uld you have?"

"I am glad he is the same: I began to think the mystifiers here were
as dangerous as those of the champagne country. At any rate, he is a
bright fellow."

"He is not always bright. A man with so good a heart as his must be
saddened sometimes, at least with others' woes, and he does not always
escape woes of his own."

This sentiment affected me, and irritated me a little besides, for I
felt that it was in my own vein, and that it was I who had a right
to the observation. I immediately quoted an extract from an Icelandic
Saga to the effect that dead bees give a stinging quality to the very
metheglin of the gods. We exchanged these remarks in crossing the
vestibule of the hotel: a carriage was standing there for my friend.

"I am sorry to leave you. I have a meeting with a Prussian engineer
about bridges and canals and the waterworks of Vauban, and everything
that would least interest you. I must cross immediately to Kehl. I
leave you to finish the geography of Strasburg."

"I know Strasburg by heart, and am burning to get out of it. I want to
cross the Rhine, for the sake of boasting that I have set foot in the
Baden territory. By the by, how have I managed to come so far without
a passport?"

"_This_ did it," said my engineer, tapping the tin box, which a waiter
had restored to me in a wonderful state of polish. "I put a plan or
two in it, with some tracing muslin, and allowed a spirit-level to
stick out. You were asleep. I know all the officials on this route.
I had only to tap the box and nod. You passed as my assistant. Nobody
could have put you through but I."

"You are a vile conspirator," said I affectionately, "and have all the
lower traits of the Yankee character. But I will use you to carry me
to Kehl, as Faust used Mephistopheles. By the by, your carriage is
a comfortable one and saves my time. I have two hours before I need
return to the train."

"It is double the time you will need."

EDWARD STRAHAN.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

FROM THE POTOMAC TO THE OHIO.

[Illustration: VIEW NEAR ANTIETAM, MARYLAND.]

An old writer who dearly loved excursions, Francis Rabelais, inserted
in one of his fables an account of a country where the roads were in
motion. He called the place the Island of Odes, from the Greek
[Greek: odss], a "road," and explained: "For the roads travel, like
animated things; and some are wandering roads, like planets, others
passing roads, crossing roads, connect