but bore our shouts of laughter with great philosophy. The Judge's dignity was as conspicuous as ever, although he was deprived of his constitutional black coat. After the submerged were properly dried we started home. The Judge, stimulated doubtless by the douche he had taken, started the brown cob at a notable pace, but again lagged behind; and all the vehicles passed him except Percival's and Brown's-Percival having asked Miss Hartman to drive around the pond by a more distant route, and that young lady having consented. As for poor Brown, with his usual luck, he could not find a sufficient wardrobe for himself to drive home in, and was waiting for his coat to dry. The moon came out before the brown cob had reached the confines of the grove-that chaste luminary surprised the Judge in a manly confession of his love. With the simplicity and directness of his nature he had asked her to tell him at once his fate; and the moonlight helped him to read the charming intelligence in Fanny's blushing face, which, just at that moment, she could not find words fitting to express. It was that golden moment which comes perhaps but once in a lifetime, so full of fruition that the heart could not bear it often. The delicious silence and happiness which wrapped them both was broken by a sound of wheels, a crash, and a shriek. Will Percival had offered himself to Sarah Hartman, and been accepted. He was not, however, a very serene lover, and drank too much wine to be altogether an agreeable one. Mr. Milman performed the ceremony. When I saw him, with the dignity and sacredness of his high office, give to another the hand which he prized most highly on earth-when I saw the heart-felt manner in which he wished her joyI forgave him for a thousand affectations, and respected him and pitied him from the depths of my heart. My pity was not much diminished, although my respect was, when I heard that he had succumbed to the Meddlecomb attack, and was betrothed to Kitty, the third, or fifth, or seventh daughter, and the softest-voiced and most malicious of them all. After the engagement was announced, the whole tribe dilated on the long and ever repulsed affection of Mr. Milman for Kitty, and the savage and desperate nature of Fanny's opposition to the match. However, when they came to marry, the Judge and Fanny nearly furnished their house for them. The Meddlecombs showed the gifts, and dilated on Kitty's wedding presents, but did not mention who gave them. Fanny's house was beautiful. Her position was a charming one. She went abroad for a year, and brought home all sorts of nice things. The upset boat was not the only catastrophe Her cup was running over. of the picnic. Will Percival was unfortunately not quite himself as he started to drive home. Too much Champagne had not improved his eye for the road. He had upset his little light wagon, and lodged Miss Hartman in a neighboring stumpfence. Fortunately Brown had nearly caught up with him, and arrived at the scene of disaster in time to extricate Miss H., while the Judge turned his horse's head in the direction, and arrived a moment later. Fanny found her friend very much hurt; her arm was broken; she was bruised and bleeding. She was put in the Judge's chaise, Fanny crouching down on the floor thereof to make herself a support in some way for the poor wounded thing; while Will Percival, somewhat stunned, was driven home by Brown, leaving his own broken vehicle to be brought home at some future period. The Judge's engagement was a great piece of news all over the State, and the wedding, which took place almost as soon as poor Sarah Hartman's arm was well, was the great event of Summerfield. The old satin dresses which were disinterred for that occasion would have clothed the entire chorus of the opera. The bride was more subdued than we had ever seen her, but lovely as possible. As for the Judge, all his friends looked at him with astonishment: such an effect had happiness had upon him that he seemed twenty years younger. Miss Jones was there, bearing it bravely. No one but the Meddlecombs saw that her brow was strangely set, though her lips were smiling. She had too much. One day the Judge came in quite pale, and sank on the sofa. Fanny flew to his side. "I feel quite faint and ill, dear wife," taking her hand and laying it on his heart. "There is something wrong here." However, it passed away. Fanny recalled years after the pang which shot through her at that moment; for it was the knell of their happiness. One or two more warnings came; and at length the horrible news went through the town that the Judge had been stricken dead in court while listening to an argument. Discase of the heart. It was perhaps a poor consolation to know that he could not have been cured; but it was a great and never-failing one to remember that the Angel of Death found the servant of the Most High Judge ready, with a prayerful spirit and a clear record, awaiting his coming. Poor Fanny! It was many a long year before we heard her laugh again. Poor Mr. Milman was next called. He had never been strong, body or mind, and his pale face grew paler, and his cough more racking, till at length he gave up his duties and took to his bed. When he got very ill he sent for Fanny, having something important to say to her. She went to see him. The air was heavy with Meddlecombs. Poor Milman asked them meekly to leave the room. Kitty remained, of course. "Did your husband"-poor Milman began, heavily and with difficulty-"ever tell you of the existence of certain papers-relating to the T'ercival family?" "No," said Fanny, "but he gave me opce a little trunk, which he wished me to keep safely, as he had in it some important papers belonging to another person. He gave it to me, I remember, after his first seizure. I have never thought of it since." "Dear Fanny," said the poor dying man, "keep that safely until old Mrs. Percival dies. It contains a secret which no one knew but your husband and myself; and now that he is gone, and I am going, it must be given to you. Kitty, my wife, as you value my parting blessing, do you never reveal what you have heard. After old Mrs. Percival's death break the lock, and give the papers to whom they belong. And write down what I have told you, put the paper in the possession of some man of respectability, that the evidence may be complete should any thing happen to you. Now, farewell, dear and excellent friend." Poor Milman died without revealing the secret, which his wife thought a great outrage to her, and she loved Fanny even less after this scene than before. The Meddlecombs began to observe that Fanny often went into Mr. Bowen's store, and had an occasional word for Abram Brown at church or Sunday-school. How a woman of her pride could so far descend was to them a wonder of wonders. Perhaps they thought it a proof of the supremacy of her position that she could do such a thing. Abram went on in the same old way, always showing some superiority to his position, but never gaining ground in “society.” Will Percival, who had married poor Sarah Hartman, had gone steadily down hill. He had become a blustering, drinking, harsh man; and his mother grew paler day by day, and his wife sank away from a blooming young woman into one prematurely old an 1 sorrow-stricken. ward Fanny's stately mansion, took its fair mistress on his arm, and walked to church with her, composedly seated himself in her pew, and in less than five minutes the electric message ran through the town that Fanny was going to marry him! The horror and disgust of the Percivals, the delight and triumph of the Meddlecombs, the wonder and disapproval of all her friends was beyond words. Between these two there was a great gulf fixed in our estimation. We neither knew nor cared for the worth of the man; we contrasted him with the man whom we had delighted to honor, the Judge, and all felt a diminished regard for Fanny. The Judge had been dead six years. Fanny was now but thirty, but we felt that she had no right to insult his memory by marrying Abram Brown. However, marry him she did. He ceased to be Mr. Bowen's clerk; he proved to have some money, and had all his wife's estate settled on herself. The Browns were very happy apparently, and quite indifferent to our opinion of them. Poor old Mrs. Percival died at length, and, true to her instructions, Fanny opened the box. Death came not once but twice to Raymond Hill. Poor Sarah Percival had never had much health or happiness. The death of her gentle and sympathizing mother-in-law took away her only support and consolation in this earth, and Will grew more savage and drunken every day. He had not allowed his wife to speak to Fanny since her marriage, but on her death-bed she demanded to see her. Fanny watched over her, sustained her, and closed her poor dying eyes. Then Fanny went for the neglectful husband. He was in his own room stupefying himself with wine, but Fanny bade him come with her. As he looked upon the poor pale face, now no longer reproachful, his manhood came back to him, and he knelt by her side. But repentance was brief with him. The horror of death came over him, and he turned to leave the room. "Stay, William Percival," said Fanny; "look at what you have done. You have killed this woman. Now repent while there is life in you. By the side of this dead saint promise me that you will try and reform yourself." Will had a profound despite at Brown, and never lost an opportunity of insulting him. He never could forgive him for having done him the service of bringing him home when he was drunk from the picnic. Brown bore this course of conduct, as he did every thing, silently, until Percival grew too unbearably insulting in the reading-room of the public library, when Brown "Why, Fanny, how can you talk so when coolly and quietly slapped his face. Percival you know my love for you was the cause of my sprang at him like a tiger. Brown knocked him downfall?" said poor Will, whimpering. "If down, and held him until some gentlemen in-you had married me I should have been all right, terfered. "You will do me the justice to say, gentlemen, that I did not seek this quarrel, and that no gentleman could have done less," said Brown. "We will, we will!" said half a dozen men. “Gentleman!” hissed Percival between his teeth as he strode off. The village of Summerfield had never had an emotion like unto that which followed the news of this quarrel, but it was soon to be startled and shocked still more; for on one calm Sunday morning young Abram Brown walked to but you married some one else, and then I sank lower and lower. This poor thing loved me, and for a little while I determined to be a better man, but my evil passions got the better of me." Here he fell into a great fit of weeping, as he looked at the poor dead face lying there so still and pale. "Do not flatter yourself, Will, that any one was to blame but yourself. Self-indulgence has always been your plan of life. I beg of you, by an old friendship, by the memory of your mother, by the memory of this wife you have so injured, by the honored name you bear, I entreat you to reform. There are years left for you in which to rub out the disgrace of your life. I pray you do it." "He has given his consent to the burning of this paper," said Fanny, slowly; and with trembling fingers she gave Will a letter. Will tore it open. But her earnest words had no effect. Will "I knew it; I knew it. Your present huswas too intoxicated to appear at his wife's funer-band, that wretch, that scum of the earth, Abram al, and his course was desperately downward. Brown-pah! my mouth rebels against the plebeian word-never, no never will I accept a favor at his hands, and my name, my name is Brown. Tell me, tell me, Fanny, to what depths am I descended?" "Your name is Beaumont, William, if a few more letters can do you any good, and my husband's name is Arthur Beaumont, your older brother; but he has lived so long under the Fanny made one more attempt in his favor. She took Mr. Selden, the old lawyer of the Percivals-he who had always administered the affairs of Raymond Hill, and who watched the ruin of its heir with peculiar sorrow-and drove to his house one fine morning in early summer, a few months after poor Sarah's death. They found him swearing at his dogs and servants, but enough of the gentleman left in him to re-humble and quiet alias, which he took when his ceive them courteously. Mr. Selden hemmed and hawed, and finally giving a bundle of papers into Fanny's hands begged of her to open the business. Fanny began in the usual woman's way, by bursting into tears. When she got composed she said: mother died, that he does not care for the empty distinction. You have always borne an honorable name, and are the heir of an honorable race. Keep it. The deception is an innocent one, as long as those most interested permit it. Keep it; but, William, do it more honor than you do by your present most unworthy life. Be"Will, you know, perhaps, that your father's lieve me, I do not want to frighten you into comlife was clouded in some mysterious manner, pliance; but so much do I wish to save you, perhaps you do not know how. Here is a paper, that I have thought it proper to tell you what drawn up by himself, giving his own story. He others are willing to forego for your sake, if for was married to a young girl in Scotland, by theirs you will become a better man." whom he had a son, and whom he deserted before he met your mother. By changing his name and coming to this country he thought to escape the punishment of his crime. But his unfortunate wife found out his whereabouts and followed him even here. With a woman's generosity she failed to expose him, when she came to see him, but in justice to her son demanded this paper of him, swearing solemnly to conceal it until the death of his innocent victim, your mother. He gave it to her in the presence of my husband, the Judge, and not long after, borne down by the shame and contrition which overwhelmed him, he disappeared, and died soon after. Will Percival, degraded, lost as he was, could not but be touched by this appeal; he knelt before her, he kissed her hand, but when he rose he said, quietly, “Too late, too late!" "It is never too late," urged Fanny. "One question: Did you know this fact when you married Brown?" said Will. "No, I opened this trunk of papers when your mother died. I had married Brown because I loved him, because I saw in him powers and virtues which the world did not see. I only knew him as the poor clerk, and I determined, if my love could give him that position which he deserved, he should have it. He had long loved me, and for a time my pride rebelled; but love is stronger than pride, and for his goodness and nobility of soul I had a voucher that none could "Not many years ago the Judge received a packet of papers from Scotland, containing the record of the marriage of the first wife, the bap-fail to respect, the Judge." tismal record of the son, and such accounts of the whereabouts, personal appearance of the son, as to enable him to be identified without trouble. The Judge took into his confidence Mr. Milman, our late clergyman, after a certain period, in order that the secret might be in good hands if any thing should happen to him. Death has removed both those recipients of this secret. I and two others share it with you." "Did he know of the identity of Abram Brown and Arthur Beaumont ?" Will Percival looked stupefied and remained silent." So you are come to taunt me with my want of birth and name," he said, at length, in a husky voice. "No, Will, I am come to make you an offer. If you will promise me to become a better man I will burn this paper, and swear that its contents shall never be known." "But what would my elder brother, the legitimate brother, say to this?" said poor Will, bitterly. "No, he was simply the recipient of confidence from both parties, but liked him as I did for himself. When I opened the trunk I called my husband to my side to determine what I was to do with these papers; then for the first time he told me who he was, and produced the fellows to these papers. Even the wedding-ring was halved. One half was in the trunk, the other in his possession. Locks of hair were given to him, braided together in a peculiar manner, and in the trunk were the same. The coat of arms, engraved on very curious old rings, were alike divided between the trunk and himself." 'Why did he come here and live this obscure life?" "His mother's family, proud and injured by her desertion, treated them coldly, and they came here: his mother, with true womanly generosity, hesitated to sacrifice her husband's innocent victim. When she died her generosity descended to her son. Perhaps he came here, drawn by the ties of relationship, for here lived his only brother." The long hatred and persecution rose up before him; perhaps he felt a moment's remorse, but the life-long pride of his character and race -for he had proud blood on both sides-choked the expression of it. "So, like a dog in the manger, he has descended as low as he could, and watched for the hour of revenge: he has made himself a base tape-seller to point my degradation. I will not accept his generosity. My property is my own, if my name is not, and publish your vile tale as soon as you please. Mr. Selden, are you an accessory to this insult?" "Mr. Percival, I was only a recipient of the confidence of Mrs. Brown so far as the words of our late clergyman, Mr. Milman, are concerned, and have this morning only received the particulars which you now hear. I have sworn to secrecy, and only accompanied Mrs. Brown here to lend her my protection, and to show you, as an old and trusted friend of your family, that a sincere wish for your welfare induced this visit." When his will was opened this remarkable clause was found in it: "I give to Fanny Clifford, the wife of Abram Brown, alias Arthur Beaumont, my older brother (as I am told), my estate of Raymond Hill, with the portraits of my late mother and wife, and all other fixtures and furniture thereunto belonging, asking her to preserve the portraits for the love she bore to the originals, and to make such disposition of the estate as she may think best." Of course the secret was known. Of course we all saw an immense change in Mr. Arthur Beaumont. Many of us remembered that we had thought his carriage noble, his face indicative of high birth. Like poor Mary Raymond, the first wife of Mr. Beaumont had been of proud and honorable lineage, and he, the father, had been the unworthy descendant of good ances tors. Why he had condescended to be Mr. Bowen's clerk we never knew; perhaps he was crushed by his mother's misfortunes, and after her death cared little what became of him; perhaps he wished to be near his secret, for he of course knew of the little trunk; perhaps-oh, dreadful thought!-he did not care for the opinion of the aristocrats of Summerfield, but bided his time. Certain it was, he went on as he had begun, unassuming, self-contained, and reserved, but faithful, honorable, and of good report. "Fanny," said Will, "you were always a good woman, a good friend. I feel all your William Percival sleeps by the side of his mogoodness, and I wish I were more worthy of ther and wife, and the marble which marks the your efforts in my behalf; but I hate your hus-spot bears the name he bore through life. It band, my brother, who has wronged me by the is an error which harms no one, and the noble very fact of his being. I do not accept his offers of secrecy; go, I beg of you, announce the fact of my mother's shame. I shall take every step to free myself from every obligation to Mr. Brown." He left them in a paroxysm of rage-the next thing which we heard was that he was raving in delirium tremens. Still, while Will Percival lived the secret did not transpire; drunk or sober he never told it. The Browns were as secret as he: as for Mr. Selden, he was a tomb of secrets. What need to go on and detail the steps of his sure and certain descent after this? He had long ago entered upon that fearful downward path from which return by the unaided strength of the traveler is all but hopeless. Men of high moral natures have struggled vainly against the fearful propensity. Will Percival's nature was not a high one. Besides, he bore within him a secret, known to others who had no cause to love him, which once divulged would cost him all that he still prized in life. Every month found him lower than before. At length, after months of debauch, Will Percival died. He had had moments of sanity and of apparent reformation; but as Fanny had told him, "self-indulgence had been his plan of life," and he could form no other. estate which witnessed his ruin has received a A friendly arm to the friendless; But whose echo is endless. The world is wide, these things are small, They may be nothing, but they are all!" And, on a soft summer evening, Fanny and Beaumont, who are one in all true and noble sentiments, walk together with their children to a consecrated spot, never without its green turf and beautiful flowers, or imperishable ivy, and talk of all his goodness and loyalty who sleeps beneath. Beaumont can afford to share his wife's regard with that noble memory, and when Christmas comes the marble bust which stands always in the library, looking down with the true serenity of the man it images, on the group below, is surrounded by these words: IF any reliance can be placed upon statistics, (The exact figures, as worked out by Mr. Har aszthy, are $551,858,208 33.) the production of Wine is the most important branch of agricultural industry on earth. Making all due allowances for the enthusiasm At all events, there are only to be compared with of a sanguine vine-grower, and guided only by it the culture of rice-which forms the staple what has actually been demonstrated, we may food of nearly one-third of the human race-and be certain that the production of wine is to bethat of wheat. Europe is the main seat of wine come a leading branch of the industry of the culture. According to official reports there are Golden State. We therefore present an account in Europe twelve and a quarter millions of acres of the processes of grape-culture and wine-makdevoted to the growth of the grape, producing a ing as now conducted in California, at the little more than three thousand millions of gal- largest establishment of the kind in the world. lons a year, which, estimating the average value at place of production at twenty-five cents a gallon, is worth on the spot more that 775,000,000 of dollars. Making the most liberal estimate of the cotton crop of the world, in its palmiest days, it will be hard to bring the value up to more than one-third of this sum. Moreover, as wine is to a considerable extent an article of commerce, fifty cents a gallon would not be a high estimate for its average value at the place of consumption. Thus the real value of the wine crop of Europe would be more than 1,500,000,000 of dollars a year. If these figures are exaggerated the fault is not ours. We find them in of ficial reports, which ought to be reliable. The "Buena Vista Vinicultural Association" is an incorporated Company, composed chiefly of residents of San Francisco. The estate has the largest vineyard in the world, and upon it the business of wine-making has here reached a higher development-in so far as the application of machinery is concerned-than in any other vineyard in America. There are a greater variety of grape, a greater variety of production here, than in any other vineyard of the State, and its extent and production are rapidly increasing. The estate of the Association, lying within thirty miles of San Francisco, contains 6000 acres in one body, bordering on the town of We are assured on as good authority as that Sonoma, and running six miles eastward toward of Mr. Haraszthy that California has five mill- Napa City. About 4000 acres are valley land, ions of acres suited to grape-culture; that in a the remainder well timbered and hilly. The considerable part the vine flourishes better than property is bounded on the north by a fine creek, in the most favored regions of Europe; so that which runs during the whole year; also on the when, in a generation or so, this shall be planted northeast of the boundary-line is a large creek, with vines, the wine product of that State will called the Caneros. Besides these several othbe worth, on the spot, at only twenty-five cents ers cross the estate in all directions, one forma gallon, more than five hundred million dollars.ing a cascade of from two to three hundred feet |