necessarily pass to the sea by some fall. If it were so, the engineer thought that it might, perhaps, be possible to utilize this fall and borrow its power. They continued, then, to follow the shores of Lake Grant by climbing the plateau; but, after having gone a mile or so, Cyrus Smith was not able to discover the overfall, which, he was sure, must exist somewhere.

It was then half-past four. In order to prepare for dinner it was necessary that the settlers should return to their dwelling. The little band retraced their steps, there

fore, and by the left bank of the Mercy arrived at the Chimneys.

The fire was lighted, and Neb and Pencroff, on whom the function of cooks naturally devolved, quickly prepared some broiled agouti, to which they all did ample justice.

Before they retired to sleep Cyrus Smith drew from his pocket little specimens of different sorts of minerals, and said: "My friends, this is iron mineral, this a pyrite, this clay, this lime, this coal. These articles nature gives us. It is our duty to make a right use of them. To-morrow let us commence operations.”

KRISTIAN KOPPIG was a rosy-faced, beardless young Dutchman. He was one of that army of gentlemen who, after the purchase of Louisiana, swarmed from all parts of the commercial world, over the mountains of Franco-Spanish exclusiveness, like the Goths over the Pyrenees, and settled down in New Orleans to pick up their fortunes, with the diligence of hungry pigeons. He may have been a German; the distinction was too fine for Creole haste and disrelish.

He made his home in a room with one dormer window looking out, and somewhat down, upon a building opposite, which still stands, flush with the street, a century old. Its big, round-arched windows in a long, second-story row, are walled up, and two or three from time to time have had smaller windows let into them again, with odd little latticed peep-holes in their batten shutters. This had already been done when Kristian Koppig first began to look at them from his solitary dormer window.

All the features of the building lead me to guess that it is a remnant of the old Spanish Barracks, whose extensive structure fell by government sale into private hands a long time ago. At the end toward the swamp a great, oriental-looking passage is left, with an arched entrance, and a pair of ponderous wooden doors. You look at it, and almost see Count O'Reilly's artillery come bumping and trundling out, and dash around into the ancient Plaza to

I do not know who lives there now. You might stand about on the opposite banquette for weeks and never find out. I suppose it is a residence, for it does not look like one. That is the rule in that region.

In the good old times of duels, and bagatelle-clubs, and theater-balls, and Cayetano's circus, Kristian Koppig rooming as described, there lived in the portion of this house, partly overhanging the archway, a palish handsome woman, by the nameor going by the name of Madame John. You would hardly have thought of her being "colored." Though fading, she was still of very attractive countenance, fine, rather severe features, nearly straight hair carefully kept, and that vivid black eye so peculiar to her kind. Her smile, which came and went with her talk, was sweet and exceedingly intelligent; and something told you, as you looked at her, that she was one who had had to learn a great deal in this troublesome life.

They could not tell just how old she was; they "would give her about seventeen."

Mother and daughter were very fond. The neighbors could hear them call each other pet names, and see them sitting together, sewing, talking happily to each other in the unceasing French way, and see them go out and come in together on their little tasks and errands. ""Tite Poulette," the daughter was called; she never went out alone.

And who was this Madame John?

"Why, you know!-she was "-said the wig-maker at the corner to Kristian Koppig-" I'll tell you. You know ?—she was

and the rest atomized off in a rasping whisper. She was the best yellow-fever nurse in a thousand yards round; but that is not what the wig-maker said.

A block nearer the river stands a house altogether different from the remnant of old barracks. It is of frame, with a deep front gallery over which the roof extends. It has become a den of Italians, who sell fuel by daylight, and by night are up to no telling what extent of deviltry. This was once the home of a gay gentleman, whose first name happened to be John. He was a member of the Good Children social club. As his parents lived with him, his wife would, according to custom, have been called Madame John; but he had no wife. His father died, then his mother; last of all, himself. As he is about to be off in comes Madame John, with 'Tite Poulette, then an infant, on her arm.

"Zalli," said he, "I am going." She bowed her head, and wept. "You have been very faithful to me, Zalli."

She wept on.

Zalli."

"Nobody to take care of you now, Zalli only went on weeping. "I want to give you this house, Zalli; it is for you and the little one."

An hour after, amid the sobs of Madame John, she and the "little one" inherited the house, such as it was. With the fatal caution which characterizes ignorance, she sold the property and placed the proceeds in a bank, which made haste to fail. She put on widow's weeds, and wore them still when "Tite Poulette "had seventeen," as the frantic lads would say.

How they did chatter over her. Quiet Kristian Koppig had never seen the like. He wrote to his mother, and told her so. A pretty fellow at the corner would suddenly double himself up with beckoning to

a knot of chums; these would hasten up; recruits would come in from two or three other directions; as they reached the corner their countenances would quickly assume a genteel severity, and presently, with her mother, "Tite Poulette would pass-tall, straight, lithe, her great black eyes made tender by their sweeping lashes, the faintest tint of color in her Southern cheek, her form all grace, her carriage a wonder of simple dignity.

The instant she was gone every tongue was let slip on the marvel of her beauty; but, though theirs were only the loose New Orleans morals of over fifty years ago, their unleashed tongues never had attempted any greater liberty than to take up the pet name, 'Tite Poulette. And yet, the mother was soon to be, as we shall discover, a paid dancer at the elegant Salle de Condé.

To Zalli, of course, as to all "quadroon ladies," the festivities of the Condé street ball-room were familiar of old. There, in the happy days when dear Monsieur John was young, and the eighteenth century old, she had often repaired under guard of her mother-dead now, alas !—and Monsieur John would slip away from the dull play and dry society of Theatre d'Orleans, and come around with his crowd of elegant friends; and through the long sweet hours of the ball she had danced, and laughed, and coquetted under her satin mask, even to the baffling and tormenting of that prince of gentlemen, dear Monsieur John himself. No man of questionable blood dare set his foot within the door. Many noble gentlemen were pleased to dance with her. Colonel De and General La

city councilmen and officers from the Government House. There were no paid dancers then. Everything was decorously conducted indeed! Every girl's mother was there, and the more discreet always left before there was too much drinking. Yes, it was gay, gay!-but sometimes dangerous. Ha! more times than a few had Monsieur John knocked down some long-haired and long-knifed rowdy, and kicked the breath out of him for looking saucily at her; but that was like him, he was so brave and kind;-and he is gone!

There was no room for widow's weeds there. So when she put these on, her glittering eyes never again looked through her pink and white mask, and she was glad of it; for never, never in her life had they sa looked for anybody but her dear Monsieur

John, and now he was in heaven-so the priest said and she was a sick-nurse.

Living was hard work; and, as Madame John had been brought up tenderly, and had done what she could to rear her daughter in the same mistaken way, with, of course, no more education than the ladies in society got, they knew nothing beyond a little music and embroidery. They struggled as they could, faintly; now giving a few private dancing lessons,, now dressing hair, but ever beat back by the steady detestation of their imperious patronesses; and, by and by, for want of that priceless worldly grace known among the flippant as money-sense," these two poor children, born of misfortune and the complacent badness of the times, began to be

in want.

Kristian Koppig noticed from his dormer window one day a man standing at the big archway opposite, and clanking the brass knocker on the wicket that was in one of the doors. He was a smooth man, with his hair parted in the middle, and his cigarette poised on a tiny gold holder. He waited a moment, politely cursed the dust, knocked again, threw his slender swordcane under his arm, and wiped the inside of his hat with his handkerchief.

Madame John held a parley with him at the wicket. "Tite Poulette was nowhere seen. He stood at the gate while Madame John went up stairs. Kristian Koppig knew him He knew him as one knows a snake. He was the manager of the Salle de Condé. Presently Madame John returned with a little bundle, and they hurried off together.

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And now what did this mean? Why, by any one of ordinary acuteness the matter was easily understood, but, to tell the truth, Kristian Koppig was a trifle dull, and got the idea at once that some damage was being planned against 'Tite Poulette. It made the gentle Dutchman miserable not to be minding his own business, and yet'But the woman certainly will not attempt "said he to himself—"no, no! she cannot." Not being able to guess what he meant, I cannot say whether she could or not.. I know that next day Kristian Koppig, glancing eagerly over the "Ami des Lois," read an advertisement which he had always before skipped with a frown. It was headed, "Salle de Condé," and, being interpreted, signified that a new dance was to be introduced, the Danse de Chinois, and that a young lady would

It was the Sabbath. The young man watched the opposite window steadily and painfully from early in the afternoon until the moon shone bright; and from the time the moon shone bright until Madame John !-joy !-Madame John! and not Tite Poulette, stepped through the wicket, much dressed and well muffled, and hurried off toward the rue Condé. Madame John was the "young lady;" and the young man's mind, glad to return to its own unimpassioned affairs, relapsed into quietude.

Madame John danced beautifully. It had to be done. It brought some pay, and pay was bread; and every Sunday evening, with a touch here and there of paint and powder, the mother danced the dance of the shawl, the daughter remaining at home alone.

Kristian Koppig, simple, slow-thinking young Dutchman, never noticing that he staid at home with his window darkened for the very purpose, would see her come to her window and look out with a little wild, alarmed look in her magnificent eyes, and go and come again, and again, until the mother, like a storm-driven bird, came panting home.

Two or three months went by.

One night on the mother's return, Kristian Koppig coming to his room nearly at the same moment, there was much earnest conversation which he could see, but not hear.

"No, no;-I thank God for it; I am glad you are not; but you will be lonely, lonely, all your poor life long. There is no place in this world for us poor women. I wish that we were either white or black !"—and the tears, two "shining ones," stood in the poor quadroon's eyes.

The daughter stood up, her eyes flashing. "God made us, Maman," she said with a gentle, but stately smile.

Ha!" said the mother, her keen glance darting through her tears, "Sin made me, yes."

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Oh, no, no! "Tite Poulette," cried the other; "but if we were only real white!— both of us; so that some gentleman might come to see me and say 'Madame John, I want your pretty little chick. She is so beautiful. I want to take her home. She is so good-I want her to be my wife.' O, my child, my child, to see that I would give my life-I would give my soul! Only you should take me along to be your servant. I walked behind two young men to-night; they were coming home from their office; presently they began to talk about you."

'Tite Poulette's eyes flashed fire.

"No, my child, they spoke only the best things. One laughed a little at times and kept saying "Beware! but the other-I prayed the Virgin to bless him, he spoke such kind and noble words. Such gentle pity; such a holy heart! 'May God defend her,' he said, cherie; he said 'May God defend her, for I see no help for her.' The other one laughed and left him. He stopped in the door right across the street. Ah, my child, do you blush? Is that something to bring the rose to your cheek? Many fine gentlemen at the ball ask me often, 'How is your daughter, Madame John?'"

The daughter's face was thrown into the mother's lap, not so well satisfied, now, with God's handiwork. Ah, how she wept ! Sob, sob, sob; gasps and sighs and stifled ejaculations, her small right hand clenched and beating on her mother's knee; and the mother weeping over her.

Kristian Koppig shut his window. Nothing but a generous heart and a Dutchman's phlegm could have done so at that moment. And even thou, Kristian Koppig for the window closed very slowly.

He wrote to his mother, thus:

"In this wicked city, I see none so fair as the poor girl who lives opposite me, and who, alas! though so fair, is one of those whom the taint of caste has cursed. She

lives a lonely, innocent life in the midst of corruption, like the lilies I find here in the marshes, and I have great pity for her. God defend her,' I said to-night to a fellow clerk, 'I see no help for her.' I know there is a natural, and I think proper, horror of mixed blood, (excuse the mention, sweet mother) and I feel it, too; and yet if she were in Holland to-day, not one of a hundred suitors would detect the hidden blemish."

Thus this young man went on trying to demonstrate the utter impossibility of his ever loving the lovable unfortunate, until the midnight tolling of the cathedral clock sent him to bed.

About the same hour Zalli and "Tite Poulette were kissing good-night. ""Tite Poulette, I want you to promise me one thing."

"Well, Maman?"

"If any gentleman should ever love you and ask you to marry,-not knowing, you know,-promise me you will not tell him you are not white."

"It can never be," said "Tite Poulette. "But if it should," said Madame John pleadingly.

"And break the law?" asked "Tite Poulette, impatiently.

"But the law is unjust," said the mother. "But it is the law!"

'But you will not, dearie, will you?" "I would surely tell him!" said the daughter.

When Zalli, for some cause, went next morning to the window, she started.

""Tite Poulette!"-she called softly without moving. The daughter came. The young man, whose idea of propriety had actuated him to this display, was sitting in the dormer window, reading. Mother and daughter bent a steady gaze at each other. It meant in French, "If he saw us last night! —"

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Ah! dear," said the mother, her face beaming with fun,

"What can it be, Maman? "He speaks-oh! ha, ha!-he speaks -such miserable French!

It came to pass one morning at early dawn that Zalli and "Tite Poulette, going to mass, passed a café, just as-who should be coming out but Monsieur, the manager of the Salle de Condé. He had not yet gone to bed. Monsieur was astonished. He had a Frenchman's eye for the beautiful, and certainly there the beautiful was. He had heard of Madame John's daughter

and had hoped once to see her, but did not; but could this be she?

They disappeared within the cathedral. A sudden pang of piety moved him; he followed. 'Tite Poulette was already kneeling in the aisle. Zalli, still in the vestibule, was just taking her hand from the font of holy-water.

"Madame John," whispered the man

ager.

She curtsied.

"Madame John, that young lady is she your daughter?'

"She-she-is my daughter," said Zalli, with somewhat of alarm in her face, which the manager misinterpreted.

"I think not, Madame John." He shook his head, smiling as one too wise to be fooled.

"Yes, Monsieur, she is my daughter." "O no, Madame John, it is only makebelieve, I think.”

"I swear she is, Monsieur de la Rue." "Is that possible?" pretending to waver, but convinced in his heart of hearts, by Zalli's alarm, that she was lying. But how? Why does she not come to our ballroom with you?

"

Zalli, trying to get away from him, shrugged and smiled. "Each to his taste, Monsieur; it pleases her not."

She was escaping, but he followed one step more. "I shall come to see you, Madame John."

She whirled and attacked him with her eyes. "Monsieur must not give himself the trouble!" she said, the eyes at the same time saying, "Dare to come! She turned again and knelt to her devotions. The manager dipped, crossed himself and departed.

Several weeks went by and M. de la Rue had not accepted the fierce invitation. of Madame John's eyes. One or two Sunday nights she had avoided him, though fulfilling her engagement in the Salle; but by and by pay-day,-a Saturday,-came round, and though the pay was ready, she was loth to go up to Monsieur's little office.

It was an afternoon in May. Madame John came in and, with a sigh, sank into a chair. Her eyes were wet. "Did you go, dear mother?" "Tite Poulette.

asked

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"While I was gone?" cried the mother. He passed on the other side of the street. He looked up purposely, and saw me." The speaker's cheeks were burning red.

Zalli wrung her hands.

"It is nothing, mother; do not go near him."

"But the pay, my child." "The pay matters not."

"But he will bring it here; he wants the chance."

That was the trouble, sure enough. About this time Kristian Koppig lost his position in the German importing house where, he had fondly told his mother, he was indispensable. "Summer was coming on," the senior said, “and you see our young men are almost idle. Yes, our engagement was for a year, but ah— we could not foresee-" etc., etc., 66 besides," (attempting a parting flattery) your father is a rich gentleman and you can afford to take the summer easy. If we can ever be of any service to you "-etc.,

etc.

So the young Dutchman spent the afternoons at his dormer window reading and glancing down at the little casement opposite, where a small, rude shelf had lately been put out, holding a row of cigar boxes with wretched little botanical specimens in them trying to die. "Tite Poulette was their gardener; and it was odd to see,dry weather or wet,-how many waterings per day those plants could take. She never looked up from her task; but I know she performed it with that unacknowledged pleasure which all girls love and deny, that of being looked upon by noble eyes.

On this particular Saturday afternoon in May, Kristian Koppig had been witness of the distressful scene over the way. It occurred to "Tite Poulette that such might be the case, and she stepped to the casement to shut it. As she did so, the marvelous delicacy of Kristian Koppig moved him to draw in one of his shutters. Both young heads came out at one moment, while in the same instant

“Rap, rap, rap, rap, rap!” clanked the knocker on the wicket. The black eyes of the maiden and the blue over the way, from looking into each other for the first time in life, glanced down to the arched doorway upon Monsieur the manager. Then the black eyes disappeared within, and Kristian Koppig thought again, and re-opening his shutter, stood up at the win