do anything to save us from that thing you
spoke of——"

"Hush!" said her father; "never go back
to that, my dear; we've done with it, I hope.
But he loves you.  A heart of steel—true
to the very core—any girl might be proud
to win him.  Just the right age too—little over
thirty.  Why, I wouldn't see you joined to one
of those schoolboy whipper-snappers; no, I'd
sooner have you single all your life.  But you
know it—you've fouud it out long ago.  Don't
tell me; only half an hour ago he came to me
with his little story, and I felt for him, I did,
Lulu.  You know he seemed to feel sore: he's
as tender and delicate an organisation as a
child."

"I didn't mean to say anything to hurt him;
no, indeed," said she, eagerly. "He is the last
person in the world I would like to wound.  I
wrote to him to say so."

Mr. Dacres's eyes twinkled. "Ah, that was
what brought him to it.  I see now; I was
wondering——"

"And, papa," she said, thoughtfully, "and he
really made you this proposal to-day?"

"Solemnly and seriously, he did."

"I like him," she went on in some agitation,
"and always did, and admire him, too—his
great gifts, his talents, his honour; but—-"

"But what, my dear? I know now what's
passing in that little mind of yours; you never
let this next or nigh you? Eh? You'd have
gone on without thinking more of it? Eh? You
don't feel that burning affection—the lying
awake at nights? Why, that's all gone out now,
that's only in the novels and foolish school-girls'
heads! As for waiting for a beautiful man to
rise out of the earth and perform prodigies, and
full of lovely sentiment and a low voice, that,
my dear, is a luxury only for the rich and
comfortable; we're not entitled to that."

"No, papa," she said, with a little vehemence.
"I am no fool of that sort, thank Heaven!
But this is so strange—so odd—-"

"Strange! nonsense! Why, haven't I seen
it over and over again. Wasn't there little
Wilson, on the circuit, a man of a good sound
fifty years, if he was a day; but as clever and
sweet a minded fellow as ever held a brief.
Well, when he met a pretty little girl, who
would have died outright if she had not
married him, no one was in the least surprised.
There was Rogers, fifty-six if he was an hour;
he and his wife, a child of twenty or a little
over. I could tell you loads of instances; and
take it at the worst, my dear, is it such a
punishment for a set of paupers like us? for we
are that, Heaven knows. And not one that's
gone through what I have."

She answered him quickly:

"Yes, yes, papa; anything but that. l am
sure I could be happy with him; he is so kind,
and noble, and generous; and I promise you I
will try my best to do what you say. It is
the best, and only course—I am sure of it; and
I shall begin to understand it all soon."

Mr. Dacres, quite overcome at this
unexpected adhesion, folded her in his arms and
clasped her to his breast.

"You are a good natured, sensible child," he
said, "and I am proud of you indeed. There
is not one girl in a hundred—ay, in a hundred
thousand—would have the tact to do as you
have done. You are as wise as a woman twenty
years older, and will be rewarded for it, mind I
tell you; for when they marry their young
skipjacks, who soon lead them a life, you
will have a steady, clever, faithful man, who
will never forget you, and make it the study of
his life to reward you. I declare I feel as light
as a feather after this. I shall sleep—oh, so
lightly!—to-night, petsy."

This result was nothing very special, as the
learned gentleman, even at the most critical
seasons, never lost an hour's repose.

"You know," she said, with a smile, "I don't
want to have you think of any grand sacrifice,
or anything of that sort; only what you have
said has come as a sort of surprise to me. I
know this, I am always so glad when Mr.
West comes, and find great delight in listening
to him, and am a little sorry when he goes
away. So I suppose—"

"Ah! go 'long, you little humbugging
witch, you! Why, that's love—love all over!"

"Hush, papa!" she said, looking round.
"No—regard—esteem; but it is no matter.
Only, dearest, you must promise me this—you
must wait, and let matters take their own way.
Leave it all to me."

"'Deed, then, I will," he said, patting her
head; "and it couldn't be in better hands. I'll
move neither hand,leg, not foot in it."

He was greatly pleased, and went up to
"dress"—an operation only kept for seasons
of high festival. When he had gone
his way chanting the interrupted "Light
of her eyes," the girl sank down in a chair
very thoughtfully, and, with something like
youthful wrinkles on her forehead, remained
for nearly half an hour. Her young head was
working the thing out—a habit of hers.
At last she heard the French clock strike;
it was getting to the time for the "Corso,"
and she rose, saying softly, "That degradation
would kill me! Anything to save us
from that!"

GENERAL JAMES OGLETHORPE

The world soon forgets its real workers.
Unless there has been something in their career so
specially romantic that poems and pictures are
made in their honour, or unless they were so
entirely the culminating point and representative
of their age that they appear like its
forming power, they get done away with and
forgotten. Their deeds, which live after
them, live without recognition or assignment.
If you speak of one of these forgotten
worthies, people ask, "Who was he? I never
heard his name before. What did he do?
When did he live?" How many time these