wicked? She says that I mean to force
myself into their family!"

"Mrs. Leader," said the Doctor,
reproachfully. "It only wanted this! T' insult
a girl—my sweet Katey, under your own
roof—in your own house! Come away,
my darling. Let us leave this house; it's
no place for us. I don't want to see my
child grattuetously insulted before my eyes.
We're going, Mr. Cecil. My darling Katey's
been insulted by those who invited us to
their hospitality. Oh, it's too much—much
too much!"

"She mustn't go—she must stay, or I go
with you, too. You can find me a room in
your house——"

"With a heart and a half, my dear
boy."

"I assure you," began Mrs. Leader,
"this must be some misconception. I had
no intention to insult any one."

"Never," said Cecil, who, it was clear,
had been taking wine. "Not under my
roof! I stay with them, or I go with them.
There!"

"Ah, that's noble," said the Doctor,
looking at him with admiration. "It's
refreshing to meet loyalty like that. Katey,
I'll never forget this night to you.
Good-night to you, madam. You've now put us
outside the pale of delicacy, so we need
have no scruples in future. Good-night,
madam! Come, Katey sweet! This is no
place for us."

With an expression on her face
"invaluable for curds," said the Doctor, she
looked at them, and said, as she turned
away:

"Well, with all my heart. Take it any
way you please, Doctor Findlater. And,
further, do your best or worst. Whatever
way it turns out, you shall gain nothing by
your speculation, and it will be the poorest
scheme you have carried out for many a
day."

"Oh, my lady is threatening us," said
the Doctor, sneeringly.

"I disdain it," said the lady. "Let your
meek daughter exert all her arts. I dare
say you may cajole or intimidate this
foolish boy; but mind my warning, young
lady. You have forced this from me,
though, indeed, I am ashamed of myself
for having entered on the matter at all."

She left them. The Doctor took his
trembling daughter on his arm. This
scene had not escaped the gossips, who,
though afar off, could read much in the
faces of the parties concerned. Some few
sentences, too, had been caught up.

Like skirmishers, the eager guests were
hovering near, and drawing as close as
they could, with or without decency,
absorbed by an overwhelming curiosity.
Their eyes followed the retiring party: the
Doctor, defiant, flushed; Katey, scornful,
excited, unsubdued; while Polly came
behind with an admirer, in angry protest
at being taken away. She was engaged to
Captain Montague, and a number of
Terpsichorean candidates crowded on her, and
harassed the retreating army's rear. But
he strode on till they reached the steps,
and called for "Doctor Findlater's carriage!"

"Oh, Katey! Katey!" he said, in a half
whisper,"you'll stand by your poor,
broken, humiliated father!—you'll not
desert him after this public outrage and
in-sult—you'll not see him set down as an
imposture and a schemer——"

"Never, never, Peter, dear!" she
answered, fervently. "Indeed you have not
deserved this."

Up drove the "connubial greys" and
"th' b'rouche," and as they were going
down the steps, Mr. Cecil came hurrying
up.

"Oh, isn't it dreadful! What is to be
done?  What can make her go on in this
way?"

"That passes my philosophy, sir. But
this remains, that my child, my Katey, has
been insulted under this roof—insulted in
a low, ungenerous, unworthy, unwomanly
manner. However, this cuts away the
bushes and brambles; it'll be clear walking
now. See, Mr. Cecil," added the
Doctor, turning to him, his foot on the
b'rouche step, "just attend to me. You
come to the house to-morrow at eleven
sharp. Mind, everything gives place to
that. God bless you! Good-night."

THE LAST SIEGE OF PARIS.

IN 1814, taking a natural advantage of
Napoleon's disasters, which culminated at
the Beresina and at Leipzig, the Allies
crossed the Rhine, mustering, with their
reserves, scarcely less than half a million of
men. The emperor, to meet these hordes,
had only eighty thousand soldiers, but he
instantly, with his usual almost supernatural
energy, ordered a levy of two hundred and
eighty thousand conscripts, determining to
form a camp of one hundred thousand men
at Bourdeaux, another at Metz, and a third
at Lyons.