wrote to Thorsey there, under cover, telling him what I have told you, and declaring that I expected a definite reply this afternoonhere! The letter was called for yesterday. I wait the result."

"But, my dear fellow, you love Mabel, as I understand. Was there ever such wooing? -to threaten the father with a capital charge unless he gives you an opportunity to court his daughter?"

"I don't know that there ever was, but the other circumstances have been rarely paralleled, if it comes to that. And anyhow, I'll do it, as sure as we're all alive! Understand that I do not hold Mabel guiltless."

"Why, as I gather, she saved your life?"

"I was not referring to that incident, but to the chain of events that led up to it. I have never professed nor understood that form of chivalry which exacts that a man should put aside all his weapons of offence in attacking the woman he loves. I follow the older rule which declares that all is fair in love; and perhaps a rule older still would not shock me, if the conditions arise. Should I win Mabel-I know myself I could be content to sit submissive at her feet as long as we both live, and rejoice to die with her. But nothing that a man could do in honour shall check me in the winning."

"I believe," said I, sarcastically, "that you have never seen the lady, nor spoken with her."

voice that harmonised with the music of her form, "that you intend to prosecute my father? I declare that he only meant to drive you from the house! The accident was unintentional."

"Mr. Thorsey will find every opportunity to explain his intentions. If you are acquainted with my letter, you know that I did not invite him to criminate himself."

I could not restrain my indignation. "This is brutal, Alcombe ! I exclaimed; but neither paid attention.

"My father has not seen your letter, sir," she continued. "He is beyond your

reach!"

"The arm of justice is long and untiring, Miss Thorsey. But I propose a simple means of escape from the embarrassment. Does he accept that?"

"If he knew, he would dare you to do your worst!"

"I do not understand that you are authorised to speak for your father, Miss Thorsey; circumstances alter the point of view. Will you let him know the conditions?"

"Oh, sir, have mercy upon me! I do not know where he is! I left him that night, -I am wretched and forsaken-all alone, and life is so hard! Don't-don't break my heart quite with such cruelty!'

I saw by the leap of Hugh's colour, and the strain on his face as she sank upon her knees, that it was time to leave them, but the walls of my bedroom are only panels, and I could not but hear. Hugh had approached and was standing over her.

"I throw myself upon your mercy, Mabel!" he said, in tones thrilling with the constraint that honour and pity laid upon passion. "Whatever happens, whatever you resolve, I lay aside my charge against your father, and the condition I imposed. Console yourself, but let me entreat-not now-not now, but at a future time, when these things are forgotten! Let us resume the places which Sir Hugh meant us to take, consent to let me win your love if I can, without thought of the future or the past! If I fail, there is an end-an end to much more than my suit! Don't answer now, Mabel! I leave you alone."

Hugh came in to me and threw himself upon the bed, and lay there motionless. I went round to dismiss my clerk; five minutes afterwards the outer door closed, and I found

the study empty. "Miss Thorsey is gone," I said to Hugh, "You had better see what she has left you."

"It isn't worth while," he answered,

"I assured myself that there was nothing, and then, "Hadn't you better wait a few days," I urged.

"To what purpose? A row is brewing at Alexandria. I shall go there and drive this possession out of me. If you have nothing better to do, come to the club presently and dine."

I promised hastily and he went out. Then I wrote to Miss Thorsey, and carried the letter myself. But no reply came that night, and Hugh started by the early mail. At the last moment I told him what I had done. "If it made any difference at all," said he, 66 one way or other, I should be sorry. Don't give yourself more useless trouble. Good-bye, old friend."

The row in Egypt grew and broke as all the world knows, and Hugh kept in the thick of it. I heard from him occasionally, but he never mentioned Mabel. Months passed and the interest of his romance died away among the excitements of a busy life.

One day a friend came to me at the club. "I want counsel's opinion in an informal way," said he. "Some time ago my wife engaged a lady-help, without such references as are usual. We have congratulated ourselves ever since, and I don't regret it now, not the least. But it seems that the young lady ran away from home; her father has discovered and claims her. My wife is ready to back the girl through thick and thin, and so am I, if the law doesn't actually forbid me. What do you say?"

"Why did she run away, and how old is she?"

"About twenty, I should think, and why she ran away appears to be a secret."

66

Love, I suppose? Unless she can show a good reason for deserting her father, you cannot resist his claim."

"I am sorry for it. He can't break into my house? Then I will protect the girl as long as possible anyhow."

A month after this a lady was announced at my chambers; instantly I recognised a perfect figure once seen, and beheld a face that matched it. "I have no right to call upon you, sir," said Mabel, "but your name has been often mentioned lately, and I recollect how kind you were a long while ago. The lady with whom I found refuge after leaving Alcombe has been obliged "— she broke off with a cry as Thorsey entering seized her arm.

"We don't want to do anything disagree able, sir," said he. "We've a comfortable

home for a daughter we love beyond anything in the world, and who loved us till a young rake spoilt her. Say, Mabel, before this gentleman, was we ever otherwise than kind and good and loving to you? Didn't you promise a thousand times-ay, times countless, to stand by your father and your mother, who'd been cheated out of their rights? But this young fellow came, and the girl was never the same afterwards."

66

"I remember you now sir," interrupted his wife. "It was Mabel's conduct that drove my husband wild when you came to the Manor; since then, we've followed her up and down, wherever we could hear news."

"And now we've found her," cried Thorsey, stepping forward, "they must be big lawyers that keep her from us."

The situation was most embarrassing. It is very fine to talk of chivalry, or, for that matter, of police, when a gigantic ruffian is marching at you with his fists clenched, and no human aid at call more effective than a dyspeptic clerk. Mabel expected me to do something in the way of heroism apparently, for she had taken post behind my back, but ideas failed me at the moment. Words could not picture my relief when Hugh appeared in the doorway, very brown and lean, but amazingly cool. No one else saw him.

66 come

"Come, Mabel," said Thorsey; lovingly, for I'd be loth to take you by force." She ran back with an inarticulate cry, and in turning saw Hugh-reached him in one bound, and clung to his arm, sobbing. For all the youth's command of face, astonishment was not less visible there than delight.

But he recovered himself in an instant, and then the supremacy of the man who knows exactly what he means, and, having secured it, fears no consequences, was strongly illustrated. Thorsey roared, but he paused.

I

"I don't doubt said Hugh, "that you love my wife. Having known her better than any one, excepting me, and very much longer than I have had the luck to do, you must needs cherish her passionately. sympathise with your bereavement, therefore, and I suppress, now, and for ever, any personal feelings I may have been led to entertain. You shall see my wife in the future, as often as I can make up my mind to admit outsiders. This is a promise, Mr. Thorsey, which does not cost me much. From the first I have been interested in you, outside of your accidental and unaccountable relationship towards my wife. We shall get along very well."

"We have had enough of this imper

We put Mabel into a cab presently, and I accompanied her back to the house of my friend Jervis,

There was a question I wished to ask of either lover. When I put it to Hugh, he replied, "No, I never saw Mabel in person till to-day. But my worthy old uncle declared she was as good as she was beautiful, and the photograph gave me an excellent notion how good that must be. You may think it an odd story, but my love for Mabel is quite regular and logical."

I could not bring myself to question the lady until we sat side by side at the wedding breakfast. "Oh!" she answered, laughing and blushing, "I had seen Hugh very often! Hasn't it occurred to you to wonder who old Betty was?"

The Thorseys have not yet reappeared.
FREDERICK BOYLE.

IT has been constantly said of late that the days of prosperity for the English farmer are over, and he must look to it, for evil is before him. Gloomy seers have even given us visions of great tracts of land going out of cultivation, and their tenantry finding a home in some far-off colony; some of them even would seem to believe that before the present century is over, many a stately mansion will be deserted, its owner will be almost anywhere, and the parks and pleasant waters will again be occupied by thistles and cormorants and bitterns. Nor indeed is there wanting some text for the forebodings, for we find that more than half the cheese in our markets comes from America; the choicest butter comes from Denmark; France and the Low Countries supply us largely with eggs and poultry; and this leaves quite out of the reckoning the beef and mutton we now receive from nearly all our colonies: so that the farmer says his occupation is nearly gone.

This is a state of things that should not be, and there is no doubt that where we see foreign produce we ought in most cases to see our own. Farming interests are passing through critical times, and many old, cherished practices must be abandoned.

But where the farmer sees cause for despondency he ought to see the promise of great hope, for it is certain that there is now a demand for his wares that has passed any dream of his fathers. Articles that once were considered luxuries, even in the present century, are now only regarded as necessaries, and the farmer has his markets increased ten-fold and twenty-fold.

Still, while all this flattering tale is told, there are the stern facts that foreigners are usurping the place our countrymen ought to occupy, and all of us must admit that this might be altered with advantage, and the way to alter it is clear. It is not by any laws to stop them from sending as much as they will, but by supplying the markets ourselves.

Let the farmers of England once realise the fact that they can make better cheese and butter, and rear finer cattle than any country under the sun, and that they can not only supply all England with these commodities but they can be very formidable rivals in foreign markets. Have not the Americans themselves paid prices for single English cows that would purchase a first-class farm, and build model farm-buildings! Let farmers only reflect upon the enormous wealth that lies at their doors, and wake up to modern systems, and not be above learning. The Americans, wise in their generation, have from time to time sent over agents to England to inquire into the best modes of procedure, and they have improved their dairies in accordance with any excellence they may have seen in the old country. But let farmers learn from them, and not stand still; and if they take to heart some of the lessons they may gather from the various agricultural reports made by men. of high credit, they will see that their case is a hopeful one.

The Royal Agricultural Society give valuable prizes for the best-kept farms in different districts in England, and I will briefly quote the astonishing prosperity of one or two that have no exceptional advantages but merely succeed upon the same principles that enable one tradesman in a town to prosper beyond his fellows.

The Society's prize of 757. was awarded in 1884 to Mr. Nunnerly, of Dearnford Hall, Whitchurch. This farm is pleasantly situated on the road between Whitchurch and Wem, and is convenient in its buildings and working plant. It occupies 127 acres of grass land, and sixty acres of arable, and the proprietor in 1879 expended the liberal sum of 3007. in bone dust, which would supply about half a ton per acre. The buildings at the same time were put into order and made thoroughly convenient. The principal production of the farm is cheese, and this is made with great skill and care. One noticeable fact is the liberal scale on which the cattle are fed when not out in the summer pastures, and the tenfold return they give for the outlay. In winter they are tied up in pairs in the stalls, and are fed with an abundant supply of barley-straw, cut turnips, and three pounds of linseed cake daily. The words of Mr. Carrington, of Croxden Abbey, may be quoted here--he is a gentleman of great skill in dairy matters, and he shows in the fewest words the advantage of liberal feeding. He says: "For a first-rate milking or three months after calving,

Cow, two

In

twenty quarts of milk per day is a common produce, where good feeding is practised. This, at ninepence per imperial gallon, a price readily obtainable wholesale in the winter months at many dairy farms within reach of a railway station, amounts to three and ninepence per day, or twenty-six shillings per week. Yet how many dairy farmers grudge the outlay of three or four shillings per week in purchased cake or corn!" Dearnford Hall Farm the cows that are in service for dairy purposes average in number about fifty, and an acre and a half are allowed to each; but on this pasturage four horses are turned out at night, and it also supplies the young calves. A plan of the buildings is given in the Agricultural Report, and it is very obvious that they will economise labour, and fewer hands will get through the work. A special description of sour cheese is made for the Manchester market; what is called acidity is gained by adding a little sour milk; a fuller description of this cheese will appear when the various kinds of Cheshire cheese are classified.

The process at Dearnford Hall is to remove about one-third of the cream from the previous night's milking, because if the whole were left the cheese would not be of such uniform quality, and would be much more difficult to manipulate, while the cream that is removed brings in a handsome item in butter. The accounts are kept with great care, and appended is the dairy account for 1883:

These results seem so astonishing that Mr. Nunnerly, at the request of the judges, weighed the milk yielded on a given dayJune 12, 1884-and the cheese produced on June 26, fourteen days after; this was tested and found to correspond most accurately with the returns rendered, and well indeed the judges may have said that such results were "almost unique in the history of cheese-makers." There is also an account kept for pigs on the same farm which are duly debited with the whey at 1177. 10s., and the corn and meal consumed, and yet they show a profit of 607. 88. 6d. And all this says nothing of the arable land, upon which the results were very remarkable. Ten tons of potatoes are grown per acre, and as much as