“Well, for a lapse of memory you forfeit your seat and descend to a lowly one on the floor.” “Just this amendment I must plead: mothers must be exempted from penalties,” said I, “and may remain in their easy-chairs.” “Conceded, for dignity’s sake,” replied Aunt Louie. “Please declare the rules of the game and let us brace ourselves to our task!” cried Cecil. “Well, we give a tea-party, and as each names the guest to be invited, the names of the first-mentioned guests must be repeated in exactly the same order as given.” “If that is the case,” said Phyllis, “there must be no flitting from seat to seat, you restless young people. Choose your seats and keep them as long as you may.” “Are the living only to be invited, or may we summon the illustrious dead?” asked Harry. “The illustrious dead may be invited,” answered Aunt Louie. “Now then, Aunt Louie, please lead off!” cried all. “I shall give a tea-party and invite the hero of Kartoum.” “And I,” said Eva, “shall ask Lord Kartoum and Major Marchand.” “I’ll have Lord Kartoum, Major Marchand and Rider Haggard,” said Cecil. “And I,” said Carrie, “am determined to have Lord Kartoum, Major Marchand, Rider Haggard and her Majesty the Queen.” “My invitations,” said Phyllis, “shall be sent to Lord Kartoum, Major Marchand, Rider Haggard, the Queen and General Gordon.” “I’ll have Lord Kartoum, Major Marchand, Rider Haggard, the Queen, General Gordon and Barnum,” added Jessie. Harry gave “Dreyfus,” and two of the young people added the names of “Nansen” and “Clifford Harrison,” while I contributed “Herkomer,” thus completing the first round. So far no lapse of memory had occurred, and all remained in their seats. “Now,” said Aunt Louie, “we try another round, and yet another, still repeating the names and keeping each round perfectly distinct.” At the second round two of our party broke down and subsided on the ground. At the third round two more fell out, and at the fourth round only Cecil remained on the field, so to speak, victor of the game. CLARA THWAITES. “OUR HERO.” A TALE OF THE FRANCO-ENGLISH WAR NINETY YEARS AGO. BY AGNES GIBERNE, Author of “Sun, Moon and Stars,” “The Girl at the Dower House,” etc. CHAPTER XXXII. MOORE’S LAST VICTORY. In an instant Sir John Moore half raised himself, gazing still with concentrated earnestness, as if nothing had happened, towards the Highland regiment now hotly engaged. Not a sigh was heard. Not a muscle in his face quivered. Hardinge had sprung down, and Moore’s right hand grasped his firmly. When Hardinge, seeing his anxiety as to the 42nd, exclaimed, “They are advancing!” a flash of joy lighted up Moore’s features. Then Colonel Graham hurried to the spot. So placid and unchanged was the General’s look that for a moment he hoped it might be no more than an accidental fall from the horse. The next moment he saw—and he rode off at full speed for a surgeon.