TALES & SKETCHES.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 931, 3 January 1890, Page 7

TALES & SKETCHES.

[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.] BY ORDER OF THE CZAR THE TRAGIC STORY OF ANNA KLOSSTOCK, THE QUEEN OF THE GHETTO. BY JOSEPH HATTON, Author of * Cruel London,’ * The Three Recruits,’ ‘John Needham’s Double,’ &c. [All Rights Reserved. - ) Part 11. CHAPTER V. ‘Man Proposes.’ Walter Milbanke was under the impression that he was master in his own house, and his wife was clever enough to- keep this belief alive. She had her own way without appearing to oppose Walter in the smallest thing. His father had made it a rule to govern his household autocratically. * Have a wife and rule a wife,’ was his motto, and he instilled it into Walter, but Walter’s was a far more gentle nature than that of bis deceased father, and Jenny Norcott had h&d sense enough to discover this the very first day she was introduced to him, and on which yery first day Bhe had made np her mind to have him propose to her, and to promply accept him. Within twelve months of that very first day they were married. This was ten years ago, and they had lived a happy life ever since—Jenny, a clever housekeeper, .fond of society and dress, Walter decrying ‘ that sort of thing,’ but enjoying it all the same, and Wes£bury Lodge being known among a certain set g£ pleasant people as a Paradise ,of good management and merry receptions. The children—there were three at them—rwere not allowed to interfere with the social pleasures of the bouse ; they had good nurses and well-arraDged apartments,, and on y now and then were permitted to he in evidence in drawing or dining-room. Their mother visited them once a day, and romped with them or read them stories, or heard their lessens, and at night, when she was at home, they said their little prayers at her knee. They cams to dinner at birthdays or at Christmas, they went out in the carriage for a daily airing, and sometimes into the park, wonderfully dressed and with Frenoh servants, picturesquely attired. Walter, while he said Jenny was fond of showing off the children when they went out, liked to see the display, and was a happy well-to-do fellow, with a good word for most people, rarely a bad word for anybody, except once in a way, when the attentions to his wife of some snob or other, who did not understand her free aud frank manner, aroused hie

martial dignity, and on one ooonsion he actually slapped a fellow’s face, and then called him out. This, was in the first year ot his marriage. He had since learned wbat a man must put up with, having a pretty and charmingly-dressed wife, who, assured of her position, is somewhat too fearless in what she says and does before strangers. Under these conditions of domestic administration it is hardly necessary to say that the dinner to which Walter had invited .'-wynford, and Mrs Milbanke Philip Forsyth, was an adequate, pleasant and cheery repast ; no fuss, no formality—as Arthus said, eu famille—eight o’clock, bright fires (it was the last week in March, and the English spring was setting in with its accustomed severity) two good dishes among the kickshaws, a bottle of dry champagne, no nonsense afiout whitewash after dinner, but a drop of Margeaux and as quickly as might be afterwards a good cigar and a thimbleful of black coffee, and join the ladies in half an hour.

Walter had a glib and happy vooabulary, a touch of the Charles Mathews manner, and which his wife in moments of badinage said had come to him ever since he played, at some private theatricals, the leading part of ‘Patter versus Clatter.’

During that one good cigar after dinner, Walter had tried to talk of the Venetian trip, which had often been discussed by the Westbury Lodge household, to be at last finally decided upon. Philip had of his own accord expressed a wish to accompany the party, and his mother had secretly confided to Mrs Milbanke that this proposal was preliminary to a second one of a more important nature.

The Milbankes were well satisfied with this arrangement. Dolly, while she flirted with Sam Swynford, and indeed with any other eligible gentleman who came in her way, was far more serious with Phil jTorsyth than with anyone else, had indeed gone so far as to dance with him at Lady Marchmount’s ball five times, to Phil’s entire satisfaction, aud to the euvy s of several of bis acquaintances.

Philip Forsyth, being of a more or less reflective turn of mind, a student in name and in reality, enjoyed the light-hearted chat and merry ways of Dolly, and it must be confessed she was a very bright and pretty girl. She had dark brown eyes, a fair complexion, light brown hair with a suggestion of sunshine in the tone of it, a straight little nose, that had in early youth half made np its mind to be retroussd, and had become more demure later on, to develop,into a coquettish something between humerous snub and serious straight, the effect of which was, to quote Sam Swynford, ‘awfully taking, my boy,’ She had a dainty, willowy figure, not too willowy, but with sufficient roundness to suggest generosity of living aud generosity of nature. Coupled with all this she had a musical little laugh, which in an ugly girl would have been called a giggle, but in the case of Dolly waß a pretty thrill of gaiety and good humour. In her own heart she did not quite know which of her two lovers she liked best. In her merriest moods she fancied Sam, who was always ‘ on for fun,' as he said ; who brought none of his business worries to dinner—-a contrast to Philip, who when he had difficulties with his paintmg managed to cast the reflection of them on the party.

Once in a way, when Dolly had a headache or had been disappointed in the fitting of a dress, or when her sister had hot got the box at the opera which Walter had promised for a Patti night, she preferred the society of Phil, who was always more or less ready to be doleful; but she liked him best when she met him at a ‘swagger literary party,’ to quota Sam again, and the conversation turned upon some big subject, and Philip Forsyth came out with some of his strong and well expressed opinions, and the table became silent to listen, and she heard men say that he was a very olever fellow, and how eloquent he was, and how sincere, and how refreshing it was to near a young man talk well and not be afraid to be honest and even sentimental.

But this was no doubt a matter of pride on Dolly’s part, aod on these occasions her sister would take the opportunity, just in a delicate way, to let it be known to the greatest gossip in the room that Mr Forsyth was in love with Dolly, and Dolly would sing like an angel the moment she was asked, and the gossip in question would make an opportunity to remark to his friends what a lucky fellow Forsyth was, and so on. Both Phil and Dolly would be pleased with all this, aDd so that possible engagement was fostered up to the days of the proposed Venetian trip, the making of which was to settle the one great question of two households, the Milbankes’ and the Forsyths’ ; for Lady Forsyth had come to the conclusion that a cheerful wife like Dolly, with an equally cheerful fortune, would be of all things the best for Phil, whom she loved as ardently as her some, what frivolous and too impulsive nature would permit. She loved him intensely while the fit was on, just as she loved her friends while they were there, with this additional weight in Philip’s favour, that he was her son, that she was proud of him, and that all of her impassioned affection that yas not absorbed in politics, society, and in thogp of the pa3t about which she wrote ,so n?ac)) in the magazines, was absorbed in her darling—the apple of her eye, the joy of her widowhood, ‘the genius a fine' of byilihm't mejn .and wotqep,’ to borrow her OVb w.or.ds, as we have borrowed some of Sapj Swyn.fo.rd's vocabulary. ‘ * The fact ija, # said Walter, as h ( e handed his choicest brand of ciga?3 to Syyufprd and Forsyth, aud he was addressing ifche fpirper, * Philip is going with us to Venice I be.lieve.’

•Lucky dog,’ said Sam, ‘I wish I could.’

Walter didn’t dream of saying. * Nobody asked you, my boy,’ but in a sidewink at Phil be allowed the artist to understand that Buah was the case, and that for his own part, even setting aside the question of Dolly, he iwould prefer the cultured society of Phil to the more vulgar if more genial companionship of Sam. ‘ Too busy making money just now,’ said Sam, ‘ to get away even for a day,’ He e&id

this as cheerily as if ha had not absolutely lost half the ten thousand we have already heard about. > •

A true speculator, Sam, no whining, no despondency over losses, just the same keen firm grip of things whether he lost or won, just the same looking forward to the big fortune he meant to win, with the exception that losses were a sort of tonic to him.

‘The city is-very lively just now?’ said Walter interrogatively, addressing Sam. * Yes, aud will be livelier yet,’ said Sam. ‘A tremendous company boom on —the Americans call everything a boom. Everybody with a fine flourishing business making thousands a month want to share their profits with the public,’ said Walter. ‘Quite so,’ said Sam. ‘Traders, manufacturers, brewers, miners, have suddenly become philanthropists.' •' No other desire than to endow the general public with twenty-five per cent for capital for which a niggardly Government will only give two and a half.’ •Punch couldn’t put the situation better,’ said Swynford, laughing, ‘ unless perhaps it added that the Peerage, the Army and Navy, and fchs House of Commons had joined in the benevolent scheme as directors, with a unanimity of belief in joint stook enterprises that made guinea-pigging a positive virtue.’

Philip drank his wine, stretched his legs, and looked into the fire, feeling himself entirely out of the conversation. ‘You don’t speculate, Forsyth?' said Walter, turning to Philip. * I do indeed, very much,’ replied Philip. * Do you, though ?’ said Bam. * Not in the city,’ the artist replied ; ‘ but in many ways and about many things.’ ‘Ah, yes,’ said Walter; ‘but you have not to pay for your fancies.’ ‘lt don’t matter, for example,’remarked Sam, * whether your future comes off or not, but in the city, whether you bull or bear futures, the results are matters of the highest banking, importance, eh, Walter ?’ ‘ Yes,’ said Walter examining hi 3 cigar as if he loved it. Walter was a luxurious smoker ; he literally fondled his cigars. ‘ It is a good thing we are not all in the same line of business,’ remarked Philip. ‘ But I am not so sure that speculations which do riot involve the passing of money are not perhaps in some respects nearly as important as dealings in stocks.’ ‘ More so,’ said Sam. -‘ It’s a vulgar bnainess, dealing in stocks, but it has its fun, and if you are lucky it enables a fellow to help the other chaps who speculate about art, and the future, aud all that sort of thing. We are rare hands in the city at baying pictures and books, and doing the right thing by art and intellect, don’t you know ? There ain't an atom of pride in the city, and wo are always deuced glad for one of you ihtelleotnal swells to come up and see us.’- ’ ' ■ .iA"

‘Yes, that’s true,’ said Walter. ‘They even treat me well ; but I confess I generally drop in upon city friends at lunch time —and don’t they lunch 1 And what snug taverns 1 Busy clubs ! And there are gangs now—North gangs, Rothschild gangs, Nitrate gangs. South-Africa mining gangs; seems to me men operate in syndicates now, is it not so, Swynford ?’ Walter was warming again to his city subject, and Swynford beamed on him gratefully. / ' .: ‘Yes, don’t you know that they might almost be called conspiracies. I can tell you, a fellow Who has to fight for his own hand as I do is lucky if he comes out with ' his hair on. But the public is so confiding. The rigging of companies’ shares, before and after allotment, would give thimble-rigging odds, and win easy.’ * You don’t seem to approve of the city, Mr Swynford,’ said Philip. ‘ Oh, yes I do, bless you ! its a game. I don’t know that its much worse than the law, with all respect to our host ; it is honester than politics, and you can get a deuce of a lot of fun for your money.’ '‘ It beats the law there,’ Walter rejoined, fondling his cigar. ‘But Art I fancy has its mirthful side, eh, Forsyth ? well let us say its rosy side, if mirthfui is too flippant.’ * Art is a cap and bells under a cassock, * said Phil, addressing himself to the fire. * And the city's a pleasant fellow, with a flower in his buttonhole and a swindling prospectus in his pocket,' said Swynford with a laugh. ‘ Swynford wouldn’t like to hear anyone else attack the old lady of Threadneedlestreet in that fashion,’said Walter, addressing Philip ; ‘‘but let us drop that venerable nonentity—she must be. deaf with the recent financial booms——Venice is more in our way, is it not, Forsyth ?’ ‘1 daresai Mr Swynford gets quite as

much pleasure out of the city as we do this aide Temple Bar,, and I am quite sure he would find as much real enjoyment in Venice as we shall. Don’t think, my dear Mr Swynford, that I imagine my profession is a more noble one than yours. On reflection, and notwithstanding what I said a little while since, I am inoliued to think trade, business, finance, have the best of it. I sometimes wonder if painting and acting and writing novels and plays, and indeed if all the other fields of art are not the mere play grounds of men who think they are tilling a splendid soil, and after all do not succeed in providing mankind with either food or raiment; they are not producers who keep the world going, they grow no corn, dig up no coal, make no iron, weave no cloth ; they are after all nothing but ’ ‘ Producers of the salt of life,’ said Walter. ‘ lb is the artists and craftsmen who make life .worth living. What is the moneyed man-’s*higlieqt &fcbitipn ? To surround himself first with the’ yprk arid then with the artists theinselves ; which'brings ris baok 'to jlie Venetian question. Those olct'felljbws of the great Republic ; they knew how to 90111'bine trade with art, how jbo glorify money, how to make it and how to spend it, Js it settled, Forsyth, that you are to be one of our little party ? We go next month. Oiii? plan at present is not to stop uiitil we get to stay there six or eight weeks, and after a run through the lakes, return via Switzerland and Paris. Is it true that you have taken a studio in Venice ?'

* j have hs)d orie peered to me I should

like to go ; indeed, it is one of the dreama of my, life that I would like to realise:’ ‘ Yoa have . a good many dreams, you fellows who paint,’ replied. Swynford. ‘Yes,’ said Phil, his mind running on the face in his sketch, ‘ any fellow might be excused for dreaming over sudh oigays as Milbanke’s, not to mention his claret. What a Capital dinner you have given us. But Vour cook is a treasure.’ ■ Philip felt he must make an effort to get away from his picture. His work always took strong hold of his imagination, but ‘Tragedy’ seemed to be taking full and entire possession of him ; he began to wish he had never seen the woman at the opera. Shall we join the ladies, Milbanke ?’ * By all means. Shall I tell them you willjoin us in our Italian holiday 7 ‘ Yes, I think bo.’ t Bull or bear in that stock ?’ said Sam Swynford to himself as the three left the room. *1 suppose he. will take the pool j just my luck !’ Mr Swynford waß a stock-broker and he looked it. There was a certain city go and swagger in his manner, which gave confidence to his customers and made Sam welcome both in artistic society and among city friends. He was breezy and alive with animal spirits, dressed well, wore a flower in his buttonhole summer and winter, was always groomed ‘up to the nines,’ as seme of the moat slangy of his acquaintances described the polish of his boots, his waxed moustache, his close-cropped hair, and his well-brnshed coats. He was what would be termed a young man with a fair complexion, and accordingly on that account Mrs Mil* hanke was inclined to think that Philip Forsyth had the best chance in the competition for Dolly, because in,love, like does not like like, but its opposite. . Sam was of medium height:, inclined to be what is called stout, was broad of shoulder, his hands of a generous type, *nd he had a fat cheery laugh. He wore tight coats, a showy watch chain, and carried a big mounted stick. / _ ... On the present occasion his dress clothes were in the height of fashion—Bilk facings, silk collar, and white vest, with a single small gem in the way of a stud for his immaculate shirt front..:. Hia somewhat florid cheeks Bhone with healthy his grey eyes sparkled with his host’s wine. He had no peculiarities of manner, bat was a type pf a fairly bred young Englishman, in a big way of business, perfectly at home with himself except when he was near Dolly Norcott, with whom he was over head and ears in love; and without, as he feared, the.remotest chance of eyen winning her esteem, he yet thought Of the possibility of making a heap of money fpr her, whenever he entered upon a more than ordinarily large hazard either as a bull or a bear. He had never dared to propose to Dolly, because she had more than once given him to understand that any familiarity of that kind would be fatal tp their friendship ; that she was not for him in any other capacity than that of friendship ; that as a friend she liked him better than any other of her brotber-iri-law’a guests, and she hoped he would not compel her to ask Walter not to invite him any more to Lodge. Although thi3 had been said more or less jestingly, Sam knew that for the time being Dolly meant it; bnt ha bad a lurking hope that’an the coarse of the chapter of 'accidents he might have a chance. Possibly his city experiences encouraged him to think of his prospects in this way, because he had so oftep s?en the unexpected, happen on the Stock Exchange and he did not see why the doctrine qf cljances effected his operations there shouljd ' not also influence his speculations in regard to Dolly, the one line of matrimonial stock which he desired to inscribe in bis book of options. Somehow, however, on this night of his latest little dinner at Weßtbury Lodge he had misgivings as to his prospects in that quarter ; but he made it a rule to appear cheerful and happy under all circumstances, so he sailed into the drawing room after Philip and Walter, with the smile of apparent confidence and unconcern. There was just enough of the decorative craze of the day in the arrangement of the Milbanke drawing-room to give it an air of modern prettiness, but not so much as to destroy the sepse of comfort, which is often sacrificed to artistic show. It was neither a harmony in yellpw nor a symphony in pink j it was not an inspiration from Japan, nor a copy of a Chippendale idea adapted to parouette flooring and Queen Anm windows there had been no paragraphs in the Society papers about jt; probably neither Mr Whistler nor Mr Menpes had Been it, and if they had they would moat likely have con demned it. Nevertheless you felt that thp decorator had worked at it >vith artistip feeling and that the hostess had sapple.merited his labours with ideas beyond the reach of art. There was? » copper h-ettl.s sinaing on an old hqb.grate, a cluster pf candelabra on the mantel, a sconce or two of gas on the walls, a dozen or so fine examples of Cox, Haleswelle, Heikomer, and Carot on the walls, a cabinet of Venetian glass, a many-legged table with a Crown Derby service upon it, and a dainty liqueur case • the floor wa3 covered with Persian rugs,’ there was drawn up before the fire a bis much-cushioned seat ; and the general tone of the room was yellow, but whether it was the yellow of warm light or the yellowof curtiins and walls onf did. not think of inquiring, though one might wonder about all this afterwards, reflecting on the pretty, comfortable, unusual kind of room it Milbanke was seated at a pretty tea table, lighted with a pretty copper lamp. Dolly was half buried in an easy chair with the last new book in her lop. Swynford hoped she was enjoying her literature. She looked up with a mischievous smile and said she was, though she must confess it was fall ot sadness, not to say horrors. Stepniak's ‘ Russia under the Czars, she continued, this time turning her blue eyes towards Philip, who, of coarse became immediately interested. Her sister had suggested the book as a desirable one to have lying about since they had Been the sketch on Philip’s easel, and they had driven down to Mudie’s for it before going home after they had left the studio that very afternorn. It had not taken Dolly half-an*

hour, the half hour after dinner, to get at the tone of the work, and to know just enough to let Philip sea that she was interested in the subjects which interested him.

r Yes,' he replied, sitting down by her side, ‘it is a painful subject, though one might be forgiven for expecting to find something noble in pages inscribed with silch a title —but there is in the record of its martydoms.’ There was something fateful in Philip’s appearance and manner; he waß pale, his black hair was dishevelled, it fell in a great shock over his forehead. His long hands were particularly white, and there was a poetic melancholy in the expression of his sallow face that suggested much thought and work. All this made him interesting in Dolly's estimation, and she was also taken by the air of distinction which seemed to belong to those student-like characteristics which were so opposite to the happy professional air of her brother-in-law, and to the smug city cheerfulness of Samuel Swynford, of Lombard-street. • 1 have always been deeply concerned ia regard to the fate of political prisoners in Russia,’continued Philip, ‘and just now I am thinking of little else. I suppose there is a touch of selfishness in this increased devotion, beoause I am putting my feelings and my imagination into commission as it were ; 1 hope they will assist me to carry off the Gold Medal.’

‘ Oh, that is the secret of the Bkatch we saw this afternoon ?’ said Mrs Milbanke. ‘ You forgot to tell ns ; or perhaps it i 3 a secret.’

* Forsyth thought lie would not spoil a good subject for conversation this evening,’ chimed in the host. ‘ Yes, my dear, I will have a cup of tea ; don’t approve of tea as a rule, “ but to-night we’ll meiry be,” as the song says, eh, Swynford ?’

Walter did not quite know what he was saying ; not that he had had too much wine, but bis wife had been making signs to him, and he tried to hide his non-under-standing of them under a ripple of talk. * A good old song,’ he went on ; ‘I remember my father singing it when I was a boy at a birthday—yes. my dear, Mr Swynford will take a cup of tea, and by the way Swynford, you are a judge of water colours. I would like to show you a little portfolio I bought last week—a collection of landscapes and figures—two little Turners, half-a-dozen David Cox's, a Caleotb, and a couple of sketches by Landseer ; here it is my boy.’ And Walter, having suddenly caught the meaning of his wife’s nod, had led Sam to the farthest end of the room, away from Philip and Dolly, and was soon deep in the mysteries of the portfolio in question, getting Sam’s ideas of its value, not only artistically but financially, together with his views of the present inflated state of the money market and other matters of current interest.

Meanwhile Philip responded to Dolly's sympathetic inquiries about prison life in Russia, the high-handed charapter of what was termed administrative arrest, and what he intended to convey in that sketch, in which the woman’s face was so remarkable as to have set Jenny talking of nothing else ever since they had seen it. Philip rode his hobby gracefully, with eloquence and with knowledge, «*nd paused more thaq once to notice how beautiful Dol'y was, and what a happy contrast were her red lips, her bright genial eyes and warm healthful flesh, compared with the woman of the opera, ‘ the ghost of Madame Lapukin/ as Dick Chetwynd had styled her. Presently Jenny had drawn her chair near the two young people, to hear Philip’s story of this woman at the opera, and bis desire to have her as a model for the face in his medal picture ; and by and by she led the conversation up to their trip to Italy and the poetic loveliness of Venice, where she assured him he wonVl find a model in every woman of the people he met. She had only been to Venice once, and then only for a week, and she thought she had seen more beautiful women during those seven days than ever she had seen in her life before.

Philip in rej/ly coqld not resist the suggestion that it was not necessary to go to Venice to look for beauty $ and if hq accompanied them he should ask the favour of putting Dolly into a Venetian picture, for so far as he was any judge of the peculiarities of the Venetian face he thought Dolly herself possessed that curl of the lip and that sunshine in the hair which was supposed to be thoroughly Venetian. Without sepming to say it, the clever little matchmaker let Philip also understand that Dolly was also blessed with a certain goldeD supshine In the Three per cents, which his mother, Lady Fqrsyth, thought an important item in' the charms qf marriageable yoting ladies. It is difficult to fathom the thoqgjits pf piap, apfi po qtxy whether the best of God’s , creatures is rn er P' Jl * a *y or not, whether the most virtuous may pot be influenced now and then by the worst passions. So far as the narrator of this history is concerned, he is inclined to think Philip did not note the worldly hiut of Mrs Milbanke, or, if he did, that it had no influence with him, though the hostess more than onoe made some passing reference to the responsibilities of marriage being so greatly lessened if there was money on both sides ; or if there was money on the one side and genius on the other, quite in a more or less inconsequential way, getting in a reference to an artist whom they both knew, who was very clever, but still could not sell his pictures, and what an important thing it was in art for a man to be more or less independent of dealers, so that he could afford to follow ttie bent of his genius or his inclination, and do the work he liked best ; and so on—an eloquent rush of worldly wisdom, most useful in regard to young people about to contract a marriage, and especially to a couple of young people, | the bride pretty, with money and social ; position, and the bridegroom an artist, also with social position, a little money, perhaps, and no end of genius and ability, if he could only paint what he wished, and be independent of the Academy and of dealers ; and somehow Philip found himself, before he quite knew where he was, discussing these delicate matters, as if he or Dolly, or both, were personally concerned in them. . And onqe, Dolly’s band being near Philip’s

he laid his upon hors, and she, not withdrawing it, he pressed the fair hand, and was very sensible of its soft pliaoility. The gentle pressure that responded to his when he ventured a little further and took Dollj s hand fairly within his own, set. his heart beating, and he forgot everything except Dolly and his mother’s praises of her. It came into his mind that it would please his mother very much if he married Dolly, and that she was very beautiful,had golden hair, a sweet voice, and cheerful manners, and that sometimes Fate met one half way, as it Were, and sometimes cluppod one on the shoulder unawares, and that after all that it would be a pleasant Fate to be entitled to take Dolly to one’s arms, and have her for a lifelong companion. While Walter Milbanke was fooling Samuel Swynford, it was as good aB settled that his hopes were to be utterly crushed. Why, therefore, prolong the description of this evening one moment more than is necessary to acquaint the reader with the main incident of the night ? Swynford felt uncomfortable, and Baid he must go earlier than he had intended ; he spoke of some important business he had in the city the next morning at ten, and took a cheerful leave of Westbury Lodge two hours before Philip ; and long before that favoured young gentleman said ‘Good-night,’ he had been alone with Dolly for three parts of that time, both Walter and his wife having business in another corner of their pretty house ; Mrs Milbanke to see the children put to bed (though they had been in bed for hours), and Whiter to answer a couple of letters which had come in by the last post. It was a blissful time for Philip while it lasted ; a dream of a n=w and unexpected kind of happiness ; a dream in which hands olasped hands, and lips touched lips ; a dream in which a soft, sweet, blushing girl confessed that she loved him ; a dream in which he believed he loved her better than anything or anybody in all the world. And so it was settled that a fortnight later Philip Forsyth should accompany the Milbankes on a tour through France, Italy, and Switzerland, with a long vacation in Venice, and that during their wanderings they should settle the month in which Philip should make Dolly his wife, ‘ Man proposes.’ (To bo continued.)