to town and spend a fortnight with her. Eleanor has broken with Crittenden; and, as she has no mind to retire from the world at the beginning of the societyseason, she stands especially in need of my brotherly attentions to take the place of those of her fiancé. We shall have to escort her to the opera and to other entertainments; and it will be a real godsend to her to have you help receive her five hundred lady-friends. It will give them another topic of conversation, and they will hardly venture on the familiarity of condoling with her in your presence. Eleanor is so absorbed with the contemplation of her own affairs that she will not be likely to scrutinize you closely; and, if you are careful, I have no doubt you will get along very well. Indeed, the occupation, if you use it rightly, will help to keep you from morbid reflections. Improve the opportunity to secure some becoming costumes, attend the symphony rehearsals, and take vocal lessons of Signor Tamburini, if you care to do 80. But no art we have had enough of that for the present." He rose, lighted a candle, and Eusebia heard his footsteps echoing through the corridor and the closing of the "wigwam" door. The cuckoo-clock hiccoughed twelve in its usual maudlin fashion. "It is a new day," she said to herself. "Thank heaven that yesterday, at least, cannot come back again!"

Arthur Hoffman was right: the rôle which he had set himself to play was not an easy one. Little by little the barriers which he had set between them melted away under Eusebia's gentleness and patience; but a lie is not a light thing, and this single drop of poison tinged their entire life.

Many a long day passed before Eusebia felt that she was loved again. The coming of a baby-boy brought peace, and Eusebia, awakening from a deathlike trance, felt her husband's tears upon her face, and knew that she had his heart again. His confidence, alas! it was not in his power to give. But his manner changed: he was gentle, and even tender, and a joy such as only those who have sinned and been forgiven beamed

| thenceforward in Eusebia's face. Truth absolute, fearless of consequences, was the one essential which she impressed upon her boy; and something like selfreproach touched Arthur Hoffman as he remembered that only one who fears can lie, and that "perfect love casteth out fear." Perhaps if he had gained Eusebia's confidence early in their married life he might not have lost his in her.

It was spring when the baby came. "Shall we name him for you?" Eusebia asked.

"I would rather call him for my friend Blunt," replied her husband; "but we quarrelled last fall, and I have not been man enough to beg his pardon yet. I will look him up and ask him to stand as godfather at the baby's christening."

Arthur Hoffman learned at the office that Blunt had been sent abroad as foreign correspondent, and, mailing a letter, the baby was named without his formal consent.

"Miss Dudley is in Europe somewhere," suggested Eusebia: "would it not be strange if they should meet and—”

"Yes, my dear, it would be very Such things happen only in

strange.

novels.'

"But Eleanor and Mr. Westminster got into a tangle, and have straightened it out into a true-lovers' knot."

"Time will tell. Miss Dudley is in Italy, and Blunt has been ordered to Egypt. Matters are looking dubious in that quarter."

They read his brilliant letters with intense interest,-letters descriptive of the horrors of Alexandria, of moonlight marches of British cavalry,-how Arabi Pasha's Bedouins came swooping over the desert to meet Graham's men, and scarlet coat and floating burnoose joined in a deadly struggle, half hidden by the yellow cloud of flying sand,—of gallant artillery stands, bleeding and powderbegrimed hussars holding their fieldpieces against the hordes of Kassasin, of forced marches, fasts, and fever, and of the charge and victory at Tel-el-Kebir.

Arthur Hoffman declared, as he read

this last letter, that Blunt was writing his romance at last; he had read nothing so exciting in a long time.

Then came a pause, and after that a despatch from Ismailia: the war-correspondent John Blunt, after undergoing the greatest hardships and risks with the troops, had succumbed to the fever. A week later, and the news came that he was dead.

In the autumn, Miss Dudley returned, and Eusebia called upon her. "I was in Florence," she said, "when a telegram reached me from a friend of Mr. Blunt's, a Captain Dean, of the dragoons. It informed me that Mr. Blunt had been stricken down at Ismailia. He sent word to re because my address was the only one besides that of his newspaper to be found about his person. I went to Egypt as soon as it was possible for a woman to enter the country, and I found his grave."

Eusebia placed her arms about her friend, and for a little while neither spoke.

"Why is it, I wonder," Eusebia asked, after a time, "that such good souls as you and Mr. Blunt are not permitted to be happy? Perhaps," she added, "it is because your goodness is better than all the happiness of which we more ignoble natures are capable."

"I saw Captain Dean," continued Miss Dudley. "He gave me a few of Mr. Blunt's effects. Among them was a worn morocco case, containing a little square of finely-mended lace. It seemed strange to me at first that he should have taken such pains to preserve a mere trifle; and then I became convinced that it must be connected with his hearthistory and perhaps you ought to have it."

"Yes," replied Eusebia, holding out her hand through her tears for the box, "that little square of lace was my life. I got it all into a tangle, and he mended it."

LIZZIE W. CHAMPNEY.

[THE END.]

THERE

ELLA WHEELER.

THE

HE easiest way of going from Vera Cruz to Tehuantepec is via New York and San Francisco. Although the distance overland is only about two hundred and seventy-five miles, the roads over the mountains are so rough, being for the most part only rude trails, and the hardships of various kinds are so great, that the two sea-voyages and the journey across the continent by rail are, by contrast, easy. However, if one has the courage to attempt it, the fatigue of the trip will be overbalanced by new and interesting experiences in a country remote from civilization, where the customs are still such as have been handed down from a remote period, and the scenery is scarcely surpassed by any in the world. To be an experienced equestrian and well mounted is a sine quâ non.

The usual time occupied in crossing from ocean to ocean is eight days during the dry season, and from fourteen to twenty during the wet. There are

several ways of crossing, the preferable one being to begin the horseback-trip by going in a steamer (after the manner of Mark Twain in his "Tramp Abroad") to Coatzacoalcos, one hundred and twenty miles farther down the coast, and taking horses at Minatitlan. We left Vera Cruz on the 12th of August, having arrived there on the day of the laying of the corner-stone of the new break water,an immense work, which is to cost millions of money, and which will not be finished for years. Although the sky was cloudless when we started, during the afternoon we were overtaken by a norther and driven far out to sea. While a norther is blowing at Vera Cruz no vessel can leave port, as the waves roll mountain-high, sweeping over the pier, beating against the custom-house, and dashing over the walls of the town. We reached Coatzacoalcos, a little town at the mouth of the river of the same name, about noon the next day. Close

to the water on the left rise the beautiful blue mountain-peaks of San Juan and San Martino, the latter a volcano. Four years ago, before the Tehuantepec Inter-Ocean Railroad Company came here, the place consisted of a few mud huts; now it is quite a little town, with several wooden structures, the custom-house, the quarters of the engineers, and the cable-house of the Mexican and South American Telegraph Company being the best. It was formerly a resort of pirates and wreckers, who built fires on the beach to lure vessels on the rocks; and, though they have nearly all disappeared since their leader was shot by French soldiers under Maximilian, it is whispered that this is a common destination for old ves

.sels with heavy insurances. Here we took a steamer for Minatitlan, twenty miles up the river, the starting-point of Captain Eads's operations, and the headquarters of the mahogany-trade. The logs are shipped from here to all parts of the world, the river being wide and deep enough for the largest vessels to ascend and load. The banks are low and swampy, lined with alligators, and covered with a thick growth of trees and of tropical plants, some of which climb to the highest branches and hang out vivid pennons of blue and red. Back from the shore are wide tracts of open country, where large herds of cattle, of creamy white and bronzed black, were grazing.

The dirt and disorder of the hotel "accommodations" at Minatitlan will long be remembered by every one who has been unfortunate enough to experience them. The charges are three dollars a day for los Americanos, and seventy cents for Mexicans. Here we found our horses, mozos, and campoutfit waiting for us,-my Chico, upon whose back I had already ridden hundreds of miles, and who is a thoroughbred and a beauty, manifesting an almost human joy at seeing me, and doing everything but talk. As there are, fortunately, no more hotels until we reach Tehuantepec, travellers usually stop for the night at the nearest ranch, taking provisions with them in case of detention. The greater part of the

population assembled to see the cavalcade, which consisted of J————, Eand myself, with two mozos and several pack- and led-mules, set out for Jaltipan, calling after us "Que le vaya bien" ("A pleasant, safe journey"), and“ Adios, adios, niña" ("Good-by, child").

The road between Minatitlan and Jaltipan is very wide and good, and is bordered by trees and beautiful flowers most of the way. After passing several old Indian mounds, we arrived at Cosalique, where we dismounted and attended a school-examination and were surprised at the proficiency of some of the little Indian boys, who seemed fully as bright as the Mexican. Most of the towns have public schools, but these have not been in existence long enough to accomplish very much. They are for boys only, the girls being taught at home, and being, consequently, far behind the boys in intelligence. The Spanish language only is taught in schools; but the Mexican, a kind of Indian dialect, is the language on the Atlantic side which is spoken by prefer

ence.

At Acayucam, as in most of the towns, there is a plaza, but here it is filled with flowers, with a place where the band sits and plays in the evenings. Most of the señoritas play the guitar and sing a little, and almost every family has a sewing machine! Mexican women, as a rule (of course there are exceptions), dress in the most execrable taste, their badly-fitting garments of vivid reds, blues, and greens reminding one of the Sunday garb of an Irish servant-girl, the only redeeming feature being the black merino shawl or lace mantilla thrown over the head. The dress of the men is, on the contrary, very picturesque. They wear leather riding-trousers with rows of silver and gold buttons extending the entire length of the side, -some being round balls attached by tiny chains that dangle and tinkle with every motion. The saddles also have silver ornaments, and cost from one to three hundred dollars or more, according to the wealth of the owner. But the hat is the part of the wardrobe where the heart of every true Mexican, of

whatever color or station, lingers longest; and on this article he will lavish his entire fortune. I have seen widebrimmed sombreros, usually of a soft, delicate drab felt, costing anywhere from twenty-five to fifty dollars, and even more, according to the amount of gold and silver lace and ornaments on them, on the heads of men who were barefooted, the owners proud and happy. When we rode into Jaltipan, where we had spent a part of the previous winter, we were welcomed by the entire population, men, women, and children placing themselves and their entire possessions, in Spanish fashion, at our service. Here we were for the first time free from the mosquitoes, sand-flies, and garrapates (similar to our sheep-ticks) which had hitherto made life a burden. At this place the climate is charming, the thermometer never falling below 64° and seldom rising above 95°, and the nights being generally cool enough to make a light covering agreeable. Here, as in all the towns, there are a great many bathing-places, covered over and bricked up around the edge of the ground, but all open and free. I have seen fifteen or twenty women and children bathing at the same time, or in the different stages of the toilet, some just coming out, others going in, and others sitting near, plaiting flowers in their hair. When I accidentally appeared in their midst none of them seemed startled, but, on the contrary, all suspended operations to look at me. The Indians, as a race, are very cleanly, always bathing once every day, and sometimes three or four times, both men and women laying down their burdens and going into the stream for a few minutes and then resuming their way. The fact of strangers passing does not disturb them in the least. The Indians, who are direct descendants of the Aztecs and other aboriginal races, form five-eighths of the population of Mexico, the proportion being greater on the Isthmus than elsewhere. They have a very dark, clear skin, straight coal-black hair, beautiful, even, white teeth, and large dark eyes with a wild, vacant expression. They

are rather small, but are well formed, especially the women, many of whom would be fit models for a sculptor. Their hands and feet are perfect. The dress of the men is the same all over the Isthmus, consisting of two pieces, shirt and trousers, both pure white,— the latter confined to the waist by a gay sash, over which the shirt is worn loosely, so that only the ends of the sash show. A wide-brimmed hat completes the costume, which always includes the machete, a long, stout knife, resembling a sword, carried in a leather sheath fastened to a belt. They use it to cut their way through the bushes, to defend themselves from poisonous reptiles, to do their planting, to cut their food. The dress of the Indian women on the Atlantic side is merely a straight piece of cloth, sometimes gay, but oftener blue and white striped, called enredo, which they weave themselves, and which is fastened around the waist by a belt. On the Pacific side the enredo is usually of a rich indigo-blue, or else a beautiful dark red, which is very expensive, the color being obtained from shell-fishes that yield only a drop each. On this side a little waist, called huipilito, is worn; but on the Atlantic side, as a rule, the upper part of the body is left bare, though some throw a cloth over their shoulders when in the streets, which also serves as a covering for the bed at night. we were in Jaltipan before, it was during a feast-week. Every town has its feastdays, and those at Jaltipan last a week, beginning on the 1st of February. For days before, the people begin to come in to get a good place to stay, the earliest comers having first choice of the different corredores (covered door-steps). Our corredor accommodated, I think, nearly fifty; and when the corredores were all taken the late comers slept on the ground by the hundreds. The streets were filled with tables and other conveniences for gambling. There were three or four roulette-tables, and money changed hands constantly, old women and children, as well as men, standing round with gold and silver pieces, waiting their turn. Drinking-places were on every side, and

When