on his cap, and turned away, remarking, "I am afraid your umbrella is broken, Miss Caryl."

"Never mind; it's an old one, Garth." As they reached the house-steps-and her voice was a little hesitating and very sweet-"I had some flowers to tike to mother, and forgot them; will you wait a moment, and I'll get them?"

"Willie will bring them when he brings the milk in the morning, thank you, Miss Caryl." Garth would not wait in his master's hall.

"Very well. Good-night," and she held out her hand; but he did not seem to see it, just pulled off his cap and was gone before the door opened to admit her.

Mildred's face sobered; she entered the house very slowly she preferred honest ruggedness, she had said, but she had not meant Garth's ruggedness-to herself.

She entered a room on her left, prettily furnished, and designed with a special view to cosiness, for Mildred loved her ease at her inn-when there; but the room was a scene of desolation-fireless, and in all the dust and disorder of neglect. She looked round displeasedly; for though anything but orderly herself, she insisted on the maids being so. "Elizabeth!" she called.

The neat-capped woman who had admitted her appeared.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Tell Emma," severely, "that the morning-room is not fit to be seen."

A fire is lit in the drawing-room, miss."

"You know I never use the drawing-room in the master's absence," and she turned away in dignified displeasure. "Call the rest to prayers," she added; then Elizabeth vanished. Mildred laid aside her hat and cloak, changed her shoes, after a hunt for truant slippers, and crossed the hall to the drawing-room.

Here was a different scene. A large fire glowed in the deep, wide hearth; tinted chandelier globes shed a soft warm light through the large, handsome room; luxurious lounges, soft rugs and carpets, rich hangings, pictures and bric-a-brac filled it. After all, Mildred's home was no lowly thatched cottage; she felt no charm from the skies hallow this spot; the splendour did not dazzle at all, and she certainly felt exile enough at the moment. She stood on the hearth looking into the glowing coals, trying to conquer a miserable sense of loneliness which oppressed her; then, moving to the door leading to the next room, passed in. This was the dining-room, and here the servants were already ranged on chairs at a distance, the books ready placed. To read prayers nightly had been her mother's custom, and Mildred steadily adhered to it. But it was the only vestige of apparent mistress-ship to which Mildred could lay claim; though all behaved with decorous respect to the master's daughter, the real mistress was the housekeeper, Mrs. Williams, and all knew it.

They said good-night now in all respectful civility, as, prayers over, they passed out; but in their own hall a discussion began, for the call had found them at supper, which of all things servants hate to have interrupted.

"What's she doing out so late, I want to know?" one said, trying to warm her cold coffee at the fire; 'she wouldn't if her pa was here."

"Oh, she would; he wouldn't know." Or care if he did."

"Well, I shan't go in again."

"Then you'll lose your place, Emma," from Mrs. Williams. "I'm not over-religious myself, but prayers is usual, and anyone not conforming to the rules in this house goes at once," and she left the room, which she had entered casually and unobserved. Emma looked a little scared, but returned to the charge.

"She was at Mrs. Garrickson's, and out with the son. I saw them come down the drive. She's always with the Garricksons."

"He wasn't at the door," from Elizabeth.
"No; you bet!" with a knowing nod.
"Emma! Emma!" in a chorus of dismay.

"My word!" from Elizabeth. "You'd better not let Mrs. Williams hear of this. You'd be out of the house in an hour."

Mildred meanwhile sat solitary in her luxurious drawing-room, with idle hands and busy brain, thinking of the evening, and feeling a little sore at the extinction of her plan-for it was extinguished. She did not care about it now; she would not do it now, she knew, and her woman's wit began to discover why and what had dictated Garth's verdict. "Pride of race, pride of place "--so like Garth !-and her reverie became very still and deep.

She woke at last; the fire was almost burnt out, the gilt clock was chiming eleven. She had forgotten to order coffee, and Elizabeth, supposing she had had it, and quite too well bred to intrude, had brought nothing; and now all were in bed but Thomas, who waited to turn off the gas. She went to the diningroom, found a biscuit or two in the sideboard, and munching these-for she had taken nothing since six o'clock-went coldly, wearily up-stairs.

he is a Home Ruler," with a merry glance at her son. Irish politics were wont to excite him. "I believe he would rather have someone who could manage the mill."

Garth finished his lacing in silence, stood up and stretched himself; then with a preliminary stamp or two, said, “Well, good-bye, mother; I shan't be up to dinner-you can send it down ;" and atoning for this autocratic ordering with a kiss, was off.

A minute after, Mrs. Garrickson heard the large gate clash, and peeped through the window just in time to see him pass from behind it and run down the field-path.

This, she knew, joined, a little lower down the hill, the lane which ran parallel with the avenue, and, dipping under the drive, met the steps and the private door which led steeply down from it on the other side, and was really, if anything, a shorter route to the mill. But Garth had never gone this way, preferring the privacy of the avenue and drive, and being a little proud of his privilege of using them. She looked at the clock; he was not late. What inscrutable beings sons are! (To be continued.)

W

SETTLING DOWN ON BOARD.

Beginning to think he has cautiously answers, "No-o."

ELL, and what can you do!" "Oh, anything,

"What! can you make a watch?" "Oh no-0-0; not a watch."

"Can you milk a cow, then?" "Oh yes, sir." "How many could you milk in an hour?"

"That all depends, sir."

"Could you milk twenty?" "Yes, sir" confidently.

"That is good milking; have you carried off

first prize for milking?"

made a mistake, he

Now, come, have you ever milked a cow in your life?"

"Well, sir, I cannot say as I have, but I don't mind trying."

The object of this cross-examination is now partly achieved. It is to discover something of the man's character, and also, if possible, what he really can do. He wants to emigrate, but the gentleman questioning him intends to accept only those who are likely to prove good emigrants. And, as usual, the man or woman who can do everything, can-when it comes to the point do nothing.

This man has a grain of common-sense in him, and he soon climbs down from his high horse. "I know little, but I am willing to learn," betokens a far better frame of mind as regards Canadian farming than, "Oh yes, I can do anything!"

"Then fill up the application form, and your case shall come before the Committee. We have over fifty honorary agents in various parts of Canada to whom we send our emigrants, and who have usually work waiting for them on their arrival. So you can begin that way, and afterwards you can take up a grant of land for yourself."

This good man having withdrawn, another appears. He is a young fellow, who has evidently been too much petted by his mother. He has apparently never done any hard work in his life. When he left off sucking his thumb he took to sucking his walking. stick. He is not vicious-simply weak and pappy through foolish petting, and his father wisely thinks it would be well for him to emigrate if only he would turn over the proverbial new leaf in so doing.

What is to be done with him? Clearly Mr. Gates cannot accept him as he is. But will he throw aside his kid gloves and his foppish airs, and go to work on a farm for three months? The Self-Help Society are enabled to send certain applicants to a farm where they may be tested and trained before winging their way to the West. Will he go there?

DISTRIBUTING KITS.

Yes, he will go. There is no real vice in him; and looking ahead we see that freed from enervating influences, and with steady discipline behind him, he will learn to earn his bread and do useful work. Most likely he will make a successful emigrant.

"Oh! I don't believe in emigrating," exclaims Mr. Finnicky. "It is played out. Why, there were the Wheak bax-they went-cost 'em a heap o' money; took up ground in a dead-alive place, and found that farming didn't pay there any more than here. Faugh! emigrating is a mistake."

"Is it, though?" exclaims Mr. Sturdyman. "Young Jack Goahead did not find it a mistake. He went over to Manitoba, got work from the neighbours till he felt his own feet, took up 160 acres, and is now doing well. It all depends on the sort of persons who emigrate that is my opinion."

And no doubt Mr. Sturdyman is right. Persons who are able and willing to work on the land and to engage in agricultural pursuits are as a rule the people to emigrate.

So the person who can milk a cow is likely to fare better than the surgeon who can set a limb. A hard saying, perhaps, but a true one-so far at least as Canada is concerned.

There is emigration and emigration. Wholesale and indiscriminate deportation of thriftless and unsuitable persons is strongly to be deprecated. They are "dumped down" on a foreign shore, only to drag out miserable lives and become a burden on their adopted country.

But there is another kind of emigration-the

emigration of hard-working and suitable persons, who will adapt themselves to their surroundings, and shape out a bright and happy future under the British flag abroad.

It is this kind of emigration that we understand the Self-Help Emigration Society seeks to promote. Its emigrants must show some capacity for self-help. Further, it tries to advise them as to the best course to pursue, and sends them to its correspondents, who help to give them a start in their new country.

So that this large number of people we see crowding Euston platform to-night are all going over the water to friends-so to speakinstead of being "shot" on to a foreign shore, hardly knowing where to go, or what to do.

It is a motley assemblage. For the most part its members look very respectable,

and keep their feelings well under control. But not all. You do not like to see two great fellows kissing one another, and neither do I. But these two men might never see each other again, and under the overwhelming excitement of the moment the icy English reserve is thawed and the calm English reticence gives way, and the osculatory practice is performed in the crowd, as though they were women; but most of these good folk have their own feelings to consider, and not much notice is taken.

The hour of departure is at hand; the meeting is over in the board-room, and a substantial supper has been disposed of. We try to make ourselves as comfortable as we can for the long night journey. A good many endeavour to occupy corners. When they were children they objected to being put in a corner; and in later days folks do not like to be cornered in the affairs of life; but there is a great demand for corners now, and happy is he that hath one.

Parents, too, are busy making arrangements for their children-for the party includes persons big and little, and of almost all ages. The luggage, largely labelled, is all locked up in the capacious vans; the North-Western guards and porters, adepts in the management of departing crowds, have got all the travellers into the carriages, the whistles sound along this platform of many partings, and at a few minutes past midnight the heavily laden train slowly steams

away.

"Hurrah! hurrah!" shouts the large crowd that is left. "Hurrah! hurrah!" echoes under the wide glass roof. The powerful engine is gathering speed, and away we pass into the night.

It is well that the last word in London, and almost the last in England, should be such a hearty English cheer. And were not the emigrants' ears ringing also with words of hearty encouragement and hope, heard by some of them at the spirited meeting in the board-room, and should they not look forward to the future with happiness and bright expectation? So if there are tears in their hearts, they keep them off their faces.

"Now I hope there will be no trouble this time," remarks one of the officials. "On one occasion a child died in the train; or rather," he corrects himself, it did not die."

"A wonderful baby, that!"

"It was like this," he continues, laughing. "There was a mother and a child in one of the carriages with an older woman, and when we got some distance down this child had convulsions-got into a fit or something. The old woman declared it was dead-she had brought up ten children and she ought to know!

"Whereupon, of course, screaming and hysterics followed, as was but natural, and when the train drew up at the next stopping station, attention was directed to the carriage. The station-master made the family alight-they could not go on with a dead child on board.

"But presently, when they began to lay it out reverently, and so forth, behold, it commenced to cry, and showed most unmistakable signs of life!

"In fact, it became all right again, and the worst that happened was that their passage to Canada was delayed for a week. I was told nothing about the matter till we got to Liverpool."

Moral: A woman who has brought up ten children alive is not the best person to give a certificate of death.

Well, happily, nothing of the sort happened on this occasion, and in the cold light of the morning we duly arrived at Alexandra Dock station, most of us fresh as larks. Some of the young men protested they had not slept a wink, though their bright appearance would seem to belie their statement. The curious objection that some of us have to own that we have succumbed to sleep manifests itself, you see, even in a night emigrant train.

And now a great phenomenon presents itself. There is no trouble about luggage. Mr. James Wright, of the North Western's passenger department, sees to that; and while Mr. E. W. Gates leads his little "family" of 150 emigrants to a neighbouring café for a substantial breakfast. the North Western and Beaver Line officials between them. convey the tons of luggage down to the ship, whose Blue Peter flying high aloft proclaims she is about to start. So the most anxious matron who ever troubled about her "things" can breakfast in leisure and in peace.

"Now we will go down to the ship and have our kits given out," is the instruction, and away in groups, following one another, some carrying parcels of luggage required on the voyage, they make their way to the dock.

On the quay under cover are the kits. These

mysterious equipments become, on closer acquaintance, very simple. They consist of a paillasse and pillow, a shining tin plate and pannikin, and a knife, fork, and spoon. They cannot be called dear at three shillings and sixpence, and they remain the property of the emigrants themselves. Neither can the blankets which the Self-Help Society supplies be regarded as high-priced at four shillings.

Answering to name, the emigrants receive their kits, and laden with these household goods, they walk on to the big liner and are directed to the steerage.

Then commences the important business of the selection of berths. And behold, what a number of strange faces throng around. Norwegian and German are here. These people have come from the Continent by way of Hull, and they form a remarkable testimony to the high position of Britain in the carrying trade of the world.

66

"Why," we ask, should all these foreigners crowd over to England to journey to America by a British ship?"

"I suppose it is our Merchant Shipping Act," is the reply. "It provides the regulations as to space, and so on, under which passengers travel. A friend of mine once voyaged to South America in an Italian emigrant ship, and described the overcrowding as shocking."

The Board of Trade officers inspect the ship before she sails, pass the food taken on board, and pass the people also, to see that none are suffering from infectious disease.

MEDICAL INSPECTION.