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ALICE LAUDER.
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lines, she might be a striking or interesting-looking woman; at present she was merely a sunburnt, badly-dressed, awkward and unfinished colonial girl.

She sat down at the piano, still with the same absent, sleep-walking expression, and the passengers visibly brightened up a little. The stout matron leaned her head to one side, closed her eyes, and committed her soul to Providence, as she had observed the manner of musical people to be while undergoing this course of treatment, and calmly awaited the worst.

The funny man rushed forward to turn over the leaves, but, finding there was no music for him to operate on, retired, visibly discomfited. Then she smiled and waited for a moment, with her fingers lightly touching the keys, as gently as if she were pressing the hand of a friend. The piano was a new one fortunately, and it recognized and responded to her touch with instant loyalty and comprehension. She played a few harmonious chords, then suddenly flew into some wild Hungarian dance music. Sunday though it was, and heavy as were their souls with dinner and ennui, the passengers felt suddenly exhilarated. The mad delicious foreign melody circled over their heads, danced over the rigging, joined hands with the fleeting waves,

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