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 iove, 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, "no one in the world that I could love so well!" And for that brief space, he, like Marguerite, was perfectly happy. A 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. 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 world-everything except that all his visions 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. 66 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." "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.” He spoke in a jesting tone, but his look if he did not admire the beautiful." seemed to turn the jest into earnest. "Maurice means what he says," said Marguerite; he could not be a great painter "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. "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. 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 Now with their panting flocks the weary swains Thou still art busied with a statesman's toils, 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 Joys once borne onward by the flying hour. "Fortune exulting in her cruel trade, Sporting with hearts, mocking her victims' sighs, Bestows on each in turn her fleeting prize. "While she is mine, 'tis well; but if her wing And clasp undowered honour to my heart. "Blow winds, let mainmasts crack! No need have I Freighted with Cyprian or with Tyrian ware "Add to the treasures of the greedy main. THE WOMAN'S RIGHTS MOVEMENT. A BY A BYSTANDER. MOVEMENT has been set on foot, 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 to be civilization itself; unprecedented in 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 pounces, by anticipation, on the female vote. In England, the movement, though Radical in its origin, is fostered by a portion of the Conservative party in the hope that 'the female vote will come to the rescue of existing institutions. In Canada, exempt from these disturbing causes, we have hitherto been touched by the educational part of the movement alone, and are therefore in a position to consider the question calmly in case it should ever present itself to us in the broader and graver form. It is desirable, in the first place, to clear away certain fallacies by which a very invidious character has been needlessly given to the discussion. The advocates of Woman's Rights, male and female, have represented woman as the victim hitherto of wilful and systematic injustice, against which she is at last about to rise in revolt; and their language is such as, if it could sink into the hearts of those to whom it is addressed, might turn all affection to bitterness and divide every household against itself. But these representations are without foundation in history, which shows that the lot, both of man and woman, has been determined from time to time by circumstances only to a very limited extent subject to the will of either sex, and which neither sex could be blamed for accepting or failing to reverse. Those who assume that the lot of woman has been through all the ages fixed by the will of man, and that man has willed that he should enjoy political rights and that woman should be a slave, have forgotten to consider the fact that in almost all countries down to a very recent period, man himself has been, and in most countries even at the present day remains, if not a slave, at least destitute of political rights. It may probably be affirmed that the number of men who have hitherto really and freely exercised the political suffrage is hardly greater than the number of those who have in different ages and in various ways sacrificed their lives in bringing the suffrage into exis At. The primeval family was a unit, the head of the family representing the whole household before the tribe, the state and all persons and bodies without; while within he exercised absolute power over all the members of his domestic circle, over his son and his men-servants, as well as over his daughters, his maid-servants and his wife. The tribe was in fact composed not of individuals but of families represented by their heads. the death of the head of a family, his son stepped into his place and became the representative and protector of the whole family, including the widow of the deceased chief. This system was long retained at Rome, where it was the source of the respect for authority, and, by an expansion of feeling from the family to the community; of the patriotism which produced and sustained Roman greatness. But its traces have lingered far down in history. It was not male tyranny that permitted Queen Elizabeth to send members of the royal household to the Tower by her personal authority as the mistress of the family, without regard to the rule of the common law against arbitrary imprisonment. Such a constitution was essential to the existence of the family in primitive times; without it the germs of nations and of humanity would have perished. To suppose that it was instituted by man for the gratification of his own sexual tyranny would be the height of absurdity in any one, and in a philosopher unpardonable. It was as much a necessity to primeval woman as it was to primeval man. It is still a necessity to woman in those |