these things on so much, and other people
put things into her head. If we could only
make her see reason."

Such a prospect was felt by both to be
hopelessly improbable, and a very rotten
reed to lean upon, if they had only it to
trust to. But here was the picture gallery,
and this little holiday work; and other
visitors noticed the homely but happy pair,
who were enjoying themselves, and set
them down, as of course, as the country
curate and daughter up for the day. That
day was too short.

When they returned home there was Mrs.
Leader, red with rage at being left alone,
and fretting at being delayed in
commencing the great and ambitious scheme
that was before her. She dismissed her
trembling husband contemptuously.

"After some of your childish pranks as
usual! No wonder your children have no
respect, or do as they please. Here, Mary,
come to my room, and try to get yourself
to look decent; for to-night Lady Seaman
has asked us to go to her box in the kindest
way. And Madame Duval has been waiting
an hour to fit your dress on."

"Oh, but papa and I were going to the
Thursday Quintets, and we have our
places."

"You'll get on in the world," answered
Mrs. Leader, with calm sarcasm. "You
and your simple father! It is really time
to give over this simple childishness. We
have been dragged down enough, as it is, by
your brother. You must give up your plan
for to-night. Some respect is due to me."

The gentle Mary submitted at once, and
gave herself over passively into the hands
of Madame Duval. Mrs. Leader presently
went to Mr. Leader's study, where,
witnesses removed, she made him quake in
his shoes with a terrible explosion of
something like fury. Who was he, she wished
to know; where would he be but for her?
He, a weak, miserable, feeble creature, that
every one laughed at; that every man of
sense could demolish, and who was utterly
unfit for the position he was thrust into!
She was ashamed of him in society, he,
afraid to open his mouth before people,
except to say some stupidity. No wonder,
indeed, that his own children despised him,
and did just as they pleased, disgracing
them all. Now could he be sensible for a
moment, and listen to her while she tried
to show him a little sense?

As usual, silenced by the vigour of these
personalities, Mr. Leader had now to listen
with great humiliation to the new scheme.
Here was a fine chance, through which
they might redeem themselves, and which,
indeed, they did not deserve. Then she
proceeded to open her design. It was
high time that "his daughter" should take
her place and begin to learn sense and the
real business of life. She was not to go on
like a mere school-girl always. She must
be married at once to do away with the
bad impressions of the last unfortunate
business, and go out everywhere. And
she must request of Mr. Leader that
he would give over these low, primitive
junketings, which did well enough for
their old days. They must be given up.
She really begged he would use his
influence, and make his daughter think
seriously of this important step.

"Oh, if we met a good and excellent
man whom, she loved," he said earnestly,
"nothing would be dearer to my heart."

Again Mrs. Leader went off into a fury
—"got ill"—her favourite instrument of
coercion, and there was ringing of bells
while maid and footmen had to be
summoned to carry her up-stairs. Others went
for the favourite doctor—"Dear Lady
Butterly's"—who knew her constitution,
and this special form of complaint, very
well. Such was the tyranny under which
the unhappy lord of Leadersfort groaned.

At that moment it was announced that
a gentleman, from the family solicitor was
below with papers—a very happy diversion.

      MANY TALES FROM A SMALL
                          CITY.

IN the western division of the old duchy
of Saxe-Altenburg, situated in that great
Thuringian forest which is so prominent in
the early history of Germany, is a city
called Eisenberg, so small that it is scarcely
to be found even on a large map of Saxony
and the adjoining states, but nevertheless
abounding in strange legends and traditions,
which have been collected with great
care by Herr Kent Gress, a German
antiquary, resident in the town. Under his
guidance we stroll through Eisenberg and
its immediate vicinity.

Like many other old towns, the city in
question has its symbolical image, which
the citizens regard with affectionate reverence,
looking upon it as a sort of guardian
genius. This is the black figure of a Moor,
cut out of a single block of sandstone, with
a bandage round the eyes, and in one of
the hands a goblet, whence a jet of water