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& y “Where is That Man? I'm looking for that kind of man That advertiser use With cafte of “ Canticurly soap” And “ Bings’ four-doliar shoes.” “ {lope for the bald ” has pierced my hearc, And often m thrills often my At the sight of youth on “ Bicycles,” Crtaking ‘“‘ Bunchem’s pills The youth that wears “ The nobby suit ” Still haunts me night and day, Vy * hiskers in three weeks ” m “An easy shave ” with peachy cheek Srill o’er my pathway gleams. I rrant to find that kind of man, So handsome, brave and fair ; ¥rect and stalwart, and with legs *: h make a r. ‘ith arms that have some muscle and With hands that look so strong. If I ould find that kind of a man ‘ad not single long. Alss ! the fellows that I meet, omy | wabble when they walk. ave no chins and oh, they look While those grand 1,0ok noble and have brains. Dear ndvertisers, let me know ‘tine model that you use, And | will buy your facial soap Or vi ycle or 8 ; He usvy be wealthy or be poor, Wish cheeks of peach or tan, ui} would like for once to see ni meet —Judge. BUSS HELEN'S LOVERS. CHAPTER X. ‘ho best laid schemes of mice and men Gang aft a-glee ; , ad leave us nought but grief and pain for promi joy. Burns. Helen seemed reluctant to part with Mr. Flight. Her strenuous efforts to prolong their farewell at the garden gate met with ne success. It was unreasonable for her to blame him on that account. He saw no mecessity,of answering her quick questions ex ivrelévant subjects; he could find no gmali talk with which to respond to her marcy remarks. But just at last he stam- mered out that ‘She understood,” “he knew,” ‘‘he hoped she would be happy,” **he hoped that he loved her as she should be loved.” And then, refusing to enlighten her in reply her quick question as to what he meant, and shaking his head sadly at her hot denial of the imputation—what- ever it might signify—he turned abruptly away sel all her. It was no wonder that she looked pale as she retraced her steps to the house, for the bluziug sun streamed down on her bare head. Asshe passed the sweet-brier tree she paused to gather a spray on which one ef the fragile blossoms bloomed, but as she picked it the petals fell one by one to the ground, and the resisting thorns tore her fingers. The crushed ieaves left their scent upou her hands, for she held them in a vice as sie re-entered the drawing-room. Mir. Jones was standing by the window wher she came in. She looked at him geascly- She had cause for gravity; the anyze in his mien frightened her. She hardened her heart and sent her thoughts coursing back to past events, by the memory of wh:-h she could brace her determination. He + urned her glance ; his eyes were grave and steadfast; his attitude was alert ; his caro}+ss, good-humored smile was gone. The fact was that, for once in his life, his f ; er emetions were stronger than his will. e had ut the Rivers Meet ae made up his mip:! that Helen should be his wife. Sys- tematically and deliberately he had set him«-if to win her love. If the task had net been easy, it was none the less to his taste on that account ; neither was the re- suit less likely to please him. She had, agaiust his better judgment, subjugated Riu ; he, recognizing her disadvantages, everlooked them. Until this moment he had been in no hurry ; he would not precipitate matters ; en the contrary, he would prolong his wooing until her feelings fully reciprocated, if they did net exceed, his own ; that would be his revenge for her obduracy. He had promised himself a delightfal time ; he had laid a capital plan, but “ The best laid schemes of mice and men Gang aft a-gleo.” Tie advent of this rival was unlooked for ; 1 upset bis calculations and his self- cou:rol ; it maddend him. He would not beat about the bush, he woul. yo straight to the root of the matter. He wild not have any nonsense, he told hims-li, angrily, before she returned. But when he saw her, looking, in her faded ink yown, as fair and delicate as one of ose sea convolvulus that grew intertwined with thrift and sea-lavender on the cliffs, and « bunch of which he had gathered for ber only the night before, he felt, with a auid: u qualm of heart, what it would be'to lose ier, and he softened his words. “| hope I did not send your friend away ” ‘He was just going when you came,” ‘Is he staying in the place?” “ 7 don't think so.” ay — over from Ilfracombe, perhaps ?” ae 6? — “Js he an old friend?" 77 “ [| have known him for six months.” Her way of answering him displeased and surprised him—it was reluctant and con- strained, it was, oh, disquieting thought! as though she had something she wished te hide trom him ; this hypothesis was un- bearable, and should be dismissed at any cost. “« Are you going to marry him ?” There was a pause. te be alarming, then she answ “No,” in defiant and distinctly un- friendly tones. He _was annoyed, but not to be deterred from gaining his point by her pause so long as: ; | ap ‘Tf Helen was ever to manner. a. ** You don’t think I have any right to id. ask you that question ?” he sai a¢ ee one = right « ask any ques- tion, I su ; but it is always unpleas- ant to be cntechised.” . . “ When I found that parson alone with you, and—antd—ahem—holding your hands, what was I to believe?” 4 Ever atom of color had forsaken her face and lips ; it returned ina flood, her eyes blazed, her lips were comp ““Dowt be angry. only make sure ; for a moment, I was knew you would have told me 1 if on bh engaged. I was a foo Soabt you. Iunderstand ; if I hadn’t been & bit annoyed I should have seen the-whole thing at once.” Mr. Jones -was t wanted to afraid. I d taking © good deal for Save thtboved hid awvea! quarrel with © it would be easiest todo so when he plamed himself on his security and his | rival’s defeat. A man’s vanity is coarse and unattractive, no matter with what jus- tice it is own “* What would you have seen ?” she in- quired. cae the parson was to be pitied—not “Your insight might have misled you.” Now femirine weapons of warfare may serve their purpose in an Amazonian battle, but used against some men, and particularly against sucha man as Mr. Jones, they are quite harmless ; he wasa frank opponent, he hit straight from the shoulder, or he did not bit at all. ** Now, look here,” he said, going a or nearer, she was standing by the piano, bac to the light, ‘‘do you think that if I had com in as [did—through no fault of mine —and seen that poor chap making love to ou, and hadn’t asked you what it meant ut had taken it for granted that it was your ‘usual custom of an afternoon,’ that that would Lave pleased you ?” “Tt would have been less eccentric ; but perhaps I ought to he gratefal for the inter- est you takeia my affairs.” In speakitg, her voice broke, the sprig of sweetbrier vhich she held was trembling, he saw :t. ““I’m awiully sorry, Helen,” he said, gently. ‘‘] beg your pardon. I had no right to bother you, but upon my honor I couldn’t hel) it, I was so angry.” He had hardly heard what she said, her changing célor, her evident distress, h attributed t¢ the scene through which shs had lately passed. It seemed cruel to increase herpgitation himself, but he had gone so far that he could not draw back. ‘e muet sedire this troubled angel at once and soothe ber into perfect happiness ; he could not bear to see her frown, he could not bear tothink that he had wounded her. He guessed his angel a temper, but of that te was not afraid ; a temper in prospective is sometimes considered one of the rather iateresting vices, but like the rest of such inilings, loses its allurements at close quartes. He stood in silence and watched her; he was thinking how fair and stately a wife she would be; he postponed for one moment the words which should bring her to his arms. During that moment she recove herself ; with a sudden and yet unhurried movement she sested herself on the window seat ; a table of some dimensions now inter- — herself and him. ‘* We are making a ve { mountain out of nothing, Mr. (fae she said, lightly, ‘‘in your agitation you even forget my name. Would you mind opening the oor? The heat in here is horrible, and a draught will blow away the scent of the flowers ; they are so overpowering they make one breathless.” He did not open the door, nor did he answer. She did not look at him but she was conscious of his steady gaz She could bear anything just then rather than 8 nee. ‘« We will go out,” she went on, quickly, ** it is cooler in the garden. must fetch my hat and order tea We will have tes under the trees.” ing him on her way to escape through the door—how clever was her ruse to get away—her hand was close to the handle when he stepped forward and barred her progress. ‘“One moment,” he said, ‘‘I want to speak to you.” ‘« Not now,”—there was a wild petition in her voice which startled him—‘‘ wait— presently—not row.” ‘* Tt is all right, darling. I don’t want to frighten you, but the truth is I can’t get through an how without you. When I am not with you I think of you. I dream of you every night. I want you to marry me, Helen.” He paused. She was confounded at this honor which he had thrust upon her, the lashes concealed her eyes ; she did not move nor answer. marry me, if youchuck me over, down and drownmyself, or—” ““Or marry sone one else,” returned his ‘darling’; who spoke quite collectedly. ‘*T advise the later course as it might not entail such notoriety.” “Helen,” stillumiling, ‘‘ you hard-hearted little—” ‘« My name is Miss Mitford,” interrupted she ; ‘‘ perhaps jou will be good enough not to call me by any other.” “* My dearest girl, don’t chaff, I want my I am it red-hot earnest.” shall go * Soom I. ** Wom will ypu marry me f”’ ** Never !” Mr. Jones’ smle faded. ‘‘ Look here, Helen, I am in djadly seriousness. ou that lam met awfully fond of you. can't put it strng enough. I love you with all my soul,I swearI do. Will you e al ‘ &. =} m ** No,” in a lov, firm voice. ‘I will not ari | you.” : * You don't men that 2” *T do.” *< That is all yar answer ?” “ Yes. ”» Fi ** You have nohing more to say to me ?” “ Nothing.” | He was stunnd. It was not her words alone, but her hag, set face that confounded “ Is there som¢ one else, Helen t” ** No,” i **'You—you re not,” unsteadily, “ in love — some olher fellow ?” ae 0.” He caught het by the wrist, pulled her into the full light of theopen window, and stared into her white face. “*I could havesworn you liked me,” he said, ‘‘as no doubt that other poor chap ternoon could have who was here this | omission) red | these things * {happiest of the year. is i | surprised at his intended marriage to that | daughter of Lord Parsons being unopposed ra At this junctare, for bell tin! its warning of an Mies Elizabeth Mitford crossed the grass i She caught sight of the Young man’s at the drawing-room win i mediately approached him. ““ How do youdo, Mr. Jones? Iknew you were here, your cart is outside. How is dear Helen ?” ‘She is here to answer for herself.” **T am quite well, auntie.” ‘T left her lying down, Mr. Jones. I told her to rest ; she was tired out, and it is such a hot day. ¥,” og at her, “ she looksterribly pale. Come out into the air, love ; come out both of you, and we will have tea under the tulip tree. - I wi tell Betsey to bring it at once.” bustled off. “« Helen, I am going. : rude just now. I y knew what I said ; I was cut yp, don’t you know. I suppose it isn’t your fault that you don’t fancy me ; upon my word, I don’t know what you should see in me And she 1 believe I was lives together. That-thought had taken root deep ; how one ; she heard him ing to Miss Mit- ord in the garden, then she eard his quick step on the gravel, then the click of the te and the rumble of wheels, loud at first, nt soon lessening until they died into silence. Yes, he had gone, but he would come back ; he said he could not live without her. Surely, surely, surely he would try again. What had she said? Her wretched pride, her suicidal vanity had made her wound hi He must know, he must guess that she was only a woman after all, and therefore to be won. The remembrance of Lady Lucy Freemantle rana leaden thought through her brain. The recollection of Miss Jones’ “ hint,” her overbearing manner, the sins (of of the Jones’ progenitors, all which had combined in prompt- ing her recentaction were now replaced by a new and sickening dread, which she (un- used tu and restive under mental pain) sirove with the strength of her strong will to banish—and failed. ‘My love, we shall miss Mr. Jones, : said her aunt, as they sat together under the tulip tree drinking their tea. “‘ make a house lively, and he had such a pleasant, cheery way about him. I declare he reminded me more than once of my poor Thomas. “Perhaps he will come to-morrow ?” Helen was sitting, or rather, lounging back in a deck chair, her large white hat was on the grass at her feet, her hands were clasped behind her head, her eyes, soft and dewy, were fixed on her companion’s face. “Nay, my love, he bade me a last good- bye, he is going to-night—on business to London I understood him to say, and then he goes to Paxford, I believe. Helen, your tea is getting cold. Dear! dear! there is a poor little fly in it.” Helen carefully extracted the fly with a leaf, and placed it on her knee to dry and recover itself, but it was past cure; the tea had been of fatal heat, and it was dead. She looked at it ; how — it had come to rief, a false flutter, a fall, anda painful eath as punishment for one small mistake. To and fro in the sunshine, myriads of gnats and flies were darting— “You are so thonghtful, love ; what is it ?” * Tt’s too hot to talk, auntie. Just look at the bed of portulaccas, with the sun on it. Inever saw such tints; they would drive a painter to despair.” . “‘ Mrs. Majoribank’s yellow poppies are magnificent, Helen,” with the gentle jeal- ousy of the amateur gardener. “* Her coarse soil suits them to perfection ; she has promised me some seed next spring if I live so long. To my mind the seed-time is the We sow, and there rdly a limit to our expectation of joy- ful results. Now the harvest is a period of great anxiety ; we ize that nothing is under our own control, we are at the merc of the elements ; we gardeners live on fait! like the farmers. Mra. Majoribanks makes a great mistake with her roses ; she will not prune, she will not sacrifice the present to the future. My love, you have scratched @ i-] your hand; you will pluck the sweet-brier, you should cut it Helen. That is what [ sai Mr. Jones; he tore off one of the shoots so roughly as he passed the bush on his way to the gate ; he is remarkably partial to sweet-brier. Indeed I never knew such a young man 80 devoted to flowers. Mrs. Majoribanks is by her noble relations, but he is such an amiable and wealthy youth, and, I am sure, will make a considerate husband to any young lady. Mrs. Majoribanks quite thought, until Miss Jones herself contra- dicted the report, that he came here to pay his court to you, love. But, I said, Lord Parson’s daughter could, from her assured position, marry into trade, a connection which we should prefer a member of our family to avoid. I do not like gossip, Helen. I spoke most decidedly, and Mrs. Majoribanks quite a, with me.” «*.How parched the lawn is, Auntie. As soon as the sun goes down and it gets cooler we will turn on the hose and water e grass as well as the flowers.” “Nay, love, it would so encourage the slugs, a heavy dew falls each night—but do heard it myself, and seen the parec ii’a | bow beneath ie parsons) ow lL] the garden her " i and th rew back the upon her shoulders : she was over- “« Mrs, Ma: is a friend of mine, » she said, with mild reproof. “* Tan’t that very reason would f, love, the air is oppressive and prevented you drinking your tea. Will you have some raspberry vinegar = ; ae ec peo vinegar,” with a laugh which was half asob. “ Vinegar y; no, you, I daren’t touch it.” Helen’s mind that evening was a weather- cock ; firat she declared herself too tired to remembered that pecting her and she must not disappoint them. At the gate she turned back, it was so hot she wauld stay in 3 on reaching the bush of sweet brier she madea fresh decision, the sea breeze-on the shore would be refreshing, she would go—nay, she wouldn’t, it was so long a walk—she would—she wouldn’t—finall she would and she went. She returned late, very gentle and sub- dned, very careful of, and caressing toward, her aunt, with pensive eyes and a restl irit. This new mood seemed likely to be per- manent, is lasted through the ensuing week and on to the final days of her visit. The weather had broken up, @ succession of thunderstorms had su ed the heat, heavy showers fell continually, the Atlantic was troubled and stormy. Neither rough breezes nor rain kept Helen indoors, she haunted the cliffs st the seashore. Upon the sea-lashed rocks she would stand for hours, a tall, unbending figure against the dark background, the wind flapping her skirts and beatmga warm color into her cheeks. On the last day of hersojournat Noelcombe she had gone for her usual evening ramble on the beach and ste had walked for so long and for so far that she felt very tired as she toiled up the steep ascent homeward. Fatigue was a new sensation, but its “ Your merry heart goes all the day, Your sad onetires in a mile,” as Shakespeare aaa several other people have hitherto observ» When she reached Carnation Cottage; she saw Miss Elizabeth, with chintz skirt pinned up high, and Fetsey’s pattens protecting her feet from the damp grass, spudding up daisy roots on tie lawn ; on_ seeing Helen she left her work and hurried toward her. ‘« Mydear,” the cried, ‘‘I thought you were nevercomng! Mrs. Majoribanks has been here, she vaited an hour on purpose to wish you good-by.” “T’should like to have wished her good- by,” said Helenwith a mischievous gleam in her eyes. ‘‘Hin ewig Lebewohl, is not always a wrenm.” «« She had nevs for us, Helen, she had been calling at the Joneses’; the engage- ment. is annourred.” —— Helen was vertired, her knees were trembling, her wice was rather harsh, she had raised it high. She turned toward the sweet-brier, then changed her mind and faced the elder hdy. ‘* Whose engigement ?” she asked. “Sir Edwin Shuter and Miss Patricia Jones ; Mrs. Mijoribanks is so vexed, she says that her son deliberately flung away bis chance.” A beautiful smile crept over Helen's face, the dimples played in her cheeks; she beng a little joyous contented laugh to 1 o e A ‘¥] hope they will be as happy, as happy as the Queen,” she said, returning to the bush of sweetbrier. h ments announced on the same day! A curious coincidence, Helen. Patricia's will take place firat. Lady Lucy Freemantle and our Mr. Jones will not be married until Ghristmas, Lord Parsons will not return from America before then and he wishes to be present. The engagement gives universal satisfaction.” But the engagement was in truth not nearly so unprecedented as Miss Elizabeth Mitford declared. Poor Mr. Flight, had he known it, was aveng CHAPTER XI. We rise in glery as we sinkin pride ; Where boasting ende, there dignity begins. —Youna. For, ‘tis a question left us yet to prove, Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love. —SuaksPEARE. past. ‘The corn was all Summer was lon, i ivering trees were shed- gethered in ; the ding their variegated leaves; the chilly breath of comiag winter was to be felt at “rosy morn snd dewy eve.” Even to a genuine country lover, the last days of Oc- tober, amid. dying flowers, naked hedges, newly stripped woods and cloudy skies are depressing, and the thought of pavements, shop windows; dry crossings and fresh faces a nev and decided attraction. But if Helen ever sighed as she trudged over sodden leaves and waded through the muddy Meriten lanes, no one heard her; if the universal decay and death of autumn saddened her,\no one suspected that it was so. Howshotld they? She was the life and soul of her home—an imprisoned sun- beam in whick they all rejoiced. If she smiled less emily, her smile was sweeter and-less swift; if her spirits were no longer rampant, they did not overpower—the | sustained—the humor of her neighbora. she was less ready of advice, less quick of decision, more diffident of the justice of her judgment, more lenient, more sympathetic, and more thorghtful, she ‘‘ was older,” they said, as thotgh age always wrought its change thus. One or two of Helen’s girl-acquaintances, who belo to the conventional, egotisti- cal, man-hunting sect—of whom the mem- ~ took place, an event at which remorse, — and some natural excitement were ent. + Mr. Flight, to whom she had been so un- kind—Mr.°' Flight," on whom she had ticed her foolish wiles with such un- ooked for result—Mr. Flight, whose very name turned her sick and cold—Mr. Flight, of whom she never thought without a stab of sharp Paces Flight had. atoned for all his offences by dea Poor Mr. Flight ! Atleast there was ne mention of broken heart as the cause of his death. He had, like many a heart-whole man, taken fever at Florence, and, after « long and severe illness, had succumbed te the disease. His last words had been of Helen ; his ast act had been to make his will, by which he left her everything that he She found herself the owner y | of fifteen thousand pounds, and forgot the satisfaction of her riches in her anger with herself Sho had never so despised herself. She had been despicably, pitilessly re- morseless. Even now she could not cast her warmest thoughts to him ; she could not grieve for him, she could not wish him again. She did not want his money ; all she wanted was to tell him how bitterly she re- pented, and how well she understood now that she had laughed where she had better have wept. Regrets are vain emotions, as Helen knew to her cost—useless encumberers of the soil. Regrets must be strangled, if life is not to bea waste tangle of retrospect ; for regrets, like all weeds, grow apace. _Mrs. Mitford was very tender with the girl at this time, and would watch her, urtively and unobserved, from anxious eyes. She had drawn, her own conclusion —a fresh and falseone—from Helen’s altered looks and wa “Henry,” she said one day—impulsively disclosing (as women do) the secret which she had intended to keep inviolate forever —‘' Henry, Helen regrets that poor young man.” “To be sure she does,” the rector an- swered, energetically. ‘‘I should think poorly of her if she did not.. Why, we all regret him. His sermons were above the average, and his kindness of heart cxcep- tional.” “ But, Henry, you do not understand me. I mean more than I said. I mean that she mistook the nature of her feelings. She really and truly loved him.” ‘or a few seconds her husband remained in thought, then he spoke slowly— ‘* No, Honora—I think not. Vo you not remember how I scolded her for singing that ridiculous ballad to the poor man— “It is the most exceeding bore, ofall the bores I now, To have a friend who lost his heart ashort time ago"? Had her heart been touched, those words would not have occurred to her.” ** T don’t know that,” said Mrs. Mitford, with an indulgent smile. ‘‘ A girl will say or do anything from a sheer love of teas- ing.” Again, with a thoughtful brow, her hus- band reviewed the past, then he spoke with decision— “You are wrong, Honora. You were always a most imaginative woman. That poor young man had no attraction for the child. Ifound her hiding in the hayloft more than once when he called. As there was no chance of her being discovered by him, Ido not think it possible she would have concealed herself had she formed an attachment for him.” Mrs. Mitford was shaken. She wasalways ready to distrust her own judgment and te rely upon that of her husband, so she bright- ened perceptibly: **So she hid in the loft, didshe?’ How Frances has searched for her, while that poor young man was with me for hours in the drawing-room. That idea upsets my theory ; glad of it. But it is odd te me that our child should be so of heart. I had had several slight affairs before I was her age.” “¢ T don’t see anything wrong with Helen; she is prettier thun ever, and as merry as a grig. You women are always raking apd sifting and prying fora love-tale. Ifa gi is happy without a husband, you won't lieve it.” Mrs. Mitford smiledshyly. Her husband was no doubt right. ‘‘T shall send her away, Henry. Now that there is no difficulty about ways and means, I should like her to go and see my people. Change of airand scene is excellent for mind and body, besides which she will meet many—” “ “‘ So you won’t be content till you have lost her, Honora. You foolish woman, why won't you keep her here as long as you can? You will break your heart when she marries —I know it.” “«T should break my heart if she didn’t marry,” Mrs. Mitford said, smiling very sweetly at her rector; ‘* for I want her te be happy—as happy as I am.” So it was arranged that Helen should pay a round of visits, with which arrangement ehe was nothing loth to comply. She wrote lively letters home, descriptive of | and varied life. She made new friends met pleasant ple; she seemed to enjoy everything and find amusement every where. ere was an even, a sustained content te be detected in her mode of sulae — was foreign to rs, and particula new to bar former Rabite of mind. In ne letter she inquired for her Aunt Elizabeth. “She never writes to me,” was her com- plaint, repeated over and over again. (To be Continued. as you like—Mrs. Mdjoribanks was very chatty, I stayed there so long walkin round the garden and a, She tol e is always tions ; he touches turns to | ld, those girls of his will have fabulous Pecans and yet Fred Majoribanks will not pi orfe. who is ropose to . undoubtedly attached to him, his mother: says. Young men are sadly h trong. Mrs. Majoribanks is a clever woman, Helen, she notices so many trifles which escape my i that Lady on ro Ber I den’t know what kind of gratification they get out of this form of amusement. I never au were ing « fool of me, wouldn’t =, wouldn’t, unless * moshroom i Because bere, in converse, manner, appearance, and lamentable monotony of character resemble each other as ¢losely as do primroses—de- W la clared ‘‘ she had grown stupid and didn’t care -for things” (‘‘ things’ meant their conversation — which, however, both in; oe and iatention, far exceeded their | oings). i Hekn had made a mistake, or because fortum had not been kind to her, was no reason shat she should revenge her- ; her innocent over-work and . excesses insanity. Dr. fi remedy, building anew the blood and re- storing wasted energies. Good formen and women. d it relieves the pressure of the leather against y preoccupation. She was not all tender parts of the foot. the tort of) girl to int her trouble ~ Times havo changed since I was « bey.> make them psy for her ~~ If she — —— lif ad I shee ‘i pe suffered, abe fathered alone; she chewed her Won. ° SD ET Ot, ‘hick wp h epenkiong mettle, which was of the right quality. But, precme” ,