own discovery to take much note of these Felix could go to attend the Baron with his things. malades; she had a mind to wait a few days. "What did you find?" she asked incuri- She could not leave this garden of Eden— ously. with an evanescent smile as she absently Madame turned on her an inscrutable ex- smoothed one plump white hand with anothpression. "A ghost," she said softly. She Helen laughed in an absent way. had grown used to Madame's mysterious little jests and enigmatic metaphors. The latter walked on briskly, with an evident desire to put as much space as possible between themselves and the peaceful cottage they had just left, but she rallied a little as they went on. "And you, what did you see? You did not wait all that time unseeing and unheeding as now, I hope." Helen hesitated-looking across the valley where the sun struck on the yellow fields and made a wavering shimmer of heat. "I saw a ghost, too," she murmured wistfully. Madame lifted her eyebrows. "That's sheer plagiarism," she said good-naturedly. "At any rate,❞—looking over her shoulder"these wraiths of ours don't seem to be following us. So there were two," she said abruptly, with a keen glance at her companion. "Mine was only a picture"-and Helen ooked down demurely. "A-h-h❞—and she sank into a silence which lasted until they reached the house. Then she asked abruptly : "Do you know Mr. Gurney's people." Helen shook her head. "I never thought of him as having any people,” she said. "Ah, true, he has the air of being alone. t was so good of you to come with me this morning, especially as we shall have no ore walks together I fear. Felix is anxious > get back to his sick friend. We have ayed much too long already. We go >-morrow-yes, certainly to-morrow," and ith some more polite commonplaces Maame disappeared. But on the morrow Madame had taken Ivantage of her sex's prerogative, and anged her mind. She had found out that r. Gurney would send a team down that ty for a friend he expected, and her good er. "The good Felix" was without doubt obedient. He went with eager, amiable adieux to everybody, and followed by innumerable regrets. No greater contrast could be found to this departing guest than the one whom Tasse brought back—a stately old gentleman, with a smooth, fine face set in a floss of silvery hair; mild, gray eyes that seemed to see only the graces of life none of its distortions; a gentle voice, a gentle, old-fashioned courtesy. "Dr. Weston," said Gurney, presenting him with a satisfaction which he made no attempt to conceal. Helen laughed softly to herself, remembering how she had sat among Dr. Weston's treasures, and pictured him as a cynical old bachelor built of hobbies. Before many days had gone by she found herself comparing him to one of his own frail, translucent bits of China set against a row of Delft pots. The discords of her own life melted away before the pure tranquility of this old man's almost completed existence. He sought her out repeatedly, and often asked permission to join her and Tessie Lawlor in their after-dinner strolls. The inroad of the Flechs had sent Tessie into the room next to Helen's, and this fact, with the little friendly offices Tessie shyly volunteered, had made a new comradeship. Even Tina, who recoiled from serious elderly people, succumbed to the old doctor's fascinations, tempering her audacity when in his presence with a humility that was half playful, half real. He looked the priest more than the physician, and Tina, with a swift appreciation of this fact, instantly dubbed him the Padre, dropping him a courtesy as she went by, or begging his benediction. Dr. Weston's eyes twinkled one day, when she asked him demurely if he was very sure he had not come over with Fra Junipero, and had been haunting these groves and hills ever since, absolving the ghosts of pious Indians and Spaniards; but he shook his morrow, next week, they would be gone, and head gently. then-and then she would see whether the "Absolving shadows-ah, we all do that, world had a place for her in its work-a-day but we cannot exorcise them." He had taken up his quarters with Gurney, and had somehow shared his cares as well, or else he had exorcised them, for a new light came into Gurney's eyes; he came out of his shell of gravity, and spent most of his time with his guests-who lingered week after week, with a sort of lazy disregard of time. Mr. Graves said, "Business be hanged; I feel twenty years younger down here." "We'll have that statement turned into an affidavit and send it to the local paper at ——," said Gurney laughing, "they gloat over testimonials of that sort to their climate." "Well, we must go after the Fourth," declared Mr. Graves dogmatically. He took satisfaction in the fact that he held the rudder with all these people. Indeed, he would not stay in a boat where he merely pulled an oar. He delighted in cramming the whole party into the biggest wagon on the place, and taking them off for the day. He insisted on making of Independence Day an unwholesome burlesque of a "celebration" in the woods. Helen, who had learned wisdom from many of these experiences, deliberately "cut" the whole thing, and slipped away from the rest as soon as she could do so unobserved. Following the little creek, she found a grassy, sycamore-shaded nook where she read and dreamed, the water lapping over the roots of the tree under the bank, and murmuring at the gray boulders in midstream that barred its way. On the opposite side of the stream rose a dark hillside, lush with brake and fringed with feathA fish jumped now and then in ery rushes. the pool just below. Helen sighed more than once from content, from regret, from melancholy. This self-elected lover of the world had forgotten her creed. She thought of how she had tried to convert Gurney to Society. It was easy now to see why she had failed. She closed her eyes with a little shiver of dismay. To niches. Among the lessons she learned from this fresher and freer life, was the one that dependence was no longer possible. "A dinner of herbs" might have the fine savor she had vainly sought among the flesh pots of Egypt. She had done wondering at Gurney's inexplicable silence, except when, as that day on the beach, some look or tone made her color come and go, her heart beat faster in spite of herself. At such times she was ready to swear he loved her. It was a proof of his power, that even in the face of what would have made her utterly despise another man, she could not entirely condemn this one. It was herself she despised for her own weakness. She had fought her faith in him step by step when she had every reason to believe; now when he seemed a traitor to his pledges, she caught at every straw of excuse, and blindly denied his treason to her heart. Since the Doctor's advent, and with Gurney's swift renewal of his old-time manner, they had been drifting into the old pastime of mingled jest and earnest, a pastime as fascinating as it was dangerous. Her book slid from her lap, after a while, and finally from waking dreams she dropped into dreams of sleep. She made a very lovely picture, with her arm thrown above her head, her pale blue dress throwing a bit of clear color on the thick, soft, brown grass. An inquisitive blue-jay fluttered down to investigate this color-rival, and then retired to a neighboring tree, where he gave vent to his opinions in shrill, voluble monologue. Just then, as if this mischief maker had shown a signal, the sharp report of a gun rang out close by, a little shower of spent shot fell around the sleeper, and a limp bit of blue and gray dropped to the earth, not a dozen yards away. Wakened, stunned, bewildered, all at once, Helen lay for a few moments perfectly still; but a crashing of branches made her spring. up with her heart beating wildly, and she · confronted Gurney, who was regarding her "I was asleep I am not hurt," she made haste to say in rather tremulous tones. She spread out her hands in a reassuring gesture. For answer he took both the hands in his Own, and drawing her swiftly toward him held her close, dropped kisses like rain on forehead and eyes and quivering lips, murmuring all the love-words in Cupid's book. "I might have killed you—I” he said almost fiercely. Helen turned her head away half frightened at his vehemence, half yielding to it. "You-have no-right-" she stammered blindly, putting her hand against his breast to thrust him from her. Have I no right?" he interrupted sharply. "Ah, that is what I must know. Life is too short to risk many mistakes. Life means too much to waste it in playing hide and seek. Look at me," he said abruptly, imperiously. Helen made one brave effort to obey, and then her lids drooped lower and lower, till their long lashes swept her cheek, and the bronze-gold head, as if following her eyes' submission, bent till it touched his shoulder. Perhaps he waited for other answer, perhaps he had no words to fit the time, perhaps he repented his too impetuous wooing; at any rate, he only drew her a little closer and by and by bent his head to touch softly with his lips the bit of fair forehead that was visible. “I don't want to be ungrateful or exacting,” he said, with something of his old manner, as she still kept silence, "but there are four or five words necessary to complete he charm," and he whispered something in "Well, that will have to do for the present," he rejoined coolly. As she tried once more to slip away, a shade passed over his face. "Wait-wait one moment. I've been the most miserable devil in the world since last winter. I don't know whether I deserve this bit of Paradise snatched out of the Inferno or not. I don't know whether I have any right to speak even now. I don't know whether I've been cowardly or brave, to wait till fate threw me the sweetest gift in the world. It is for you to judge, my Portia. I don't know where to begin," he went on, anxiously watching her face. "May I tell you?—I must tell you—" "Ah, not now." She had listened half unheeding. All the hours she had spent in regret and defiance, in impatient pride and angry suspicion, were worse than wasted, since she was caught at last defenseless and unresisting. The fact that he was eager to explain made her the more incurious. It was enough that he, too, had been tried and tempted. "Not now," she repeated. you must tell anything, let it be to-morrowor to-morrow-or to-morrow. Why pull down shadows to bar the sunshine?" "If Gurney drew a little sigh of relief, hesitated-and was lost. "If you-if we really care very much," added this brave young woman, shyly avoiding the more sentimental phrase "it need not matter very much." "Ah, surely, 'One thing is certain and the rest is lies.' Need not matter? It shall not matter"—with a kind of eager recklessness. But the shadow had been already pulled down, and could not be put aside. It lurked in the depths of Gurney's eyes, as he talked with a mingling of his old provoking banter and a tender deference. It followed him when he went to pick up his gun and his quarry a promised tribute to furnish plumage for Tina's hat. "Pretty? yes, so he is "-in response to Helen's careless admiration. "But he's like a good many other well-dressed rascals, prettier dead than living. Pity gathers all their virtues into an epitaph." He picked up her forgotten book. "Rossetti? no wonder you went to sleep; or did you really bring it along as a soporific?" Helen laughed, but did not defend her æsthetic poet. Abstract opinions could not tempt her to argument just now. On their way back to the picnic ground they met Jack. "I want to 'hurry no man's cattle," said that young gentleman mildly, "but possibly you've not noticed that the sun is sinking in the west, the little birds are in the nest or words to that effect. Part of our lunatics have gone home, and the rest are paraphrasing Mary's little lamb; that is, they're waiting patiently about-with variations." He was secretly amused at Helen's telltale expression. "How she hates to be pawed over by those old gossips," he thought, shrewdly; but he rattled on with out a stop, and covered their tardy appearance so gallantly that there was no time for question or complaint. Helen was swung up over the wheel beside the driver. Gurney followed her; and they were off with a plunge before she had fairly got her breath. Her companion accidentally touched her muslin-clad shoulder. "No wrap?" he in quired, tersely. "I have a shawl somewhere-" He drew from under the seat a soft gray blanket, and muffled her in it up to her very chin. "We mustn't be squeamish at such a pinch," he laughed. "You can imagine it sealskin, or even ermine." Ermine or wool, it was all the same to the wearer of the blanket. She did not know who was behind them. It was all an enchanted dream-the clank of hoofs and rumble of wheels, the songs that floated back to them from the other wagon, the vague, delicious sense of irresponsibility, Gurney's caressing tones in her ear, his breath almost stirring her hair. It seemed as if they might go on and on and on forever, whirling through the forest, meeting the uncertain light of the young moon, trampling down the gigantic shadows that swept the ground, catching glimpses of white shapes that came and went among the trees, dipping into damp hollows only to nestle in the warm air against the hill-tops-on and on, and between long processions of light, silvery olives, seemingly over a dark carpet of vines-up the long slope through the rustling avenue of poplar trees, and so into the light of open doors and a clamor of voices-and the dream was over. THE CHINESE IN EARLY DAYS. THE beginning of the Chinese immigration Santo California, and the contrast between the feeling toward them at that time and that of the present day, are to the pioneer of the gold-hunting period curious and interesting subjects of reminiscence. The exact time when the first considerable number of Chinamen came to these shores it would be difficult now to state, and would require more search into the shipping records of that time than can be given in connection with this sketch. It is enough to know that in the fall of 1849 the Chinese in San Francis co numbered several hundred. They were not laborers who came; not of the coolie class, at least. Very few of them went into the mining district, and the writer never saw, never heard of a Chinaman digging for gold any of the placers that year. in The scarcity of lumber and the enormous prices at which it was sold from $400 to $500 per 1,000 feet-prompted enterprising parties to ship hither the light frames and prepared stuff for what were known as China houses-structures put up in a few days, with single boarding set on end, battens covering the spaces left between the unjoined boards, and roofs similarly laid on. These houses were comparatively cheap, and much better than tents. Many of them were brought and put up by the Chinese themselves, some of them working with their queer and clumsy tools in the carpentering, and others occupying the frail structures as shop-keepers, merchants, and dealers in Chinese wares-silks, shawls, and strange commodities never before offered for sale in an American city, or seen by the American people. These "traders" of that day drove a lively and lucrative trade, for their novelties were bought by thousands of the lucky miners and prosperous mechanics, who, out of their ounce per day pay or wages, fr. ely spent their money in buying rich and curious articles for presents to send by Adams & Co's Express, or by the hands of returning friends who had "made their pile," to kindred or sweethearts at home. Three or four Chinese restaurants were opened, the largest and most patronized on Sacramento Street, between Montgomery and Dupont streets, and in these the owners accumulated rapid fortunes beyond the expectation of the average Chinaman. Single meals at the ordinary restaurants, conducted by white men, Americans or foreigners or those of Spanish blood, cost from one dollar to two dollars, for the simplest dishes, and a nice dinner could not be had for less than five dollars; but at these Chinese restaurants a "square meal" could be had for one dollar, and to regular boarders the charge was sixteen dollars per week, while at the other restaurants the charge was from twenty to thirty dollars. It was a strange scene that presented itself in those restaurants. Quick, though imperfect in catching the pronunciation of the order given, the Chinese waiters would repeat, parrot-like, whatever the call might be. The freak of the waggish miner who would order "roast elephant on half shell," would be sounded in his presence, so that no mistake should be made, "roas' tellephun hap sell," and "scolloped moccasin" was shouted, "collid mock-sup," in sober earnest, in the best "pigeon English" the attendant could command. In the very rainy season of 1849, when the water served was much riled and a guest refused the muddy looking liquid, the compliant waiter asked, "Too muchee land, eh?" and then grinned clear across his usually imperturbable face with self-satisfaction at his fine comprehension of the "Melican talkee," of which the laughter around the table assured him. Just what it was the guests at the Chinamen's restaurants ate was always a sort of Dundreary puzzle. The beefsteak was certainly cheap and "bully," for it would cost more than the whole meal at another res |