How shall I describe that meeting? To begin with, I went home and broke the news to Aunt Helen and Aunt Agnes that my husband to be was to pass the evening with us, and for the moment did not break to them another bit of news I had heard before leaving Mr. Chelm,--that the Honorable Ernest Ferroll, having made a large fortune in the stock market through the agency of Mr. Dale, had withdrawn it from his hands in time, so as not to have it swallowed up by the failure, and had sailed for England. It was money he wanted, not me. But both my aunts, poor old ladies, fancied, I fear, that it was the future Duke of Clyde who was to be the guest of the evening; and when Francis Prime was ushered in, although he looked distinguished enough to be a Prince, Aunt Helen, at least, suspected that there was something wrong. As I afterwards learned, her air towards my lover was distant and haughty; and as Aunt Agnes had begun of late to imitate her former enemy, his reception was not cordial. But while he was looking from one to another with some hesitation, Mr. Chelm, who was standing in one corner of the room, by previous agreement pulled away the drapery that covered the portrait of me painted by Paul Barr, which stood in the middle of the room. Francis gave a start, and flung up both his hands. "Who is that?" he cried. "That, sir, is my niece," replied Aunt Helen with haughtiness. "Are you not acquainted with her?" "Impossible! It is Alice Bailey." "Yes, Francis," I said, coming into the room, "it is Alice Bailey; but it is Virginia Harlan as well. The power of love and the power of money! My own sweet husband, you are mine forever,--that is, if you will have me. Ike the imperious, beautifully ugly Ike,"--for I had released the dog from the vestibule to share our happiness,--"you are mine now, as well as his." It was thus that I gave expression to my happiness, clasped in the arms of him I loved, and who loved me, while the others were too dazed to speak. But when the time came for me to be given away, it was Mr. Chelm who said the necessary words. In adding that my aunts never quarrelled again, I have told of my autobiography all that can possibly interest the public. * * * * * University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge. THE STORY OF MARGARET KENT. BY HENRY HAYES. $1.50. The Springfield "Republican" says:-- "In this we have the American novel pure and simple. The style is fascinating, the conversation witty and natural." And the "Literary World" says:-- "The author is at work with aims and impulses that are lofty. The book is uplifting. It is admirably written, interesting, strong, impressive, helpful." And the "Critic" says:-- "It is a dainty story, full of grace and tenderness and color. We feel her bewitching beauty to our finger tips." And the Boston "Journal" says:--