f at Plusham.

"The young ladies are in the garden," said the Duchess. "Don't you
want to go and pick a rose?" she added with a gracious smile, and the
nearest approach to a wink that was consistent with her patrician
bearing and aquiline nose.

Lothaw went and presently returned with the blushing Coriander upon his
arm.

"Bless you, my children," said the Duchess. Then, turning to Lothaw,
she said: "You have simply fulfilled and accepted your inevitable
destiny. It was morally impossible for you to marry out of this
family. For the present, the Church of England is safe."

MUCK-A-MUCK.

A MODERN INDIAN NOVEL.

AFTER COOPER.

CHAPTER I.

It was toward the close of a bright October day. The last rays of the
setting sun were reflected from one of those sylvan lakes peculiar to
the Sierras of California. On the right the curling smoke of an Indian
village rose between the columns of the lofty pines, while to the left
the log cottage of Judge Tompkins, embowered in buckeyes, completed the
enchanting picture.

Although the exterior of the cottage was humble and unpretentious, and
in keeping with the wildness of the landscape, its interior gave
evidence of the cultivation and refinement of its inmates. An
aquarium, containing goldfishes, stood on a marble centre-table at one
end of the apartment, while a magnificent grand piano occupied the
other. The floor was covered with a yielding tapestry carpet, and the
walls were adorned with paintings from the pencils of Van Dyke, Rubens,
Tintoretto, Michael Angelo, and the productions of the more modern
Turner, Kensett, Church, and Bierstadt. Although Judge Tompkins had
chosen the frontiers of civilization as his home, it was impossible for
him to entirely forego the habits and tastes of his former life. He
was seated in a luxurious arm-chair, writing at a mahogany ecritoire,
while his daughter, a lovely young girl of seventeen summers, plied her
crochet-needle on an ottoman beside him. A bright fire of pine logs
flickered and flamed on the ample hearth.

Genevra Octavia Tompkins was Judge Tompkins's only child. Her mother
had long since died on the Plains. Reared in affluence, no pains had
been spared with the daughter's education. She was a graduate of one
of the principal seminaries, and spoke French with a perfect Benicia
accent. Peerlessly beautiful, she was dressed in a white moire antique
robe trimmed with tulle. That simple rosebud with