tra work, of course, but then you have lots of tuck after. Heavens! It would have been a shame to kill that beast." "Yes, he's a beauty. You don't know, I suppose, where he could get a 'treizieme'?"

"Atreizieme'?

deuce is that?"

་

No. What the

Why, a thirteenth."

Yes, I know that; but a thirteenth what? Horse, cow, or what?"

"Man, of course, for his dinner." "Shades of Josephus! Does he eat men?"

"No, no," exclaimed James, gesticulating wildly. "A thirteenth man to eat his dinner."

"Heavens! Does it take thirteen men to eat his dinner?"

"Ah! Mon Dieu! It takes fourteen. He wants you to be the thirteenth. Twenty-five francs-fifty francs -dinner-one of "

By this time Morin was bursting with laughter; and seeing that it would be impossible for James to extricate himself, he came out and frankly confessed the whole affair. The Englishman's face flushed slightly, although Morin had put the matter as one gentleman would to another.

"Fifty francs," he said at last, "is a consideration; and scribbling, I can tell you, doesn't pay. To-morrow night, you say. Well, I'll do it. No thank you,' as Morin hinted at fitting him out, "I have my evening clothes with They're not gone yet, strange to I am to appear in my character, I suppose?"

me.

say.

In everyAnd I

"Not at all, monsieur. thing else you are my guest. hope I may say-my friend." "Thank you," said the Englishman, simply.

May I ask your name?" enquired Morin.

"Ah, yes. My name is Den—, that is, Percy-Reginald Percy."

"And mine, as I suppose you know, is Morin. I hope we will be friends, Monsieur Percy," said Morin extending his hand; "bon jour, monsieur." "Bon jour."

The Englishman continued on his

way, wondering at himself, and thinking that the harbour is dangerous indeed that a man will not enter when tossed by the heartless sea of poverty.

It was a week later. Mme. Morin and Mabel Hamilton were sitting in the former's cozy boudoir.

"It's delightful to have you back again, dear; it just seems as if you had never been away."

"Oh, I've been to loads of places since I was here. I think I must be getting old, Bess. I'm tired of seeing places, and things-and everything," and Miss Mabel Hamilton, aged twenty, closed her eyes and drew her brows together, as if she would either shut out the recollection of what she had seen, or conjure up something that she would like to see.

"Oh! what will she be at fifty!" said Mme. Morin, merrily. "I suppose, dear," she continued, half teasingly and half tenderly, "that it is Reggie Denbeigh ?"

"Oh, I don't know what it is," responded the girl petulantly, but in a tone which suggested that perhaps it was, and possibly they might talk a little about it to find out. "He is in Paris now, I think."

"Here? In Paris? Really."
Mabel nodded.

"What is he doing here?"
"Literature."

"Poor fellow! I pity him. Still, they occasionally have luck."

Luck," repeated the weary girl, energetically. "Indeed, if Reggie is not appreciated it is not his fault. I wish you could see some of his stories. He is as clever-as clever as-" and failing to find a parallel for Reggie's brains, she finished, "as anything."

"What does he look like? When is he coming to see you?"

"That's just it. I don't know his address; and he doesn't know I am here. Oh, it's all my fault. I was a fool," sobbed the girl. "And just when he had quarrelled with his father, and needed a little sympathy, too."

"What was the matter?" asked Mme. Morin.

"His father, Lord Burkley, wanted him to go into the Church and Reggie wanted to be a journalist. He's a brute-his father, I mean. And so Reggie came over here to study Royalist times and that sort of thing, and support himself in the meantime by writing. Starves on it, I suppose. But he would die before he would give in." "Poor fellow!" said Mme. Morin, sympathetically. "There are such thousands of them here in Paris. I wonder how many of them become famous, and how many kill themselves in despair."

"Oh, Bess! How horrible. Don't suggest such a thing.

66

Forgive me, Mabel; I didn't mean that. It was thoughtless of me," said Mme. Morin, in tears.

"I know you didn't, dearest; I know you didn't."

"Percy? An Englishman? There are Percys in Suffolk, and," meditatively, "Wessex. What part does he come from?"

"I don't know; I didn't like to ask him."

"Well, I guess he doesn't belong to the Percys I know, for they are all dark, but handsome; and I never heard of a clever one, except with horses. What about him? How did he become famous ?"

"It was all so funny. Claude met him somewhere; I forget where he said; at the club, I think, and--."

"Heavens!" sighed Miss Hamilton, "I don't suppose Reggie can afford clubs and things."

"And he dined with us. I'll tell you after you have seen him how that came about; and Claude introduced him to the editor-in-chief of Le Jour, who also dined with us, and he was so taken with Mr. Percy that-well, the next day he was famous, and swears by Claude, and Claude by him."

"How interesting! I wish you would ask Reggie here. But, Heavens! where can I find him? I might advertise."

"Yes, yes," nodding her head emphatically, "the very same."

“And talks so well about, about these things you can't see," and Mme. Morin waved her hands around airily, in illustration.

"Yes," called a voice from the doorway, and Morin stood there.

"It must be jokes, Miss Mabel; I find English jokes very hard to see ; my stupidity, of course. However, Bess, Monsieur Percy is down stairs; shall I bring him up?"

"Yes, of course.

"Come up, Monsieur," called Morin,

and in a few moments the two men entered the room. For about three seconds, two at least of the four might have been statues. "Reggie!" "Mab!

Had Madame Morin at that moment suddenly departed this life she would have carried an expectant smile into the realms beyond the blue, for it remained on her face some seconds after surprise had filled her eyes.

"Heavens!" ejaculated Mme. Morin, as the truth slowly dawned upon her that the Honourable Reginald Percy Denbeigh was, Le Treisième."

Richard Gornalle.

I

Charles Gordon Rogers.

"TO myself," says Ruskin, "moun

tains are the beginning and end of all natural scenery; in them, and in the forms of inferior landscape that lead to them, my affections are wholly bound up; and though I can look with happy admiration at the lowland flowers and woods, and open skies, the happiness is tranquil and cold, like that of examining detached flowers in a conservatory, or reading a pleasant book; and if the scenery be resolutely level, insisting upon the declaration of its own flatness in all the detail of it, as in Holland, or Lincolnshire, or Central Lombardy, it appears to me like a prison, and I cannot long endure it."

Some may accuse the great art critic of excessive love or of too fond a prejudice, but all will feel in a certain degree the truth of what he says. Upon the souls of a few there may fall a dread of the mountain gloom, but all well know the uplifting influence of the mountain glory.

But here in our western heritage on the Pacific slope we are more highly favoured than mountain lovers in "the Old Country." Ruskin and Tyndal, and enthusiasts like them, had to nourish their passion by running off to the Alps at uncertain intervals. We have around us continually the cloud-piercing, "heaven-kissing" heights, veiled from us. for a while now and then, it is true, but only to break forth from the mist in ever fresh and more marvellous beauty.

gazing upon the peaks and chains. which wall us from the bleak Northwest, we have the opportunity, when we choose to avail ourselves of it, of making their acquaintance at closer range.

That we make use of the opportunity so seldom is certainly more the fault of our weak and indolent flesh than of the attractive and inviting peaks but a few miles away from the most lowland parts of British Columbia.

Feeling this, a few months ago a party of the Art and Scientific Association of New Westminster determined to take a change from excavating kitchen-middens and burial mounds to the exploration of the mounds whose tops mock the pride of man. It was in the days when the vegetation below was sun-dried and dust-stained, and the smoke of many burnings filled the lower air, so that there was every inducement to forbear dragging forth to the light of day the long-buried relics of primitive man, and to set out to see the abiding glories of nature.

The mountatn fixed upon was Cheam, one of the most interesting peaks of the Cascade or Coast Range, about sixty miles from New Westminster, and about 8,500 feet high. It is really a misnomer to speak of Mt. Cheam as a peak, for, as we found later on, there are no less than eight peaks connected with one another by a narrow and winding ridge. The name Cheam, we were told, was given by the Indians on account of the little creeping raspberry,

Added, however, to the delight of

rubus pedatus, which is so common near the summit.

Our party consisted of ten persons, six men and four ladies, the latter of whom proved by no means the weaker half of the expedition.

At 6 o'clock on Monday morning, July 29th, we started, well provided with tents and blankets, on the up-river journey in the steamer Gladys. The farm lands on either bank of the Fraser were not seen at their best on account of the prevailing smoke, but there was sufficient evidence everywhere that the country was recovering from the recent disastrous floods, and it was also interesting to see the harvests of the river being gathered in by the numerous boats engaged in salmon-fishing. Every few miles the boat would stop to discharge or receive cargo at some river port, such as Langley, Mission and Chilliwack. Beyond this latter point the steamer seldom goes, but fortunately for us there was some lumber to be landed nine miles farther, at Popcum, and this was just the place to which we were bound.

This last nine miles was not unexciting, as there was a tremendous current running down, and the wreckage of a fine steamboat seen just above the water at one point emphasized the danger of the position. Along the bank the C. P. R. line ran close to the water, and in some of the tunnellings and cuttings we were enabled to estimate the enormous difficulty the railway contractors must have encountered.

At length, just as the shades of evening were beginning to descend, we reached our destination, and were landed with our impedimenta near a sawmill. We now felt what it was to be cast on our own resources, and with the mountain looming over against us dark with forest, and white near the summit with snow, we knew we had now to do or die. But there was work close at hand in putting up tents, collecting brush, and making fires, and the mosquitoes gave us so warm a welcome that we had no time to anticipate our trouble of the morrow. For

tunately, however, for the ladies, the owner of the saw-mill and his kind wife offered to receive the better half of our expedition into their house, and they passed the night in comfortable beds, while the sterner sex fought for rest against the onslaught of a sleepless foe.

Either for this reason, or on account of the bracing air of the place, we were up early next morning, lighting the fire and cooking breakfast with hungry zeal, and before very long were ready to start. Attired in what we considered our most suitable and picturesque attire, and grasping long poles of which we had yet to learn the full use, we were glad to pose before the photographer of our party for a picture. Added to

our number were now four Indian guides and porters to relieve us of our heaviest packs. Short, squat, unemotional creatures they looked; but before long we had learned to respect them for qualities which, under the circumstances, were truly enviable. To see them, laden as they were, climbing the steepest places, and though moving to all appearance at the utmost leisure easily outstripping us on the upward path, was to learn a lesson in humility, and to witness an agility truly admirable.

The journey at first was along a road used for bringing logs from the mountain to the sawmill, and the grade was easy enough to permit us to admire the delicate yellow touch-me-not, Impatiens fulva, which grew abundantly along the trail. The propriety of its name became apparent to those who gathered it but did not immediately proceed to press it. Besides this, the scarlet thimbleberry, Rubus Nutkanus, was common, and there was a perfect thicket of the feathery maiden-hair fern and the sweetly-scented Achlys triphylla. Presently the trail grew narrower and steeper, and after an hour's steady climb we were glad of a halt by the side of a stream of ice-cold water bounding down the rocky slope. "Jimmy," the guide, who won the favour of the ladies from the first, was on hand with the cups, and a draught was much enjoyed. Besides the plants al