"None of your business, you puppy." "There is no need to ask what you said, sir. I know every word and have made a copy of it." "Ah! Listening, were you?" "No, sir. Miss Denny has told me. Do you see those wires? They will entangle you yet and trip you up." "Come away, Elmer. Come away." "For the present I will retire, sir; but, mark me, your game is nearly up." "By, by, children. Good night. Remember your promise, Miss Denny. The carriage will be all ready." Without heeding this last remark, Elmer, with his cousin on his arm, withdrew. As they closed the door the telegraph wires caught in the carpet and broke. The man saw them, and picking one up, he examined it closely. Suddenly he dropped it and turned ashen pale. With all his bravado, he quailed before those slender wires upon the carpet. He did not understand them. He guessed they might be some kind of telegraph, but beyond this everything was vague and mysterious, and they filled him with guilty alarm and terror. CHARLES BARNARD. FROM NORMANDY TO THE PYRENEES. The other day, before the first fire of winter, when the deepening dusk had compelled me to close my book and wheel my chair closer, I indulged in a retrospect. The objects of it were not far distant, and yet they seemed already to glow with the mellow tints of the days that are no more. In the crackling flame the last remnant of the summer appeared to shrink up and vanish. But the flicker of its destruction made a sort of fantastic imagery, and in the midst of the winter fire the summer sunshine seemed to glow. It lit up a series of visible memories. I.