t will find himself at home in Dumas, and can make wider
ranges in that great wilderness of fancy. Some autobiographical
details will be found in the novel called 'Ange Pithou.' 'Isaac
Laquedem' was meant to be a romance of the Wandering Jew; only two
volumes are published. Philosophy a reader will not find, nor delicate
analysis, nor "chiseled style"; but he will be in touch with a great
sunny life, rejoicing in all the accidents of existence.

[Illustration: Signature (A. Lang)]

THE CURE FOR DORMICE THAT EAT PEACHES

From 'The Count of Monte Cristo'

Not on the same night he had intended, but the next morning, the Count
of Monte Cristo went out on the road to Orleans. Leaving the village
of Linas, without stopping at the telegraph, which at the moment the
count passed threw out its long bony arms, he reached the tower of
Montlhery, situated, as every one knows, upon the highest point of the
plain of that name. At the foot of the hill the count dismounted, and
began to ascend the mountain by a little winding path about eighteen
inches wide; when he reached the summit he found himself stopped by a
hedge, upon which green fruit had succeeded to red and white flowers.

Monte Cristo looked for the door of the inclosure, and was not long in
finding it. It was a little wooden gate, working on willow hinges, and
fastened with a nail and string. The count soon understood its
mechanism, and the door opened. He then found himself in a little
marvelously well-kept garden, about twenty feet long by twelve wide,
bounded on one side by part of the hedge, in which was formed the
ingenious machine we have named a door; and on the other by the old
tower, covered with ivy and studded with wild flowers. Monte Cristo
stopped, after having closed the door and fastened the string to the
nail, and cast a look around.

"The man at the telegraph," said he, "must either keep a gardener or
devote himself passionately to horticulture." Suddenly he struck
himself against something crouching behind a wheelbarrow filled with
leaves; the something rose, uttered an exclamation of astonishment,
and Monte Cristo found himself facing a man about fifty years old, who
was plucking strawberries, which he was placing upon vine-leaves. He
had twelve leaves and about as many strawberries, which, on rising
suddenly, he let fall from his hand. "You are gathering your crop,
sir?" said Monte Cristo, smiling.

"Excuse me, sir," replied the man, raisi