papers and letters and things; I know, because I went down yesterday, when he had the lid open, and he started like a coward when he saw me, and shut it to. Well, I thought 1 would see what there is in that safe, and I stole down to the cellar last night with my bunch of keys, to try whether any one of them would unlock it."

"Oh, Laura!" broke forth Lucy, shocked and pained beyond expression. "How could you think of such a thing?"

"Wait until you have a husband like Mr. Carlton, who puts your temper up with his underhand ways, and then see what you would 'think' and do," retorted Lady Laura.

And Lucy ventured no further remonstrance, for she had once been a child under Laura's control, and was somewhat in awe of her still.

"I went in the dark, lest the servants should see me," proceeded Lady Laura, "taking some wax matches with me, to light when I got down. All went well; I tried the keys (none of which fitted, so I was baffled there), and blew out my lights to come back again. We have to go down three steps in coming out of the drug-room, where the safe is, and mount two to get into the cellar-wretched incapables the builders must have been, to make you go down steps only to come up again! Well, Lucy, I slipped on something at the top of these three steps, something sticky, it seemed, and down I went to the bottom. I could hardly get up at first, for pain in my foot, and a regular fright I was in, fearing I must call the servants; however, I did succeed in crawling back. There's the history."

And a very creditable one! Lucy sat in wonder.

"I have told it you out of bravado," continued Laura, who seemed to be in a reckless mood, "and you may repeat it to Jane, if you like. When he came home he wanted to know how I had done it. 'Slipped,' I answered; and he got no more out of me.'

وو

"We

A silence ensued, which Lucy broke. heard a rumour, Laura, that Mr. Carlton was likely to give up his practice here. Frederick Grey mentioned it."

Of

"He says he shall. I don't know. course London's the best field for a medical man. Talking of Frederick Grey, what's the reason that Mr. Carlton dislikes him SO much?"

"I know nothing about it," replied Lucy. "I heard him going on to Mr. Jefferson about Frederick Grey's being down here interfering with the practice. There never was any love between them. Young Grey used to say Mr. Carlton drove his father from the town."

"As he did," returned Lucy, quietly. "At

least it was so reported in the old days, I remember. But that is all past and done with. Frederick Grey is not interfering with Mr. Carlton's practice.'

"No; Mr. Carlton would see him far enough away, rather than allow that. Lucy! are you ill? Your eyes look heavy, and your cheeks are flushed."

Lucy had been bending her head upon her hand for the last few moments, as she had done earlier in the morning at her sister Jane's. "I got up with a headache," she replied, lifting her eyes wearily. "I thought the air, as I came along, might have done it good, but it has not, and my throat is getting sore."

"Throat getting sore!" echoed Laura. An instant's pause, and she started from the sofa in consternation, forgetting her lameness, seized her sister, and drew her to the light of the window.

"Lucy! it cannot be ! You are never going to have the fever!"

In

But Lucy was going to have the fever. fact, Lucy had got the fever. And Lady Jane did not know of it until night, when she was expecting Lucy home; for Laura, from carelessness or from some other motive, never sent to tell her. At nine o'clock the footman was dispatched with the news, but it was Mr. Carlton who sent him.

Lady Jane could not believe it. It was simple Jonathan, and she did think the man must have made some mistake. Lady Lucy was in bed, he said. She had been taken ill soon after reaching their house. Mr. Carlton was out then, but on his return he pronounced it to be the fever, and ordered her instantly to bed. He had charged Jonathan to give his respects to Lady Jane, and to assure her that every care and attention should be paid to the invalid.

Now nothing in the world could have been much less welcome than this news to Lady Jane Chesney. To her mind there was something underhanded in their thus taking possession of Lucy, and she complained privately to Judith. Apart from Lady Jane's anxiety for Lucy, she had an unconquerable aversion to her lying ill at Mr. Carlton's, to her being attended by that gentleman, or to herself becoming an inmate, however temporarily, in his house, which she must do, were Lucy to remain. She took a moment's counsel with herself, for Lady Jane was one who rarely did things upon impulse, then attired herself for walking, and proceeded to Mr. Carlton's, taking Judith with her, and ordering her own footman to go as quickly as he could to Mr. Grey's and bring back that gentleman to Mr. Carlton's.

The best room, a large and handsome spare chamber adjoining Lady Laura's dressing-room, had been hastily prepared for Lucy. She was lying in it, looking flushed and anxious, and complaining of her head and throat.

"Jane," she whispered, as her sister bent over her, “Mr. Carlton says it is the fever. I wish I could have been at home with you!" + "You should have returned the instant you found yourself getting worse, Lucy," was Jane's answer. "I thought you were possessed of common sense, child. Laura, you ought to have sent her; where was your carriage, that she could not have the use of it?"

"It was not her fault-or mine," replied Laura. "Mr. Carltou administered some remedies this morning, and wished to see the effect; to-night he says she is too ill to go. But, if you will allow me to express my private opinion, Jane, I should say that it has all happened for the best, for where can she be so well attended to as in the house of a medical man? And you may be sure she shall have good nursing."

"Laura, I would rather have her with me; she is under my charge, you know. I wonder if she can be moved now ?"

"You must be stupid to think it," returned Laura.

"I told Mr. Carlton I felt well enough to be taken home," spoke Lucy, "but he said I did not understand the risk. I think I might be taken, Jane."

Jane inquired after Mr. Carlton. He was in the dining-room, taking some refreshment after a hard day's work, and' she went to him. He rose in astonishment. Lady Jane Chesney in his house!

"Mr. Carlton," she said, speaking quietly in spite of her anger, and she did feel very angry, "I have come to convey Lady Lucy home. I fancy it may be done without risk." "Impossible, Lady Jane. It might cost her her life."

for Mr. Grey, that he may come here and give me his opinion upon the point. In doing this, I wish to cast no slight upon your judgment and skill, Mr. Carlton, but Mr. Grey is my own attendant, and I have unusual confidence in him; moreover, he will not be prejudiced, for her removal or against it. You and I, sir, perhaps are so; though on opposite sides." "I do not understand you," spoke the

surgeon.

"I am prejudiced in favour of taking her; you, in favour of keeping her; Mr. Grey, on the contrary, will give his honest opinion, for he can have no motive to be biassed either way."

"Yes, he can," rejoined Mr. Carlton. "A profitable patient will fall into his hands, if he gets her away."

True, so far; but the words vexed Jane. "She will be his patient in either case, Mr. Carlton. I mean, I say, no reflection on your skill; but my own doctor must attend on Lady Lucy, wherever she may be."

The cold, haughty tone of the words and manner, the “Lady Lucy," stung Mr. Carlton. Jane's treatment of him, her utter rejection of any intimacy, had been boiling up within him for years. He so far forgot his usual equanimity, he so far forgot himself, as to demand with a flash of passion and a word that had been better left unsaid, whether he was not as efficient as John Grey. Jane put him down with calm self-possession.

"Sir, it is true that my sister is your wife; but I beg you not to forget that I am Lady Jane Chesney, and that a certain amount of respect is due to me, even in your house. I do believe you to be as efficient as Mr. Grey; that your skill is equal to his; but that is not the question. He is my medical attendant, and I would prefer that he took the case.”

"It has come on very rapidly indeed," replied Mr. Carlton; "and I think she will have it badly."

"I still wish to take her, if possible," persisted Jane, somewhat agitated at the last words, "and I have dispatched a messenger

Before any rejoinder could be made, a noise was heard in the hall, and Mr. Carlton turned to it, Jane following him. Frederick Grey

had entered: and Mr. Frederick was in a state of agitation scarcely suppressible. He caught hold of Lady Jane.

"My uncle was out, and I came in his stead," he cried, his words rendered half unintelligible by emotion. "Where is she? Is she very ill?”

An altercation ensued. Mr. Carlton, whose temper was up (a most unusual thing with him) stepped before his visitor to impede his way to the stairs.

"Mr. Frederick Grey, I cannot permit you to be in my house. Had your uncle come, I would have received him with all courtesy ; but I wish to know by what right you intrude."

"I don't intrude willingly," was the answer. "I have come to see Lady Lucy Chesney." "You cannot see her. You shall not pass up my stairs.'

"Not see her!" echoed Frederick, staring at Mr. Carlton as though he thought he must be out of his mind. "Not see her! You don't know what you are saying, Mr. Carlton. She is my promised wife."

He would have borne on to the stairs; Mr. Carlton strove to impede him, and by some means the gas became extinguished; possibly the screw was touched. The servants were in the hall; hearing the altercation, they had stolen into it; Lady Laura, with her damaged foot, was limping down the stairs. The women servants shrieked at finding themselves in sudden darkness; they were perhaps predisposed to agitation from the dispute; and Lady Laura shricked in concert, not having the faintest notion what there could possibly be to shriek at.

Altogether it was a scene of confusion. The women ran close to their master for protection, they knew not from what, and Frederick Grey, pushing everybody aside with scant courtesy, made his way to the staircase. Mr. Carlton would have prevented him, but was impeded by the servants, and at the same moment some words were whispered in a strange voice in his

ear.

"Would you keep her here to poison her on her sick bed, as you did another?"

Simultaneously with this, there was some movement at the hall door: a slight bustle or sound as if somebody had either come in or gone out. It had been ajar the whole of the time, not having been closed after Frederick Grey's entrance, for Lady Jane's footman stood outside, waiting for orders.

Mr. Carlton-all his energy, all his opposition gone out of him-stood against the wall, wiping his ashy face. But that he had heard Frederick Grey's footsteps echoing up the stairs beforehand, he would have concluded that the words came from him. Somebody struck a match, and Mr. Carlton became conscious, in the dim light, that there was a stranger present, -a shabby-looking man who stood just within the hall. What impulse impelled the surgeon, he best knew, but he darted forward, seized, and shook him.

"Who are you, you villain?"

But Mr. Carlton's voice was changed, and he would not have recognised it for his own.

The interloper contrived to release himself, remonstrating dolefully.

"I'm blest if this is not a odd sort of reception when a man comes for his doctor! What offence have I been guilty on, sir, to be shook like this?"

It was inoffensive little Wilkes, the barber, from the neighbouring shop. Mr. Carlton gazed at him with very astonishment in the full blaze of the relighted gas.

"I'm sure I beg your pardon, Wilkes ! I thought it was- -Who came in or went out ?" demanded Mr. Carlton, looking about him in all directions.

The servants had seen no one.

dark.

It was

"I came along to fetch you, sir," explained the barber, who sometimes had the honour of operating on Mr. Carlton's chin. "My second boy's a bit ill, and we think it may be the fever. I wasn't for coming for you till morning, sir, but the wife made a fuss and said there were nothing like taking disorders in time; so when I shut up my shop, I come. I suppose you took me for a wild bear, a marching in without leave.”

"Did you meet anybody, or see anybody go out?" asked Mr. Carlton, leaving the suggestion of the wild bear unanswered.

"I didn't, sir. I was going round to the surgery, when I see the hall light disappear, and heard some women scream. Naterally I come straight in at the big door; I wondered whether anybody was being murdered."

At the foot of the stairs, standing side by side, contemplating all these proceedings with astonishment, and not understanding them, were the ladies, Jane and Laura. They asked an explanation of Mr. Carlton. "I-I-thought I heard a stranger; I thought some one had come in. I feel sure some one did come in," he continued, peering about him still in a curious kind of way.

"Will you step down, please sir, to the boy?"

"Yes, yes, Wilkes, I'll be with him before bedtime," replied Mr. Carlton. And the forgiving little barber turned away meekly, and met Mr. John Grey coming in.

Ill as

Frederick Grey, unimpeded, had made his way up-stairs. An open door, and a light inside, guided him to Lucy's chamber. she was, she uttered an exclamation of remonstrance when she saw him, and covered her face with her hot hands.

he passed his own cool hand across her brow; he took out his watch to count the beatings of the pulse.

"I am here in my professional capacity, Lucy; don't you understand? Could I entrust my future wife to any other?" he asked, in a voice that literally trembled with tenderness. "I have been at the bedside of patients today, love, young and delicate as you."

"I do feel very ill," she murmured.

The fear that was over him increased as he gazed upon her, stopping the life-blood at his heart. What if he should lose her ?-if this scourge should take her away from him and from life? And of course there was only too much reason to fear that it might have been communicated to her through his visits. A scalding tear dropped on to her face, and Lucy, looking up, saw that his eyes were wet.

"Am I then so very ill?" she murmured. "No, no, Lucy; it is not that. But this has come of my imprudence: I ought to have kept away from you; and I cannot bear that you should suffer pain! Oh my darling

They were coming in, Mr. Grey and Lady Jane. The experienced surgeon moved his nephew from the bed, as if the latter were but a tyro. And indeed he was such, in comparison with the man of long practice.

Mr. Grey could not recommend Lucy's removal; quite the contrary. He saw no reason why she should not have been taken home at first, he said, but it had better not be attempted now. Jane was deeply annoyed, but she could only acquiesce.

"It cannot be helped," she said, with a sigh. "But I am grievously vexed that she should be ill, away from my house. Remember, she is in your charge, Mr. Grey."

"In mine? What will Mr. Carlton say to that?"

"It is of no consequence to me what he says," was the reply. "I cast no slight upon Mr. Carlton's skill; I have told him so; and if he chooses to attend her, conjointly with you, I have no objection whatever. But Lucy's life is precious, and I have confidence in you, Mr. Grey, from old associations.

Frederick Grey found that he was to be excluded from the sick-room. His attendance as a medical man was not necessary. And both Mr. Grey and Lady Jane thought his visits might tend to excite Lucy. In vain he remonstrated it was of no use.

"She is to be my wife," he urged.

"But she is not your wife yet," said Mr. Grey," and you may trust her safely to me. Be assured that, if dangerous symptoms appear, you shall be the first to hear of them."

"And to see her," added Lady Jane.

"Not I, child. We medical men are feverproof. Oh Lucy, my best and dearest, may God bring you through this!

Mr. Carlton was pleased to accept the alternative, and agreed, with some appearance of suavity, to attend Lucy in conjunction with Mr. Grey. Putting aside the implied reflection on his skill-and this, Jane reiterated to him again, was not intended—he had no objection to the visits of Mr. Grey. The fact was, Mr. Carlton would have liked to bring Lucy triumphantly through the illness himself, as he felt confident he could do; she would have had his best care, looking for no reward, as his wife's sister; and he felt mortified that the case should have been partially taken out of his hands. It was a slight, let Lady Jane say what she would; he felt it, and no doubt the town would be free enough in its comments.

"And now, Laura," said Jane, seeking her sister, "as you and Mr. Carlton have saddled yourselves with Lucy, you must also be troubled with me and Judith, who is invaluable in a sick-room. I shall not move out of this house until I can take Lucy with me."

Lady Laura clapped her hands in triumph. "Well done, Jane! You, who would not condescend to put your foot over our doorstep, to be brought to your senses at last! serves you right, Jane, for your abominable pride."

It

"It has not been pride," returned Jane. "Pride has not kept me away." "What then? Prejudice?" "No matter now, Laura ; we have an anxious time before us. Mr. Grey thinks that Lucy will be very ill."

"Just what Mr. Carlton said; and he kept her here to take care of her. I am sure he will be glad to extend a welcome to you, Jane, for as long as you choose to stay with us. He has always been willing to be friendly with you, but you would not respond. He takes prejudices; I acknowledge that; but he never took one against you. He has taken one against Judith.”

66

Against Judith! What has she done to Mr. Carlton?" asked Jane, in surprise.

"Nothing. But he does not like her face. He says it always strikes him as being disagreeable. I like Judith, and I'm sure she's a faithful servant."

Mr. Carlton, inquire as he would, was unable to discover how that whisper could have

come to him. That some one had entered the hall and gone out again, he did not entertain a doubt. He made inquiries of Lady Jane's footman, whether he had seen any one enter; but the man acknowledged that he had not been looking. After the entrance of Mr. Frederick Grey, he had waited a minute or two, and then had gone round to the servants' entrance by the surgery.

So Mr. Carlton was as wise as before. And meanwhile no one could think why he should fancy that any stranger had been in the hall, in addition to little Wilkes the barber. (To be continued.)

THE PEAR.

SOFT sister of the firmer apple, the pear displays so marked a resemblance to its relative that the most unobservant could scarcely fail to detect their kinship, yet is the difference between them sufficiently apparent on very slight inspection, and sufficiently great to justify Loudon in his wish that they may not always continue to be classed together in the same genus, as they are now by botanists too eminent for their decision to be disputed, even when it does not give perfect satisfaction. To this genus the pear has the honour of giving the name, being termed the Pyrus communis, while the apple bears the title of Pyrus malus. Albeit alike in some respects, the trees may be distinguished in a moment by their leaves, those of the apple being broader, very slightly serrated, of a yellow green colour, and hairy underneath, while the dark green foliage of the pear is elliptical, more serrated, and smooth on both sides, the upper surface being absolutely shining; and when both are full grown the low and spreading apple, often uncouthly irregular in form, seldom attains more than half the height of the tall, upright, shapely pear, always inclining to the pyramidal form. In spring-time the large, rosy, fragrant blossoms of the former far outshine the scentless and colourless bloom of its modest rival, though differing scarcely at all botanically, the only distinction being that the five central styles are in the one case united at the base, in the other distinct; while as regards the fruit, though the tender melting consistency of the best dessert pears is different indeed from the crisp solidity of the apple, yet in some varieties the one species could quite compete with the other in hardness, and the characteristic distinction is therefore to be sought rather in the fact that the former is generally convex at the base, while the latter is always concave. Both fruits have woody threads passing from the stalk through the midst of the flesh, but in the pear these are

less distinct, on account of the gritty concretions commonly found at the core, and which is caused by the woody matter becoming disseminated near the centre in small masses. The cells of the core, too, are pointed at both ends in the apple and only at one end in the pear, and the latter fruit is more astringent, less acid, and lighter than the former.

The pear does not come into bearing so soon as the apple, seedlings seldom producing any fruit before the seventh or eighth year after planting; but though attacked by the same insects and liable to the same diseases it is usually found to retain its health and vigour far better, at least in Britain (for in France and America this is said not to be the case), and reaches a much greater age, the longevity of pear trees being often reckoned by centuries. Usually the largest of our orchard trees, it sometimes attains extraordinary dimensions, one being recorded to have been fifty feet high, to have had a trunk eighteen feet in circumference, and to have borne in good years one ton and a half of fruit. Another noted pear tree, seeming to "take a leaf" from the Banyan of the East, increased to an enormous size by sending down its branches to the ground, where they took root, and each became a new tree, in turn similarly producing others.

In Europe, Western Asia, and China the pear is found growing wild throughout as wide a range as the apple; but as the crab will never grow except on tolerably good soil, and its humbler sister is content with far poorer accommodation, they are not often found in association. The latter, too, displays a far greater power of adapting itself to peculiarities of situation, a remarkable example of which is afforded by the notched-leaved pear, which grows on the mountains of Upper Nepaul. "Nature seems," says Dr. Lindley, in describing this plant, "to have intended it to brave the utmost inclemency of climate, for in its own country in the earliest spring the leaves, while still delicate and tender, are clothed with a thick white coating of wool, and the flowers themselves are so immersed in an ample covering of the same material as to bid defiance to even Tartarean cold. But in proportion as the extent of the distribution of the plant descends towards the plains, or as the season of warm weather advances, it throws off its fleecy coat, and at length becomes as naked and as glittering with green as the trees which have never had such rigour to endure." In England, where it is grown for ornament, this tree displays scarcely any woolliness, while on the other hand in the woods of Poland and on the steppes