And that would be the very end of my story; but I must add one curious piece of information, which is that Mr. Hobbs became so fascinated with high life and was so reluctant to leave his young friend that he actually sold his corner store in New York, and settled in the English village of Erlesboro, where he opened a shop which was patronized by the Castle and consequently was a great success. And though he and the Earl never became very intimate, if you will believe me, that man Hobbs became in time more aristocratic than his lordship himself, and he read the Court news every morning, and followed all the doings of the House of Lords! And about ten years after, when Dick, who had finished his education and was going to visit his brother in California, asked the good grocer if he did not wish to return to America, he shook his head seriously. “Not to live there,” he said. “Not to live there; I want to be near _him_, an’ sort o’ look after him. It’s a good enough country for them that’s young an’ stirrin’—but there’s faults in it. There’s not an auntsister among ’em—nor a earl!” THE END. OCTOBER. BY SUSAN HARTLEY. October comes across the hill Like some light ghost, she is so still, Though her sweet cheeks are rosy; And through the floating thistle-down Her trailing, brier-tangled gown Gleams like a crimson posy. The crickets in the stubble chime; Lanterns flash out at milking time; The daisy’s lost her ruffles; The wasps the honeyed pippins try; A film is over the blue sky, A spell the river muffles. The golden-rod fades in the sun; The spider’s gauzy veil is spun Athwart the drooping sedges; The nuts drop softly from their burrs; No bird-song the dim silence stirs,— A blight is on the hedges. But filled with fair content is she, As if no frost could ever be, To dim her brown eyes’ luster; And much she knows of fairy folk That dance beneath the spreading oak With tinkling mirth and bluster. She listens when the dusky eves Step softly on the fallen leaves, As if for message cheering; And it must be that she can hear, Beyond November grim and drear, The feet of Christmas nearing. [Illustration] SOME CURIOUS MARINERS. BY C. F. HOLDER.