himself and Stubbs, the gardener. He adjusted his eyeglass.

"Not drowned, Molly?" he asked, staring at her companion.

"Would you mind putting me across?" said the latter. "I'd better get a change, I suppose."

Tiggy assented and went so far as to row the stranger down to the landing stage, where, after the several exchanges of conversation, they parted in a friendly way. But Molly had said no words since they embarked and she merely inclined her head when the young man made his farewell salutation.

"It was a great cheek of him," she said to Eilean later, "He gave himself as many airs as if he had been the Duke. But, of course, I knew better. I saw all along he was an imposter."

"Aren't you going to marry him? Didn't he save your life?" cried excited Marjorie.

"Good gracious me, no," said Molly with disdain. "One doesn't marry that sort of person."

τα

ATSON, HENRY CLAY, an American journalist and historian; born at Baltimore in 1831; died in California in 1869. He was an editor of the Philadelphia North American and the Philadelphia Evening Journal; and, in his last days, of the Sacramento Times. Besides some volumes of hunting-scenes, he published Camp-Fires of the Revolution (1851); Nights in a Block-House (1852); The Old Bell of Independence (1852), revised as Noble Deeds of Our Fathers (1888): The Yankee Teapot (1853); Lives of the Presidents of the United States (1853); Heroic Women of History (1853); The Ladies' Glee

Book (1854); The Masonic Musical Manual (1855), and The Camp-Fires of Napoleon (1856).

THE YOUNG SENTINEL.

As he approached, the captain was in the act of calling Arthur Stewart, a beardless boy then, from the ranks, to act as a sentinel during the night. The general, with mingled emotions of surprise and anger, stepped up to the captain, and taking him a little to one side, said: "Captain Wetherbe, what is the meaning of this? Are you so thoughtless and imprudent as to select a boy for a sentinel? . . . You know that the British army is almost within musket-shot of the American lines. Are we not in imminent danger of being attacked tonight?"

Stewart had taken his post as sentinel during the first part of the night. It so happened that General Putnam had occasion to pass outside the lines. On his way he did not encounter Arthur Stewart, but another sentinel; who, ascertaining that it was the general, immediately. allowed him to pass. After being absent a short time, he made toward the lines, as though he intended to return. In his course he encountered Stewart. "Who goes there?" inquired the sentinel. "General Putnam," was the reply. "We know no General Putnam here," Stewart answered. "But I am General Putnam," returned that person, by this time growing somewhat earnest. "Give the countersign," returned Stewart. It so happened that the general had forgotten what the countersign was; or at least could not, at the moment, call it to mind. "I have forgotten it," was the reply. "This is a pretty story from the lips of General Putnam. You are a British officer, sent over here as a spy," returned Stewart, who was well aware that he was addressing Putnam; for the moon was shining brightly, and revealed the features of the general, but he had the staff in his own hand, and he meant to use it. "I warrant you I am not," said the general; and he attempted to pass on. "Pass that line, sir, and you are a dead man!" exclaimed Stewart, at the same time cocking his gun.

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"Stop where you are, or I'll make you stop," continued the sentinel, as the general disregarded his first notice. Hastily raising his gun to his shoulder and taking a somewhat deliberate aim, he pulled the trigger; but, for some reason or other, the discharge did not follow. "Hold! hold!" exclaimed Putnam. "I do hold," was the reply; "the gun holds its charge a great deal better than I intended it should;" immediately priming his musket for a second trial. "You are not priming that gun for me?" asked Putnam anxiously. "That depends entirely upon the circumstances. I warn you, once more, not to pass those lines." But I am your general," continued Putnam. "I deny it, unless you give the countersign." Here the general was at fault. He strove to recall the important word; but all was in vain. "Boy," said he, "do you not know me? I am General Putnam." "A British officer, more like. If you are Putnam, as you say, why don't you give me the countersign? So sure as I am my mother's son, if you attempt to pass those lines, I'll make cold meat of you. I'm a sentinel. I know my duty; though there are some people in the world who are marvellously inclined to question it." At this, Putnam, finding that further parley would be useless, desisted; and the boy, deliberately shouldering his musket, began, with a great deal of assumed haughtiness, to pace the ground as before.

Here was the redoubtable General Putnam, the hero of a hundred battles, kept at bay by a stripling of seventeen. This scene, in my humble judgment, would have been a fine subject for a painter's pencil. Putnam, finding that the boy was in earnest · for he had alarming proof of it-durst not, for his life, proceed a step further. He waited until Stewart was relieved; when the other sentinel, finding he was, in truth, General Putnam, allowed him to pass without giving the countersign. But the general's feelings were terribly excited. . . A sense of honor and justice returned; and, sending for the boy on the morrow, he thus addressed him: "Did you know the man who encountered you, while at your post?" "I suspected whom he might be," returned the boy. "That's right," said the general; "you

did just as I myself would have done, had I been in your place. We have nothing to fear from the British, or any other enemy, with such soldiers as you. Discipline is the soul of the army." . . . Arthur was, shortly afterward, promoted to the rank of ensign.-Camp-Fires of the Revolution.

ATSON, JOHN ("IAN MACLAREN "), an English clergyman and novelist; born at Manningtree, Essex, England, November 3, 1849. He was educated at Edinburgh University, and studied for the ministry at New College, Edinburgh. While at New College he made the acquaintance of such men as Dr. James Stalker, Professor Henry Drummond, Dr. George Adam Smith and others. His first pastorate was in the Free Church in Logiealmond, Perthshire, now known as Drumtochty. It was not until 1893 that Mr. Watson became known as a writer. He has published Beside the Bonnie Brier-Bush (1894); The Days of Auld Lang Syne (1895); The Upper Room (1895); Kate Carnegie (1896); The Mind of the Master (1896); A Doctor of the Old School (1897); The Potter's Wheel (1897); Afterwards (1898); Companions of the Sorrowful Way (1898); Rabbi Saunderson (1898); Doctrines of Grace (1900); The Life of the Master (1901).

AS A LITTLE CHILD.

The minister asked Burnbrae to pray, and the Spirit descended on that good man, of simple heart:

"Almichty Father, we are a' Thy puir and sinfu’ bairns, wha wearied o' hame and gaed awa' intae the faṛ