One at a Time. One stop ftt a time, aud that well i>laced, Wo roach the grandest homht ; One Btroku ut a tiuio, earth's hiddou stores Will Blowly eouiu to light ; One seed at a time, aud tiie forest crows ; One droll at a timo, and the itver flows Into the boundless sea. One word at a time, and the greatest book Is written and is read I One stone at a time, and the palace roars Aloft its btately head ; One blow at a time, the tree's cleft through. And a city will stauc^ where the forest grew A few short years before. One foe at a time, and he subdued, Aud tho Ci>ntiict will be won ; One t^rain at a time, and the sand of life Will slowly all be run ; One minute, another, the hours tly ; One day at a tiuie our lives speed by Into eternity. One {,'raiu of knowledge, and that well stored, Another and more on them, And as time rolls on your mind will shine With many a Rarnered gem Of thought and wisdom. Aud time will tell, '^One thing at a time, and that doue well," Is wisdom's proven rule. *' Too Many of We ? *' A TItUK STORY. " Mamma, is there too many of we ?" The little girl askod with a sigh. "I'orhaps you wouldn't be tireof, you see, If a few of your childs should die." She was only three years oldâ€" the one Who spoke in that strange, sad way, As she saw her mother's impatient frown At the children's boisterous play. There were half-a-dozen who round her stood, Aud the uiother was sick aud poor, Worn out with the care of the uoisy brood And the fight with the wolf at the door. For a smile or a kiss, no time, uo place; For the little one least of all ; And the shadow that darkened the mother's face O'er the young life seemed to fall. More thoughtful than any, she felt more care, And pon<lered in childisli way Huw to lighteu tho burden she could iiOt share. Growing heavier day by day. Only a week, and the little Clare In her tiny white trundle-bed Jjay with blue eyes closed, and the sunny hair Cut close froni the golden head. "Don't cry, ' she saidâ€" and the words were low, Feeling tears that she could not seeâ€" "You won't havtj to work aud be tired so When there ain't so many of we." But the dear little daughter who went away From the home tliat for once was stilled, Showed the mother's heart, from that dreary day, What a place she had always filled. The World. Tho world is a queer old fellow. As you journey along by his side You had better conceal any trouble you feel, If you want to tickle his i)ride No matter how heavy your burdenâ€" Don't tell him about it, prey ; He will only grow colder aud shrug his shoulder Aud hurriedly walk away. Hut carefully cover your sorrow. And the world will be your friend. If only you'll bury your woes and be merry Hu'Il cling to you close to tho end. Don't ask him to lift one tinger To lighten your burden, because Ho never will share it : but silently bear it And he will be loud with applause. The world is a vain old fellow: Vou must laugh at his sallies of wit. No matter how bnital, remonstrance is futile, And frowns will not change him one whit. .\m\ since you must journey together Down paths where all mortal feet go. Why, life holds more savor to keep In his favor, For he's an unmerciful foe. This Is All. KOHIK CIIUnCHILI,. Just a saunter in tho t^'iliKht, Just a whisper in the hall, Just a sail on sea or river. Just a dance at rout or ball. Just a glance that hearts enthrallâ€" This is allâ€" and this is all. Just a few harsh words of doubting. Just a silence proud and cold. Just u spiteful breath of slander, Just a wrong that is not told. Just a word beyond recall- This is allâ€" and this is all. Just a life robbed of its brightness. Just a heart by sorrow tilled. Just u faith that trusts no longer. Just a love by doubting chilled, Just a few hot tears that fallâ€" This is allâ€" ah! this i.s all. A NOVEL. CHAPTER XXVIII. EIINK8T liUNS AWAY. When Alston left the room, Ernest sat down on the bed again. " I am not going to be domineered over by Alston," he said excitedly ; " he presumes upon his friendship." Jeremy came and sat beside him, and took hold of Ilia arm. "My dear fellow, don't talk like that. You know he means kindly by you. You are not yourself just yet. By-and-bye you will see things in a different light." "Not myself, indeed! Would you bo yourself, I wonder, it you knew that tho woman who had pinned all your soul to her bosom as though it were a ribbon, was fijoing to marry another man to-morrow ?" " Old fellow, you forget, though I can't talk of it in as pretty words as you can, I loved her too. I could bear to give her up to you, especially as she didn't care a brass farthing about me ; but when I think about the other fellow, with his cold gray eye and that mark on his confounded forehead â€" ah, Ernest, it makes me sick !" And they sat on tho bed together and groaned in chorus, looking, to tell the truth, rather absurd. " I tell you what it is, Jeremy," said Krnest, when he had finished groaning at the vision of his successful rival as painted by Jeremy, " you are a good fellow, and I am a selfish beast. Here have I been kick- ing up all this black gentleman's delight, and you haven't said a word. You are a more decent chap than 1 am, Jeremy, by a long chalk. And I dare say you are as fond of her as lam. No, I don't think you can be that, though." " My dear fellow, there is no parallel between our cases. I never expected to marry her. You did, and had every right to do so. Besides, we are differently made. You feel things three times as much as I do.' ' Ernest laughed bitterly. " I don't think that I sliall ever feel any- thing again," he said. " My capacities for suffering will bo pretty nearly used up. Oh, what a sublime fool is the man wlio gives all his life and heart to one woman ! No man would have done it ; but what could you expect of a couple of boys like we were? That is why women like boys ; it is so easy to take them inâ€" like puppies going to be drowned, in love and faith they lick tlie hand that will destroy them. It must bo amusing â€" to tho destroyers. By Jove, Alston was rightabout hi^fdeals? Do you know I am beginning to see all those things in quite a different light ? I used to believe in women, Jeremy â€" actually I used to believe in them â€" I thought they were better than we are," and he laughed hysterically. "Well, we buy our experi- ence ; I shan't make the mistake again," " Come, come, Ernest, don't go on talk- ing like that. You have got a blow as bad as death, and the only thing to do is to meet it as you would death â€" in silence. Y^ou will not go after that fellow, will you ? It will only make things worse, you see. You won't have time to kill him before he marries her, and it really would not be worth while getting hung about it when the mischief is done. There is literally noth- ing to be done except grin and bear it. We won't go back to England at all, but right up to tj e /Zambesi, and hunt elepkant ; and as thingo h-ve turned out, if you should get knocked on the head, why, you won't mind it so much, you know." Ernest made no answer to this consola- tory address, and Jeremy left him alone, thinking that he had convinced him. But the Ernest of mid-day was a very different man from the Ernest of the morning, directing the erection of "parasols" over melons. The cruel news that the mail had brought him, and which from force of association cause*! him for years afterward to hate the sight of a letter, had figuratively speaking, destroyed him. Ho could never recover from it, though he would certainly survive it. Sharp, indeed, must be tho grief which kills But all the bloom and beauty had gone frbm his life ; the gentle faith which he had placed in women was gone (for so narrow-minded are we all, that we cannot help judging a class by our salient experiences of individuals), and he was from that day forward, for many years, handed over to a long-drawn- out pain, which never quite ceased, though it fre<]uentl> culminated in paroxysms, and to which death itsslf would have been almost preferable. But as yet he did not quite realize all these things ; what he did realize was an intense and savage thirst for revenge, so intense, indeed, that he felt as though he must put himself in a way to gratify it, or his brain would go. To-morrow, ho thought was to see the final act of his betrayal. To- day was the eve of her marriage, and he as powerless to avert it as a child. O great God ! And yet through it all he knew she loved him. Ernest, like many other pleasant, kindly tempered men, was, if once stung into action by the sense of overpowering wrong extremely dangerous. Ill, indeed, would it have fared with Mr. Plowden if he could have come across him at that moment. And he honestly meant that it should fart ill with that reverend gentleman. So much did he mean it, that before he left his room he wrote his resignation of membership of the volunteer corps to which ho belonged, and took it up to the Government office. Then, remembering that the I'otchcfstroom post-cart left Pretoria at dawn on the fol lowing morning, he made his way to the oflioe, and ascertained that there were no passengers booked to leave by it. But he did not take a place ; he was too clever to do that. Leaving the office, ho went to the bank, and drew one hundred and fifty pounds in gold. Then ho wont home again. Here ho found a Kafir messenger dressed in the Government white uniform, waiting for him with an official letter. The letter acknowledged receipt of his resignation, but " regretted that in the present unsettled state of affairs His Excellency was, in the interest of the public service, unable to dispense with his services." Ernest dismissed the messenger and tore the letter across. If the Government could not disiiense with him, he would disiicnse with the Government. His aim was to go to Potchefstroom and thence to the Diamond Fields. Once there, he could take the post-cart to C!ape Town, where he would meet the English mail-steamer, and in one month from the present date be once more in England. That evening lie dined with Mr. Alston, Jeremy and liogeras usual, and no allusion was made to the events of the morning. About 11 o'clock he went to bed, but not to sleep. The post-cart left at 4. At 3 he rose very quietly, and put a few things into a leather saddle-bag, extracted his revolver from under the bed where he had thrown it when, in the first burst of his agony, he had been interrupted in his con- templated act of self-destruction, and buckled it round his waist. Then ho slipped out through the window of his room, crept stealthily down die garden-patli, and struck out for the Potchefstroom road. But silently and secretly as ho went, there went behind him one more silent and secret than he â€" one to whcse race through long genera- tions of tracking foes, silence and secrecy had become an instinct. It was the Hot- tentot boy, Aasvogel. The Hottentot followed him in the dim light, never more than fifty paces behind him, sometimes not more than ten, and yet totally invisible. Now he was behind a bush or a tuft of rank grass ; now he was running down a ditch ; and now again creeping over the open on his belly like a two-legged snake. As soon as Ernest got out of the town, and began to loiter around the Potchefstroom road, the Hottentot halted, uttering to himself a guttural expression of satisfaction. Then watching his opportunity, lie turned and ran swiftly back to Pretoria. In ten minutes he was at Ernest's house. l>i front of the door were five horses, thr» • with white riders, two being held by Kafirs. On tho veranda, as usual smoking, was Mr. Alston and with him Jeremy, the latter armed and spurred. The Hottentot made his report and vanished. Mr. Alston turned and addressed Jeremy in the tone of one giving an order. " Now go," he said at last, handing him a paper, and Jeremy went, and mounting one of the led horses, a powerful cream- colored animal with a snow-white mane and tail, galloped off into the twilight, followed by tho three white men. Meanwhile Ernest walked quietly along the road. Once he paused, thinking that ho heard tho sound of galloping horses, half a mile or so to tjic left. It paBSod, and he went on again. Presently the mist lirgan to lift, and tho glorious sun came out; then came a rumble of wher six fresh horses was hard upon him. He halted, aud held up his hand to the native driver. The man knew him and stopped the team at once. " I am going with you to Potchefstroom, Apollo," he said. " AH right, sar ; plenty of room inside, sar. No passenger this trip, sar, and a good job too." Ernest got up and off they went. He was safe now. There was no telegraph to Pot- chefstroom, and nothing could catch the post-cart if it had an hour's start. A mile farther on there was a hill, up which the unlovely Apollo walked his horses. At the top of the hill was a clump of mimosa-bush, out of which, to the intense astonishment of both Ernest and Apollo, there emerged four mounted men with a, led horse. One of these men was Jeremy ; it was impossible to mistake his Iiowerf ui form, sitting on his horse with the grip of a centaur. T'hey rode up to the post-cart in silence, Jeremy motioned to Apollo to pull up. He obeyed, and one of the men dismounted and seized the horse's head. ' Tricked, by Heaven !" said Ernest " You must come back with me, Ernest," said Jeremy, quietly. " I have a warrant for your arrest as a deserter, signed by the Governor." " And if I refuse?" " Then my orders are to take you back." Ernest drew his revolver. " This is a trick," he said, "and I shall not go back." " 'Then I must take you," was the reply ; and Jeremy cooly dismounted. Ernest's eyes flashed dangerously, and he lifted the pistol. " Oh, yes, you can shoot mo if you like ; but if you do, the others will take you ;" and he continued to walk toward him. Ernest cocked his revolver and pointed it. " At your peril!" he said. " So be it," said Jeremy, and he walked up to the cart. Ernest dropped his weapon. "It is mean of you, Jeremy," ho said. " You know I can t fire at you." " Of course yon can't, old fellow. Come, skip out of that ; you are keeping the mail. I have a horse ready for you, a slow one ; you won't be able to run away on him." Ernest obeyed, feeling rather small, and in half an hour was back at his own house. Mr. Alston was waiting for him. " Good-morning, Ernest," he said, cheer- fully. " Went out driving and come back riding, eh ?" Ernest looked at him, and his brown cheek flushed. " You have played me a dirty trick," ho said. "Look here, my boy," answered Mr. Alston, sternly, " I am slow at making a friend ; but when once I take his hand I hold it till one of the two grows cold. I should have been no true friend to you if I had let you go on this fool's errand, this wicked errand. Will you give me your word that you will not attempt to escape, or must I pat you under arrest ?" " I give you my word," answered Ernest, humbled; "and I ask your forgiveness." Thus it was that, for the first time in his life, Ernest tried to run away. That morning Jeremy, missing Ernest, went into his room to see what he was doing. The room was shuttered to keep out the glare of theWlA ; but when he gut used to the light he discovered Ernest sitting at the table, and staring straight before him with a wild look in his eyes. " Come in, old fellow, come in," he called out with bitter jocularity, " and assist at this happy ceremony. Rather dark, isn't it ? but lovers like the dark. Look !" he wont on, pointing to his watch which lay upon the table before him, " by English timo it is now about twenty minutes past 11. They are being married now, Jeremy, my boy, I can feel it. By Heaven 1 I have only to shut my eyes and I can see it." " Come, come, Ernest," said Jeremy, "don't go on like that. You are not your- self, man." He laughed, and answered : " I am sure I wish I wasn't. I tell you I can see it all. I can see Kesterwick church full of people, and before the altar, in her white dress is Eva ; but her face is whiter than her dress, Jeremy, and her eyes are very much afraid. And there is Florence, with her dark smile, and your friend, Mr. Plowden, too, with his cold eyes and the cross upon his forehead. Oh, I assure you, I can see them all. It is a pretty wedding, very. There, it is over now, and I think I will go away before the kissing." " Oh, hang it all, Ernest, wake up," said Jeremy, shaking him by the shoulder. You will drive yourself mad if you give your imagination so much rein." 'â- Wake up, my boy ? I feel more inclined to sleep. Have some grog. Won't you? Well, I will." He rose and wont to the mantel-piece on which stood a B(iuaro bottle of Hollands and tumbler. llapidly filling the tumbler with raw spirit, he drank it as fast as the contractions of his throat would allow. Ho filled it again, and drank that too. Then he fell insensible upon the bed. It was a Strang" acene, and in some ways a coarse one, but yet not without a patlios of its own. ' Ernest," said Mr. Alston, three weeks later, "you are strong enough to travel now ; what do you say to six months or a year among the elephants ? The oxen are in first-rate condition, and we ought to get to our ground in six or seven weeks." Ernest, who was lying back in a low cane- chair, looking very thin and pale, thought for a moment before he answered : All right, I'm your man ; only let's get off soon. I am tired of this place, and want something to think about." " You have given up the idea of returning to England?" " Yes, quite." " And what do you say, Jeremy ?" " Where Ernest goes, th-ire will I go also. Besides to shoot an elephant is the one ambition of my life." Good! then we will consider that settled. We shall want to pick up another eight-bore ; but I know of one a fellow wants to sell, a ))oauty, by Riley. I will begin to make arrangements at once." CHAprEU XXIX. jm. I'l.OWDKN ASSF.nTS HIS niOIITS. When last wo saw Eva she had just become privately engaged to tlio Ilov. rlamea Plowden. But tho marriage was not to take place till the following spring, and tlio following B|)ring was a long way off. Vaguely she hoped something might something iniglit occur 'Is i'"niiing to prevent it, for;;otting that, as a rule, in along the silent road, and the post-cart with real life it is only happy things that acci- dents occur to prevent. Mr. Plowden did not object, he was too wary a hunter to do so. Bo when Eva made her little stipula- tions, he ac<iuiesced in them after only just so much hesitation as he thought would seem lover-like. " Life, Eva," he said, sentontiously, " is a compromise. I yield to your wishes." But in his heart he thought that a time would come when she would have to yield to his, a'ld 'i':^ cold eye gleamed. Eva saw the gleam and shuddered prophetically. Tho Rev. Mr. Plowden did not suffer much distress at the coldness with which he was treated. He knew that his day would come, and was content to wait for it like a wise man. He was not in love with Eva. A nature like his is scarcely capable of any such feeling as that,for instance, which Eva aud Ernest bore to each other. True love, crowned with immortality, veils his shining face from such men as Mr. Plowden. He was fascinated by her beauty, that was all. But his cunning was of a superior order and he was quite content to wait. So ho contrived to extract a letter from Eva, in which she talked of "our engagement," and alluded to " our forthcoming mar- riage," and waited. And thus the time went on all too quickly for Eva. She was quietly miserable, but she was not acutely unhappy. That was yet to come, with other evil things. Christ- mas came and went, the spring came, too, and with the daffodils aud violets came Ernest's letter. Eva was down the first one morning, and was engaged in making the tea in the Cot- tage dining-room, when that modern Minister to the decrees of Fate, the post- man, brought the letter. She recognized the writing in a moment, and the tea caddy fell with a crash on to the floor. Seizing it, she tore open the sealed envelope and read it swiftly. Oh, what a wave of love surged up in her heart as she read ! Pressing the senseless paper to her lips, she kissed it again and again. " Ernest !" she murmured ; " O my love, my darling !" Just then Florence came down, looking cool and composed, and giving that idea of quiet strength which is the natural attribute of some women. Eva pushed the letter into her bosom. "What is the matter, Eva?" she said (juietly, noting her flushed face, " and why have you upset the tea?" "Matter !" she answered, laughing happily â€" she had not laughed so for months ; " oh, nothing â€" I have heard from Ernest, that is all." " Indeed !" answered her sister with a troubled smile on her dark face; "and what has oui runaway to say for him- self?" " Say ! oh, he has a great deal to say, and I have something to say too. I am going to marry him." " Indeed ! And Mr. Plowden ?" Eva turned pale. " Mr. Plowden ! I have done with Mr. Plowden." " Indeed !" said Florence again ; " really this is quite romantic. But please pick up that tea. Whoever yo i marry, let us have some breakfast in the meanwhile. Excuse me for one moment, I have forgotten my handkerchief." Eva did as she was bid, and made the tea after a fashion. Meanwhile Florence went to her room and scribbled a note, incloeod in an en- velope, and rang the bell. The servant answered. " Toll John to take this to Mr. Plowden's lodgings at once, and if ho should lie out to follow him till ho finds him and deliver it." " Yes, miss." Ten minutes later Mr. Plowden got tho following note : " Come here at once. Eva has heard from Ernest Kershaw, and announces her inten- tion of throwing you over and marrying him. Be prepared for a struggle, but do not show you have heard from me. You must find m.^ans to hold your own. Burn this." Mr. Plowden whistled as he laid tho paper down. Going to his desk he unlocked it and extracted the letter ho had received from Eva, in which sho acknowledged her engagement to him, and then seizing his hat walked swiftly toward the Cottage. Meanwhile Florence made her way down- stairs again, saying to herself as she wont : " An unlucky chance. If I had seen tho letter first, I would have burned it. But we shall win yet. She has not the stamina to stand out against that man." As soon as she reached the dining-room Eva began to say something more about her letter, but her sister stopped her quickly. "Lot mo have my breakfast in peace, Eva. We will talk of the letter afterward. He docs not interest me, your Ernest, and it takes away my appetite to talk business at meals." Eva ceased and sat silent ; breakfast had no charms for her that morning. Presently there was a knock at the door, and Mr. Plowden entered with a smile of forced gayety on his face. "How do you do, Florence?" he said; " how do you do, dear Eva? You see I have come to see yon early this morning. I <WORD coords="2998,467