Carcanet, A, _John B. Tabb_ Elusive, _Sarah D. Hobart_ Epitaph written in the Sand on a Butterfly Drowned in the Sea, _Helen Gray Cone_ Into Thy Hands, _Stuart Sterne_ Mithra, _Charles L. Hildreth_ Morning, _Florence Earle Coates_ On a Noble Character marred by littleness, _Charlotte Fiske Bates_ Probation, _Florence Earle Coates_ Rose Romance, _Ada Nichols_ Shadows All, _Paul Hamilton Hayne_ Song, _Robertson Trowbridge_ "What do I Wish for You?" ,_Carlotta Perry_ Wood-Thrush at Sunset,_Mary C. Peckham_ * * * * * LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE _JULY, 1885_. ON THIS SIDE. VII. It has not been concealed that, with all his fine qualities, Mr. Ketchum was an obstinate man, and so, in spite of his wife's remonstrances, he came down-stairs next morning--Sunday morning--in a dress that she had assured him was "only fit for one's bedroom,"--namely, a very gorgeous Oriental dressing-gown (Mabel's gift the preceding Christmas), with a fez on his head, and on his feet a pair of slippers of amazing workmanship and soundlessness, the joy of his feet, if not of his heart. Thus accoutred, he prowled about on the lower floor, looking after various things, and, going into the pantry for something, he chanced to look through the small window used for the transmission of dishes from the next room, and saw Parsons holding a pile of letters one by one over a steaming kettle. Unconscious of his proximity, the respectable Parsons dexterously and neatly opened several envelopes with a practised hand, and then transferred the letters to her pocket, to be enjoyed at her leisure, after which she laid hold of the kettle and retired into the kitchen beyond. "Well, upon my word, if that isn't the coolest thing I ever saw!" exclaimed Mr. Ketchum mentally, and, feeling that he had made a great discovery, was at first for sharing it immediately with Parsons's mistress; but on reflection he thought differently. "It is her funeral: I guess I had better not meddle: there would be a great scene," he thought. "At any rate, I'll wait until they are leaving before putting her on her guard." He went back to the dining-room to his newspaper, and sat there until the others came down. Miss Noel was not long in the room before an idea struck her. "Did you not say that your post-bag containing the night's mail would be sent over this morning?" she asked. "I did. It came about an hour ago," said Mr. Ketchum. "How very nice! I hope there may be something for me. It is so very trying to get no news from England," said Miss Noel. "Why, Mabel had twenty-three letters laid aside for you until you should come. Didn't she give them to you?" asked Mr. Ketchum. "Were none of those from England?" "Oh, yes. But that was three days since, and I've heard nothing for a fortnight. If Parsons has _quite_ finished with the letters, I suppose I may as well have them. And she must be, by this. Would you kindly ring and send for them?" said Miss Noel.