued.

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Leave luxury, my friend, that only cloys

And thy proud mansion's heavenward-soaring dome; Bid for an hour farewell to smoke and noise, And all that dazzles in imperial Rome.

Ofttimes a change is pleasing to the great

And the trim cottage and its simple fare, Served 'mid no purple tapestries of state

Have smoothed the wrinkles on the brow of care.

Andromeda's bright Sire now lights on high
His cresset, Procyon darts his burning rays,
The Lion's star rides rampant in the sky,
And Suminer brings again the sultry days.

Now with their panting flocks the weary swains
To cooling stream and bosky dell repair:
Along the lea deep noontide silence reigns,
No breath is stirring in the noontide air.

Thou still art busied with a statesman's toils,

Still labouring to forecast with patriot breast Bactria's designs, Scythia's impending broils,

The storms that gather in the distant East.

Heaven in its wisdom bids the future lie

Wrapped in the darkness of profoundest night, And smiles when anxious mortals strive to pry Beyond the limits fixed to mortal sight.

Serenely meet the present; all beside

Is like yon stream that now along the plain Floats towards the Tuscan sea with tranquil tide; Soon-when the deluge of downpouring rain

Stirs the calm waters to a wilder mood

Whirls down trees, flocks and folds with angry swell, While with the din loud roars the neighbouring wood, And echo shouts her answer from the fell.

The happy master of one cheerful soul

Is he, who still can cry at close of day— "Life has been mine: To-morrow let the pole Be dark with cloud or beam with genial ray,

"As Jove may will; but to reverse the past
Or to annul, not Jove himself hath power;
Not Jove himself can uncreate or blast

Joys once borne onward by the flying hour.

"Fortune exulting in her cruel trade,

Sporting with hearts, mocking her victims' sighs,
Smiles on us all in turn, a fickle jade,

Bestows on each in turn her fleeting prize.

"While she is mine, 'tis well; but if her wing
She wave, with all her gifts I lightly part;
The mantle of my virtue round me fling,

And clasp undowered honour to my heart.

"Blow winds, let mainmasts crack! No need have I
To bribe the gods with vows or lift in prayer
My frantic hands, lest the rich argosy

Freighted with Cyprian or with Tyrian ware

"Add to the treasures of the greedy main.
Safe in my shallop while the tempests rave,
And shielded by the Heavenly Brothers twain,
I dare the hurly of the Ægean wave."

THE WOMAN'S RIGHTS MOVEMENT.

BY A BYSTANDER.

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MOVEMENT has been set on foot, | to be civilization itself; unprecedented in

and in England and the United States has made considerable way, the object of which is to effect a sweeping change in all the relations of the sexes-conjugal, political, legal, educational and industrial. It may safely be said, that such a revolu. tion, if it actually takes place, will be at once unparalleled in importance and unprecedented in kind. Unparalleled in importance, because female character and domestic morality lie so completely at the root of civilization, that they may almost be said

kind, since history affords no example of so extraordinary a change in the fundamental relations of humanity, the progress of which has hitherto been in conformity with those relations as well as comparatively gradual, though not unmarked by exceptional and momentous efforts, such as seem to rebut the idea that humanity is under the dominion of mere physical law.

In the United States a peculiar impulse has been given to all levelling movements by negro enfranchisement; and demagogism

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