the arm-pit style, mercilessly extinguish 'unwary eyes with the protruding weapon. It matters not to the smoker that he poisons the fresh air upon which one has depended to cure a villainous headache. It matters not that the stain of the cigar-stump he tosses upon your dress, is as indelible as the stamp of loaferism upon the best-dressed man who smokes in the street. It matters not to the grocer's boy, as he walks with his head hind side before, that he draws a slimy salt-fish across a silk mantle, or fetches up against a brocade with a quart of molasses. It matters not that you are unable to decide whether the world is not big enough, or whether there are too many people in it; the census keeps going on all the same.

As our hero was sufficiently unfashionable never to have defiled his very handsome mouth with a cigar, he had no escape-valve for his irritation but accelerated motion; and that brought him, after a time, to the door of a restaurant which stood invitingly open. Entering, partly from weariness, partly from extreme thirst, consequent upon being in an excited state, he seated himself in a curtained alcove, and tossing his hat on the table, gave his order to the waiter, and listlessly took up a newspaper. Ere his eyes were riveted upon any particular paragraph, voices in the next alcove attracted his attention.

"Do you stay long in the city ?"

"I think not; only a day or two.”

"Well, there are plenty of things to look at, if you are fond of sight-seeing; and if your taste runs to women, we have plenty of fair faces. There is one in -street-ripe, rosy lips-such a foot, and such a symmetrical little form; knows what she is about, too -demure as a nun and sly as a priest; took me completely in with her Methodist way. I thought she was what she pretended to be, and all the time she was carrying on a most desperate flirtation with a fellow by the name of Perry. She was a picture, that little Rose, and now it seems he has caged her at last."

"Rose? Married her ?"

"Lord bless you, no—of course not. He schools the boy, and all that-pays the bills, etc.-you understand. The boy goes to school with my little brother; that's the way I tracked her out. You see, it was on board ship I first saw her, and then I lost sight of her again until I got this clew. This whining Perry carried her off under my very nose-I-who have had such success; well, I don't wish to boast, but Perry's money was the thing-women are mercenary creatures. I suppose she passes here for respectable. They have a lady with them whom Perry pretends is his sister, to give it a more respectable air. No woman treats me with contempt without rueing it. By Jupiter, she was as imperious as a duchess because I honored her with a few compliments. I'll turn their little comedy into a trag edy, as sure as my name is Fritz.”

"I will save you that trouble,” exclaimed John, darting into the alcove, and slapping him across the face with his glove. "There's my card. You know me, sir," and he stood facing him with folded arms.

It is half the battle to have right on one's side, and Fritz was taken at a liar's disadvantage. Conscious of this, he made no attempt at a retort, but pointing to "his friend," muttered something to John about "hearing from him."

John strode out into the open air, to the astonishment of the open-mouthed waiter, who stood, tray in hand.

"A word with you, sir," said the gentleman, whom he had just seen in Fritz's company, following him. "The lady who was the occasion of this quarrel'Rose'-I would speak of her."

t.

"I am not accustomed to hearing her so familiarly designated by a stranger," answered Perry, haughtily. "Pardon me!" exclaimed the gentleman, much agitated. "I-I-in fact, sir, I am a stranger to Mr. Fritz. We met casually in a railroad-car, and meeting me just now before De Marco's, he invited me in to take a glass of wine with him. I have declined having any thing to do as his second in this affair. His manner to you convinced me that he has no right to consider himself a gentleman. With regard to the lady, sir, it may seem to you an impertinence that I should speak of her again-the name attracted me-it is that of a dear lost friend-I fancied this might be she,” and

the speaker became more agitated. "Now-it is at your option, sir, whether to pursue the subject further."

John looked him in the face; there was goodness there, and must have been sorrow, too-for the eyes were sunken and the form emaciated, and his thin pale hands were as transparent as a woman's.

"Could this be he ?" and John in his turn became agitated.

"If it were? should he lead him out of this labarynth of doubt? should he place in his hand the thread which should conduct him through its dim shadows out under the clear blue sky, 'mid soft breezes and blossoming flowers? or leave him there to grope, while he wooed the blessed sun-light for his own path ?” The temptation was but for a moment.

"You seem feeble," said John, kindly, though his voice still trembled with emotion; "do me the favor to accompany me home, and then we will talk of this more at length.”

The two walked on, overshadowed each with the presence of a power, of which all of us have been at some eventful moment conscious, and over which the conventionalities of life have had no control. It did not seem strange therefore to either, that they who had exchanged words, so fraught with meaning to each, should walk on side by side in thoughtful silence.

CHAPTER LXVII.

ARRIVED at John's lodgings, he ushered the stranger into Gertrude's studio, of which she had given him the key when they parted, as she intended riding out with Rose. Motioning him to a seat, and adding that he would rejoin him presently, John left him there alone.

The stranger looked around; there were landscape, game, fruit, cattle, and flower pieces, and all so exquisitely painted that any other moment each would have been a study to him-now heart and brain were both pre-occupied. What was in store for him? He felt this to be a turning-point in his life.

A slight jar, and a picture, which stands with the back toward him, falls over. The stranger rises, and stoops to replace it!

Ah!—why that suppressed cry of joy? Why those passionate kisses on the insensible canvas? Why those fast-falling tears, and heart-beaming smiles?

"It is not your mamma-it is my mamma,” said Charley, stepping up between the picture and the stranger.