The country cousin


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The country cousin
Series Title:
Beadle's Library of Choice Fiction
Physical Description:
1 p. ℓ. 9-102 p. : ; 17 cm.
Victor, Metta Victoria Fuller, 1831-1885
Beadle and Co.
Place of Publication:
New York
Publication Date:


non-fiction   ( marcgt )

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Source Institution:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
All applicable rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier:
oclc - 36862079
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The Baldwin Lirr E 7

d1" 3 F' f '~

Entered according to Act of Caonreas, in the yearl 1861, by
In 160 Clerkr's Ollice of the D;6rrnet Court of the United Stateis for the
Southern Dibtr~ct of New Y'ork;.

(L. No. 5.)

r i i i
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: 13



But the full day dwfelt on her brow, and sunned
Her Hebe beauty andl her vliolet eyes~,
And doubled his owo warmth against herllpe,.
And on-the bounteous wave- of such a breast
As never pendiL drewa. Half Ilght, half shade,
She srO~:d, R Bight tO HIBIL Old menD bOGH."
ARE you, sure that you ba~reforgotten nothing,
Elizabeth 'i"
All is ready, auntie, even to my g~loves,.anfl it
Ineks an hour yet to the time at, which the traiin
"L Well, Elizabeth, you have been a good girl, and
you ~hae.g my blessing, and my best wishes for youlr
success among'your onew acquaiontnce. M~ay the
wicked intlu~ences of a vile and corrupt city never
dor away withb the te-achings of your nowf sainted
mot~her. New York is a den of wickedness.. You
wrill be a' lamb among lions, and I wonder that, you
luiv'e corirage t~o set. your foot in it. Butf, since y.ou
will go, may you be ise as a ser~pent and harm-
less as a dove.' "
d" Why, anntie, you~talk more as if I' were going
'unprotected to~ seek !my~fotu~ne ~there, than as if I


wrere to be in t~he bosom of a family like that of my
uncle Pilip. What. harm~enn biefll me there? I
expect to be so wrapped a~way fr~om comumono humann-
ity among muy ar~istocral~tic relatives that I shall ne-
.tuhlly pile for breezess .from heaven to visit my
chleek too r~oulgly.' I shall miss the'fi*eed~om of my
native hills, but, aside from that, I go wFith bigh hopes,
aunt Faithfill."
". That is the wany of: youth; ~it goes dancing and
Inug~hinlg, even among pitfalls. The dangers which
I r~efer to, niece, are spiritual dangers. I know yourl
aunt rauderlyn~ of old,.ui an er husband, and what
her family must be writh such parents-wForldliness,
andl selfishness, and pomlp, and vainglory~, from t~he
crownsa of their heads to the soles of their feet. It is
theirinfluence over your heart and mind that 1 fear."
"L Don't you thlink you judge too harshly, rapt ?
Remember, they b~rve been differently educated, andl
movk in a different world t1-om us. They ar~e com-
pelled to pay attention to outside show, yet their
hearts..may be excellent. I am sure it was kipd of
them to off'er me a home for sucb a merely nominal
colnsideration. And only last week I saw uncle Phil-
.ip's name bending a contribution for some charitable
purpose with a liberal sumt. Oh, aunt Faithful, if
you knew the motives which most influence mle in
choosing t~he city for a residence, you wrouldl wrich mrte
God sipeel and .pray for my success. I. have such
dlreams-~uc~h happy expiectatiouns!"
The facel of the speaker was~ lit with a glow most angelic beauty. Herg hopes must have beenl
pure, or t~hey.could not have. tilled those darki-bldu


eyes with such soul-lit radiance.. Always lovely, at
that moment Elizabeth Ward was unnlsually so, Ex-
citemernt hightened the color up~on.ber cheek, and
sent crippling smiles baskling in sunshine. .about her
mouth. She stood upon the poreb, with her trunk3,
carpet-bags, and shawisa aruoud .her. Her figure,
neither petie nor yet queenly, mlo\ed by the very
spirit of graice and rounded in every outline, gave a
charm of it~s owg to her shanple travreling-dress. Her
bonnet was still in her hand, and her brown hair fl~ut-
tered* in the breeze, shining as.if itsy ourls had been
powdered with gold. It was an Butumun day, warml1
and brilliant; the' vines which nestled' around the
top of the porch dr~opped.crimeon leaves at her f'eet;
t.he ro~se-bushes had exchanged their delicate ~blodm
for !the seanrlet berries of October.
At~r~int -Faithful had drawn her chair to the porch'
dlooir, where she couLld see the first puff of the iron
horse as-b dar~ted out of his- mountain -hlollow
breathing fire and smoke from his nostrils as be sped
forward to the little ddpit not very fiir from this vil-
lage cot tage. Her knittingwasa in herband, asusulal,
and her spectacles on her nose, but the needles quiv-
ered and made false stitches, and the.glasses were
dimmed so that she could not see with her usual
- clearness, as she looked toward the youag gilasrlaad
ing there in her tr~avelingi costume.
"It's- time John took.these trunkse awray, if' you
don't w~ant to beleft. Oh, ber~e comes! Well--"
:tfter a pause, during which t~he baggage was. con-
v' eyed away--" do ypou-propose to tell me what your
," expectations are. Elizabeth ?"


A modest blush ilittedl over that"youthiull brow.
"L I can not tell you myIJ plans at length, because
they are not f'olred, defTinitely.
-L Some time I will write to you and gaet your. ad-
vice. You know that, thle pr~oper~ty which was leftt
mue has, been so arl~raged as~to leav-e me a clear in-
come of a thousand dollars a year, writh nothing for
me to-do but t~o quarterly. This is uiuch
more than I need, or should spend upon myself My~
personal expIenses her~e in this village have been only
about a hundred dollars a yem*; yet I have dressed
well, and I knlow that, twice that sum wfill dress mue
just as nicely as I desire or think; proper. I have
made a resolution to limit myself' t.o that sum. One
hundred more will cover incidental expenses. My
uncle at first retilsed to tak~e any thing for my board,
but., finally, at. my u"rgent solicitatioln, said I might
pay ove~r to Blnoche just two hundr~ed a year, to k~eep
her in by~outrbiic and-pius, telling mle, laughingly, that
his daughter was often reluc~ed to a mere skeleton'
for thbe'rant of a new dress to wfear over it. Yet be
allows her six:hundrecd just fo~r clothing~, besides the
splendid-presentsi she has. I expect she will laugh at
my simp~lic~ity, bunt I do not intend to be influenced
in what I have made a matter of principle.
Now~, I shall have half my income to devote .to
the be-neit of others. It is true t~bat,liv-ing in this
country place, I might manage to dispose of it to
the poor around us, and by sending it to charitable
institutions. But in the city one sees constantly well
pressing wfant~s, and can judge, by per~sonal observTa-l
t~ion, where the means wBl pi-oduce t~he best et~ect. 2


I do not intend to give myself' up to society entirely ;
no, nor eve~n to? my belloved books, nor to the enebant-
merits of music and the fine ar~t4, although IT bnve a
love fir all of these; but. I wish t~o w~ork--to do
something to accomplish some good.' I mean to
mnake muy half a thousand dollars a year confer bene-
iits upon others, and, through them, upon muyself I
yearn to be actively char~itable. W~ith youth, health,
leisureL, and some money to spare, I ought to liecom-
p1ls a litt~le-aR very little-of the good work which
the ~if ster hlas left his follow~erse to do."
STears trembled upon her eyelnshes as she ceased
'' Well, child, I beilieve in your intentions,' and
shall not cease to pray that t~hey mayr be fulfded.
The Bible says,' Lead us not into temptation,' and I
can but feel that you are leading yourself' into ~tempt-
at.ion. 'It.grieves mee Itolt you go. W~hat'.sthat ?"
The wrhistle, auntie, aind I must go."
The' bonnet was tied on with quivering fingera, and
a face all drenched with tears. like a rose with dewi,
lay for a moment. upon the bosom of aunt Faithful,
-who bad dropped stocking and spectneles, and,sprung
to her f'ept.
GJCood-by, my dear, dear auntie," wna half lost in
Fnre thee well, child, and remember, if ever you
garowf tired of t.hle wocrld, and long forl rest, while this
hearlt still b~eats there is a shelter-for youl here."
Thosue tlrembling~ toues quite broke down ther young
girl's ~ourage, iod for a moment she wept-unrestrain-
ed~ly, then, wfithd an effort, she recovered herself, gave


aunt Faithtid one mlore embrace, and ran down the~
lane to the street.
Several of her young ftiends were awaiting at the
-d~p~t to say f'arewell. She hadl just, time to give n
Land to each, when the train camle thunderinrg in, and
paused for n ~moment by the platform.
Her foot was already on the steps of the car, when
a voice said, reproachfully :
Will you not say good-by' to me also"
She turned andl beheld fbe young minister of the
village. There wras something in his eyes which
thrilled her 'as they~ never had before, bult she had no
time to reftlect upon teir langruage-, nor to mark the
tremor of the v-oice.
"'I thought yion had forgottcn aoulr par~ipioner,
but here is so~mething wh-ich~ I had prepalred as a' little
farewell gift t~o my good minister" and she slipped
a7 bit of folded p~ap~er in his hand. The bell rung, she
stepped inside, and the cars wer~e whirling away.
W~hen she handed Mr. Rusteings the paper, a epr~ig
of mlyrtle, wrhichl she had pluncked as she ran down
the 1ane, dropped upon the platforlm. He gathered
this up, when all the othersa had turned away, and,
hurrying down the v;illage Atreet to his bome, he did
not enclose the note which he held until be was in
1 the seclusion of' his own apartment. W~hen hie did
umfoldl it, twc: ~fity-dollar checks w~ere? disclosed, and
a few wrords, saying, One is to purchlase books fo~r
my pastor--the other to be given as he sees it, in
The blesse-d child !" murmured the canister.
In the mean time our young adventurer, neatled~in


a. corner of the seat? wasl looking out her open win-
dow, enjoying thle exhilaraltion of the swfill, motion,.
the bright air and pleasant scenery. For a time she
fbrlgot her SOrrowD at leaving home, and her nnticipa-,
tions of' the future; she for~got that sbe had neither
father or mother, sister or br~ot~her,,pd that she must
rely almost entirely upon herself for happiness, and
diree~it, almost unaidedi her own footsteps. Eliza-
bet~h's was no ordinary character. If her ex-ceed-
ingly street and noble counteunace arr~ested the at:
tention of the calreless b~eholde~r, not less did the
purity of her soul charm. those who were oble to ap-
preciate it, and her sterlingr qualities of mlind excited
* dmuiration. That she was very prectty and ~2ich-
that is, ric~h f'or a reitiredl coulntlry towfn-eerelybody
in Fitchbur~g knew; but, the reasons which impelled
to some mores enlarged spac~e of' jif-, nobody, not even
her' aunlt on: the min~ister:, fully underlstoodl. Her fa-
ther, t~he leading lawyegtr of Fitchbur~g, and finally
Presiding.Judge of thle District, died when she was
. in her sixLteetPth yea. He had been a geutlem~an of
polished education and some'genius, and had delighbt-
ed in unfolding to thle mind of his only child.~ knowl-
edge which, in the ordinary cobnie of schooling, she
never would have acquired. There were siystemp3nd
symmetry to her acquirements. Upon the though nud
irin young "L tree plf knowrledlge," which thrived and
grrew under hris skillful cultivartion, expanded the flow-
ersB .of~ feminine embellishme~nt necessary to its full
beau~ty. 14Utic, wh ch was the uL'otler' 9sweetest
gif -- avinga, ever, her .fine .spir~itual perceptions
and most womanly? hear~t-- was one of Eizabeth's


accomplishments. She had never been sent to board-
ing-school."' All that shie k~new~ of, the world, outside
of her bookLs and her village home, she had learned
during the holiday excursions whiebh Judge WaRrd
wa~s in the babit, of' taking each summer w'ith his wife
and child, and during one or two brief' visits to her
city relatives, sev;eral yreare befolre the commencement.
of t~hi~s r~corld. A1 year had not passed from the
death of her ~tther. before her mother went to her
long resting-pla3ce. Such desolation as this, to a
young and sensitive hieart, was desolation indeed;
and, for a time, alunt Fait.bfilil, in Thlose home the
orplhan sought refuige, fe~ared that the golden bowl
w-onid be br~oken ant tbe fountain of grief.
Hope is strong in the youngm and healthfid. Thle
rolling months brought a renewal of
life; but. a thought~fulness wras given to Elizabethl's
charai~cter,. wrhic~h oth~erwise might never have6
So here, ar little past er~l eightieenth birth..lay, she
wasu about to tlry the wrorldl folr herself. ,Ls hier eyes
wear~iedj~of thie twitting landscape, she drew; her ail
over her~l face, and gave her~self uip to anticipationa of
her r~eciption at her.,udele YanlerlySn 's. She had not
seen Blanche fo~r four years, wh~lo then wans; of cojurse,
but a school-girl, with her character as u~ndeveloped
as her form aInd features.. She then had promuised~to
be brillia~nt-look~ing, though at,. tat time dark and sanl-.
low, and a little over-igrowin. Already had she begun
to chatter about the beaul-," and bad all the lore of'
a thsahionable boarding-school in hler quick branin.
E~lizabeth had liked her, fior Blauch~e knew well ho~w


to please, and how; to conc~eal knowrledge that would
be offensive.
The traveler looked forward to findings a sister in
her city-bra-l cousin. As f'or her. almt Alice. she
nev-er expected her to be any thing more than-a-pleas-
,ant a~unt. to her, for she had iontrasted bei* with her
own mother years' ago, andi found her sadly de-fidient
in some qlualities. MrIs. Vanderlyrli was emphatically
a woman of the w-orld.'" U~ncle Philip would be a
cour~teous, abthble, generous uncle, who wrould kiss
her occasioonally, when he felt mlerry after dinner, and
let her bare her own way. The-re was anot~thermem-
berl of the family w-homl she had not yet seen-antleast,
not siince she was a little child-and that was Philip
Va3nderlyn. junior, her young gentleman cousin, who
had been in Par~is fo~r the last five years studying
medicine and--French society.
She had understood from Blanche's-lasb letter that
they expected him home some time during the winter;
but Elizabeth had asyet given him only a passing
thought, as to whether she shoulld like him, and if he
would not be very critical in his jlde-ments upon her.
Fin ally, by a sudden swReep, rou ndcacme the though ts
of the young gir~l to t~he n nhiste1, anud his- earnest
look which bad for a moment surprised lhef... Her
hea~t. beat quick~er. She was not vain, and had never
perceivred in the frequent convre~sat~ions anrd visits of
hler pa~stor, any thing more than that they wer~e co~n-
genial, talking poetry, and lending,eac~h others books,
out of love for the books and poet~ry. Bult his eyes,
at part~ing,.bhad spoken a language which she triedl in
vain to misundelrstandl. She did not knowo whether


to be glad or sorry~, nor whabt wouldl comc yct of it.
She certainly had bee~n deeply inter~ested in his siocl-
ety, admhbed his genius, and esteemed~ his plure andl
elevarted mind. Mlany of the-schemes oft philanthrlopy
wljch.w~ereq quikening in her hear~t, had'sprung fi-om
germns which his teachings had scattered. Now,
wFhat more ? She could not answ~er.
Throwing back her rail writh a deep br~eath, as if to
shak~e otY too heavy thoughts, the young travelers'
looked around, and found that night had come. She
began to be cconscious of hunger, too, and was not
sorry the next, time the train stopped, to hear the
conductor cry: "LHalf an bo~ur forl sup~per."
Havingr telegr~aphed t~o her uncle, as well as written,
that she would arrivre that evening,.sbe gavre her~self
no umnesiness at the want of a pr'otetor'; blt. aR~-
Ing a wole seat to ber~self, after ten, she end~ed up
in it soungy, and took quite a r~efi~eshing sleep.
With a prolonged scream, that sent the psassengersa
to gathering together sitray articles of' wearing ap-
parel, overcoats and carlpet-bags, a ringing of bells
and glimmer of lights, the train slack~ened and
paused. Elizabeth's heart gave a bound, and then
siunkr low for a monib ~t.' She had arrived at the
Threshold of her new life.
She f'ound her uncle's carriage awaiting her. 'It
was eleven o'clock wrhen she arrived at; his house.
Her a~unt came intothe ball to meet her. The par-
lor~s wfere illuminated, and there wasnf company-so
the traveler passed on to her ro~om. Blanecbe ran "up
to kiss and1 welcome her, and then excused herself
until her company shold~li depart.


A1 waitingi-maid brought her a cup of tea, and
opened tbe trunk; and traveling-bag, whose contents
she required. She was already in her nigrht-dress,
and brushing out .ber bair before retiring, when
Blanche bounded~ into the room, asked the privilege
of' sharing her bed, and was soon nestled by her
side, and k~ept her awake and curious two hours with
a whirlwlind of' small talk.



"IT was rkrbly worth a pojet's while,
To trudge for manyr a weary mile
To mueet the light of her careless smile,
Or for anyr who wished to see the stryle
Of' tbe latest prirmenade dresses.
She seemed a kilnd of wonderful tblag,
Angelle, enchanting, and glittering,
with a step 111ie the wave of a Pirl's wing,
And a bat three weeks from Paris."-8.LIE.
Bracnca was bent upon astonishing her country
cousin. It was after a late breakfast the day fo~llowf-
ing Elizabeth's arrival- The girls bad gone to their
room, or rooms--for their private apartments con-
sist~ed of a suite, including one Ilarge chamber, balf
parlor, balf boutdoir, and two pleasant sleeping-
rooms opening off, with closets and bath. Luxurious
car~pets and lounges, mirrors large enough to reflect
the full effect. of a toilet, and ev'ery-little ar~ticle of
bneaty and cultivated necesjsity, fairly crowded the
space. French paintings of women, beautiful in
dress and person, little gems of that school of art,
hung upon the walls, bqetrdyingr the taste of their
Blanche had more than fulflled her early promise.
She was a s~uperb-looking girl, exquisite in .dress,
queenly in carriageg, with black bair, brilliant dar.k
eyes, and a Juno-like fbrm. Elizabeth loved the


tasteful and the beautiful, and nas too free fi~om envy
to think w~ith any thing but affectionate regard-of the
ga~es whbichb her-city cousin was playing otff to daz-
zle her. ii
JTust. see-lthi closet, how~ fidl. it is.of dre~sses!
.And not one of them are enmmer-dr~esses. Those
that I bfore at Newpdlrt are in these three trunks
packed awaly. They are fulfof lovely robes. I:
have five moire-autiques. Look at this crimson one-
it is very becoming to~ my coinplexion. I look like a
pr'inces in it."*~
I believe you," said Elizdbeth, quietly.
I h avethirty c-s~even pe tticoats,"?con tinued Blanche.
"L Indeed ?"
"' And fifteen different shawle!"
"S o many ?"
"L On my last birthday-I was nineteen, you k~now
--p3pa gave me a set of pearls worth a thousand
dollars. Mlamlma gave me this camel's-hair abawfl. I-
had several costly presents besides, from fiiends andl rel-
at~iv~e. I have jo mrany~ presents, Lizzie dear, do you?"
"L You must remember I have never enjoyed the
pleasure of being a belle,. cousin Blanebe; still, I
have received some pr~esents. My gaunt Faithful gave
me this pursae, whieb she craotcheted herself and I
prlize it as highlyp as yo~u do youlr eanmers-bair?"
"LFie!i what, funny taste!i- How nice it must be to
have a for'tun~e, all of your own, with liberty to spend
it just, as you chboose. If I werle you, I wfould never
content. myself upon the inte~est. ? should encroach
upon the principal, and trust, to catching-s rich hus-
band to restore it." -


"L Why ~Blanc~he !"
"L You look frightened, youl little pass. D~o youl
think that girls muust wait to be caught, and never
balt thei hlook them~elves-, eb ? It's a gr~eat mistake,
my pretty country maiden. However,,you need not
think that. I an fishing for any muor'tl being.. I have
too many offers nowf. I haveh ad tbiu-teen already.
How many have you bad, Lizzie ?"
Not. One."
.L Impossible! and so rich and so pretty, for I must
say, you alre very pretty--though of a different ordler
of' beauty from mine. Not so striking. I wish I
had your com~plexioon .your neck; is as velv~ety and
fa:~iras a lily-lea3f. Do you powder ? No! I always
do. I do? not thinkl a lady's toilette is complete
without p)Owder. I am so glad you ar~e going to be
with me thisu winter We ar'e going to be ver~y gap,
and it. w~ill be se nic~eto havPe some one to help me euter-
tain company. I barealready dc~idedl upon whbatl~am
going toor~der for New Year's day, to receive alln in--
arIose-coloredftloucedrobe, witb relvest. MIercy these
are not, all the dlresses you possess, I hope.'i" looking
into the c~loser, where Naunette haid. been unfolding
and hanging up the contents of MUiss War~d's trunksy.
LL I have alwfays had as many as I needed,"' ~laughed
"; Well! yo1u will wanLt twenty times as many nowf.
I hope you have brought piletiy of money; we aball
have sulch exciitemlent in shopping fior you I lovo
to~shop the bljst of' any thing in the w-orld--almost !
YEou must let ~me select for you0; "my friends say my.
taste is p~erfee~t."'


Elizabeth thought it altogether probable that she
shoruld3 exe~cise her own judgment and taste, as she
was aware that she had considlerable olf both; buit
she did not say so. She sought to dr~op the dress
question, by inquiring:
"~Do you really expect your brother Philip home
this winter ?"
'Yes, indeed, in about a month. I shall be so glad
to see him, for be bus been gone five years. I hopei
he will liing me1 some beautiful things. They say
be is a great fop, and very fond of society. So we
three will mlake the house merryr."
"' I shall b'e but n 'looker-on in Vienna,' a kind of
an 'aside,' like a pan'uting on the wall1. I am not ne-
cust~omed t~o mlueb gayetyr; and if you will let me
keep) my room and r~ead my books in peace, I shall
be bnppy."
"-I shall do0 nothing of the kind, cousin Lizzie.
You were not born to was~te your sweetness on the
desert air-.' Books, indeed I got through with
them wherr I was at sC~hool, except the new novels,
and a little of Longfellow's poetry, or Alexander
Smith's. Tennyson is sweet, don'typou think so?"
Elizabeth felt very much disappointed. She had
hoped for congeniality of tastes in her beautitidl
cousin.; but if the mornlinga's conversation was a
spec'uuen of what was to be, she saw little was to be
exp~ctedl. Still, she might display more mind as
they grew bet~ter acquainted. That she had a fine
intellect, she did not doubt. It had been misdirected
from childlhood, and was smlothe-red under a mountain
of gauze, and silk, and vanity, .and fl~ipper~y.


"~Do you-pay much attention to your music now,
Blanche P". ~. .
"' O~h yes, I hav-e~tO keep that, up.. It is one of~my
'cards.' I pl~ny all of!Wallacles mrusic,.anjd.the thsh-
ionable operas. RIly voice is just -suted to ,opera
music. I have been o~f my fi-iends,tbat
I sing the Casta .Dioai almost equal. to MaIdame La
.Gr1ange. But. comiE,..lunch..ias.eadp."' .WSith their
arms about each other's. waists, they descended to
t~he dining-r~oom. MrI. -Vanderlyn wvas nevPer homeo
until dinner;. so there- was. no: cerIemony. at. Iluch,
Eizabe~th had nojt seen her a~unt at breakthest; shle
had sent. dow n ordc that she was not we'll, and upon
her niece expressing anxiety concerning her, Blanche
sa~id, laughingly :
'Do not be uneasy at mammazl's complaints; she
alwalcys has some ailment; b~ut. it is astonishing bow
inthtllibly shie revivers as the hour for going out and
re~eiving company arrivres. She has drank. of the
fountain of perp'etunl youth; she la the greatest r~ival
I have, despite her ill-healtb.:'
This flippont tone, whlile.speaking ot her mother,~
pained Lizzie, who only thought and spoke of' her
own mother with reverrence and affecition the most,
beautiful., But, t'or this, be it remark~ed, Blanche
was not so much to blame as her parent, who, had
never given her that reason to revrerence her. She.
was an indigent mlotherl, but _one, whose follyr,.aB'ee-
tation and valnity wee! quite apparlent to t~he child
br~ougaht up after her own fashing.
When they entered the dining-room, MIrs. YT~apder;
lyn was at the tablel, magnificently dre~ssd,. with:.


bonnet and cloak on,aud gloves lying by-har side. She
inquired with g~eat kinduess after her niece's bealt~h
and comfort, who. nasured ber that ,sbe felt entirely
rested by her two hours of extran sleep betb~re break--
hast. "' You knowf we breakfist, eazrlier in~ thle roun-
try, aunt. A~iv you feeling any better than you werea
in the mourning P'"
"' I hardly k~now whether I am or not, mydear. I
hope that a .cup of strong tean will impart, some
strength to my nerves. I dill hav;e a bad- headache,
but the 6-esh air w~ill ireive me. I muust. takle advan-
tagoe of the few bright days which we w~ill have now,
to go out as mlnob as possible. I aim going to mlakea
some callsa, nd shall not return until dinner. You
will not be lonely, will you ? B~lanchq; will take car~e
of you. But perhaps you would hiave liked the car-
riage :to-day for a drive ? If so,.1 will defer-"
"' Oh no, dear:aunt, .do not:think of it."'
No indeed, thank you, mammua. It is pleasant
enough for a.promenade to-day, and we shall prefer
to walk," added Blanche.~ "' W~, too,-are going out,
as soon as we can get dlrestsed."
"~ I was thinking you made rather a fme-looking
pair as you came in at the door,-~linked like a couple
of-Graces. Y'ou bave gron up as fair and-stately
as one of' Juno's lilies, Elizabeth. Blanche, wi~th her
dar~ker and muore.brilliant charms, will- be a splendid
foil for you. Y'ou will both gain by the contrast."'
"' I should never think of it,'" was the muodecst reply.
Dress and per~onal attractions seemed the pr~inci-
pal subjects of' conversation,.-and the new-comer did
not-knove~haw to enter into it with much spirit.-


Well, young ladies, you must Ijasten your repast
if you wish to enjoy the suisabine. It grows cool by
four o'c~lock. Good-by,"? and with a- wave of the
hand and n gay smile, she moved toward the door.
How very munch like your mother you are," re-
marked Lizzie.
'* She is a rose in a little fidler bloom-that is a1Ll--
but, with not n petal wfithered yet. She is gayer
than I am now, and has more admir~ers. Nothing in
the world would make my mother so unhappy as the
appearance of a- gray hair. Monsieur Lunbin, who
drees her hair, says it is the handsomest -he ever
saw upon a lady. The way she fights the wrink~les!
Last week she thought she discovered a cProw'-footi
and ebe has not put water on her face since. She
r~ubs it: wcith a piece of fine flannel dipped in the
' Balm of Youth.' If she could afford it., she would
presierve her bloom, as Cleopatra is rumored to have
done, by a daily bath in ottar of roses. Have you
finished your tea? Let us-gotthen. The avenue
will be brilliant to-day, ;md I wish you to see it."
Elizabeth, having the curiosityv of a stranger in r~e-
gard to the sights of the metropolis, obeyed willingly
the order to LLdon her best walking apparel," and was
in readiness some time before Blanche could com-
plete her more elaborate toilette.
"Stand f'or~t and let me criticism," commanded the
city coisin, with a mock-herole air. "L All veIry well
indeed, miar eara; not remarkably splendid, but
nic~e! Your gloves and gaiters are all that coldd be
desired, arid they are two of the tests."
Aristocracy and Democracy abows at the finger


and toes, does it ? Well, I wish I could purobase a
pair of socks and a pair of mit.tens thlr every pair of
little purple feet in New York."
Deose me !_ What put that. in yo~r head ? H-ow

Blanche turned fr~om the mirror as she naked the
question, shaking ou~t the folds of a lace-bordered
handkerchiefs She knew very well that abe looked
beanutifidl, but she wanted t.o hear it., if even fr~om the
muolthb of one of her own ase.
Y'ou dazzle me so that I can not -answfer," was
thle smiling reply.
'* That reply would have done for a gentleman;"
and .the twro girls, in the splendorl of their youth,
health, wealth, and- benuty,- descended the broad
staircase, a servant in livery opened and ~closed the
door for them, andl they passed dowfn the marble
steps to meet at their feet a beggar-woman holding
ouit her hand'.
Blanebe swep~t by, but Elizabeth paused, took out
her purse, and gave the beggar half a dollar.
You little fool," said her coulsin, as she came up
to her,' don't you do that again. YSou will hare~in
crowd about you~r door all the time. That, wans a
professioonl beggar, and you do much more harm
thafn good by ~indliscriminate goiving. Leave your
charities with the societies, whose business it is to
decide upon the merits of the claimant. You will
do more good in that way, and save yourself the
trouble of t.Einking about it."
I am soirryBlanobe, but I could not -help it. I
did not' kh~ow but that she might. b'e suffe~ringo."


Indeed, if you go upon t~hat principle in New
Yor~lk, you w~ill soon get tired of the wforkh. Did you
remarkl that gentleman irbo-bowed to me ? He is
one of my admirer~s, and mamhma thrors him. He is
terribly homely and delightfully rieb. They say hre
is rather tht;' but mamma thinks he would reform
if he-were married. I bare neither discarded nor
accepted him."
Eliza~beth said nothing.. The train of thought saug-
gestedl was very diffrent from any she had been
arccstomed to.
They glided along in their beautyr, a pair even for
poets to stare at-one, at least, as innocent as she
was lovely,.with a sold that any poet might have
suffered and striven .to have interested in himself.
If .Elizabeth -hadlc the purity of angelic u~nco~nscious-
ness of evil, Blanche hadl the purity of pride. .H~er
brow was cold and severe beneath the burningr.gaze
of many a covetous eye. None who prized her favor
would have liked to see the indolent lids opened any
w~ider for the fire of anger to leap fi-om her dark
eyS." She was desiperately rain, but too proud to
display it in pub~lic.
THer falat, balf-smle was cold and sweetl
As a delLh le-cream, and her little fieet,
WTi th areb Log insteip and ankile petie,
WTere shod likes Cinderman's.
To her hands her snowyr moychoifr cleaves,
.Like the slivery filmu which a spider weaves,
Swung from the points of the slender leaves
Of a pair of fragrant Illies."\
I had for~gotte-n that MIadame Follet, has her open-
ing of bats to-morro~w," remarkled- Blanche, as they
came out upon Broadway. I like her hats .thebest


of any that are imported, I am~L one of her1
moist faith~ful customers~~, she told me that if' I would
ke'ep it a profounmd secret fromn all her other patrons,
she would allow m~e to comLe! in to-day and maked a
p~rivtt~e election. Let us go! You, too, will have
the same p~rivilege, be-ing under my wing. It's too~
early to wear our winter bonnets, but if we wish the
first choice, we migSht as well purchase them now."
"' I auppose, as I am to have' aLnother hat,, it will
bie as w'ell."
They mingled in wRit~h the gorgeous stream of
ladies out upon the great business, of their ives, un-
til they tuorned aside into the establishment of M~a-
dlame Folllet.
Liiss Yanderllyn was evidently in- high favor
her~e. 11adamue Follet, aUl smiles and whispers, led
the way into a private apartment, where? she gra-
cioiusly permitted themn a peep at aomne of' the choicest
of her choice millinery.
O.h, bere, dear Lizzie, is a bu3t that was made for
yo~u! It could not suit ou better.. So aodests-n d
uunsaluning, too!"' exclaimed Blunche, turning an
elegant white bonnet upon its pedestal of' display.
It is indeed lovely, but too costly for me, I fear,"
repliedl Elizabeth, regarding it with favrorable eyes.
Nonsense, for ladies lik~e you to spe-ak of the.ex-
pensAe," saidl the smiling proprietor. It is the sweetest
thing I have inrt~he-shop.' Do let me try it on you,
Mi~ss Wordi. There! Regar~d yourself in that mir-
ror. Are you not angelic in, itP ? ou ar~e so thir,
and it suits your del~ionte complexion so well; R eally,
one might: say you wer~e too charming in it i!'


The country girl blushed a little. She wFas not
used to being fat~tered, even by a shop-fomano. She
asked the pri~e.
L. It is but forlty dollars, M~ademoiselle."'
"L That is too much."
"L Too much P Just regarld well this t111 of blonde.
That was ten dollars a y~ard. Andl this plume, which
is the peculiar elegance of thle bat, w~as titteen dollar's
alone. Indeed, you mlust seec that t~he bonnet is lost
at forty do~llar~s "
"' I did not mean to say that you saked too much
for such an- article, but that I muslt content myself'
wcith a less expensive one. I do not wisJh to give
muore than ~fiteen dollars."
"D~id Alademloiselle say filiceu dollalsrs?" i~ugiredci
the pr~oprie~tress, in a tone which Blalnche vey ell$rr1
understood, and wrhich, if shre had not been too pl~roud,
would have hightened her color.
Elizabeth was not inu\lulnerabl to it, either, balf
turning to her cousin, who whispered; in her ear:
cI.:aml afraiidl mammaL~ will thiinkl youI p:enu'ious to
wrear so cheanp a thingr, when yVou~ haver plenty of
money. I shall pay fifty for this wrhieb I have so-
lected, andl howf can you get, along wit~h an inferior
one? Y ou are too pret~tSy to ruin y~our ow~n pros-
The wFord peinurious grated harshily upon Eliza-
beth's sensitive nature. Herl cousin's advice and
evident desire, the woman's -quiet eneer, more than
the consciousness of the exceeding tastetidness of
the hat, caused her' to break her first r:esollution. She
paid for the for~ty-dollar bonnet, which wasJ to be sent


bome the next evening, after being desir~ed by half
who camle to the opening on that day.
We all know that one good resolution broken is
like the sipping of a stone from a bar~rier, or the
thhin~g of a pillar fi-om the editice-anll the other give
way~ the more enelly. Elizabethl felt the truth of'
tbis, as she sat in her room and read a ebapter of the-
Newr Testament, as was her wont before retiring, the
night on which the purchase was made. The advice
of ber' aunt Faithfill, to pray, Lead use not into
temptation," came back with force to' hei mind.
Bla3nche had t~old~ her, on her way home,:tbat a hun-
dred-dollar cloali would alone suit her: beautiful bon-
net, addling, I shall be rain of my-pet contlin, siee-
ing I can afford not-to be jea~lous." -
The next morning, Elizabheth wjas up twfo bourse
before breakfast. If sRhe had been at bodie in .the
country, she would have taken a longs ramble that
gloriousJ morning. As it wq~ abe sat. by her window
and r-ead fir some time. This window was pleasantly
retilred, looking down upon the little spaee of gound
whichl Mrl. Vandrlylln's wealth enabled him to retain
als a tlower-gar~den, where the worth of every foot
was told by hnndr~eds of' dollars. .Thirowing 'open
the sush, the air whieb blew in stirred her rigor~ous
bllood r~efreshingly. She thought she would wander
downn into the c~onservator~y, and fr~om thence into the
gardlen, nowf barrecn o~f all its siumme-r ar~ray. Lear-
ing hler cousin still asleep, she stole out.. The c~on-
aervatory was street-almost t.oo, oppressively so, and
she pnassed on'out of doors, gathering a spr~ig of ev-er-
grlleen or myr~tle here and there, as an excuse for


wandering about. H~er cheeks were red as roses
when she cameg in, and John, the gar~denerl, who evi.
dently admuired her, cut one of his choicest hot-house
roses ~and presented her, as she stopped to speak w'lit
him of the flowers. When shte entered the breaksfast
parlor, there wpas no one at the table but her unclr
Vander~lyn. She came for wordl, smiling and animated,
" a sight to make an old man young," so fr~esh, so
buoyant, and such a cont~lrast to the languid morninga
air of his wrifej and daughter whbenever they did honor
him with.t.heir company, tbat be doubly appreciated it.
Will you accept my mlornoing offering ?"' she
asked, playfully, as abo laid the mrt~le and rose be-
side his plate.
"~ Ah, thanks; you I I wrill take them to Wall street
wrrit~h me to remind me of home,"' he nanswered, gal-
lantlyp, alixin~g them to his coa~t.
Why do you go0 to Wanll street everyJ day, unc~le ?
It seems to mue that youL might now rest upon your
larurels, and withdraw fi~om the hurry and car~e of'
bhusinese. You are rich enou~gh."
r With such a family as mine 1 Ah, you do not
knowr They-st1i~ll-er G~ive, give!' -There's Philip,
.the extravagant dog, and Blanhe, and my w~ife the
worsat of all. ..No, no! I must w~ork! Besides, it
has become so a habit writh me that I do not know
wrhabt I should do with my time. W CFhat could I do ?
I should be bored to; death with idileness."
Enjoy this luxurious home, une,1e PhLilip--the
libraryF, yorur carrialge, the soelety of youwr fa~ily.
Blanchie's lne music, every thipg. And .then travel
.part of thestime."


'LOh, I do go to Newportsjor -semewrher~e, evel
season, and play billiards to paess.the time, while
Blalnebe and her mother dress and dirt.. But it'snoot
so eryr amusing. I used to think I should like to
be- at home more, but there's-t'oo much company.. I
get tiredi of it. WCif'e and daughter live .to please
other men--don't care much about -me,- except wohen
they wannt mhoey, and then how~pretty thsherna be!
Still. they're good--bet~ter t~han'most,. andl I like them.
Wife looke-superbh at the bead of the tab'le: at~cinner.
Proud of her. To' tell the truth, I bar~e been a busi-
oess man so long that I hae~- lost mny taste for r~ead-
ing. Usedl to be quite schbolarly once, but t~he daily
I'P"per are bout all I giit throughwith nows; .Some-
timles I stay at home evenings, sometimes- go to thp
opera, sometimes to tlie-club."
I shall love the opera, I knowo," said Elizabet~bt
while- her secret. beart wans pondering upon how soli-
tnlry in wishes and tastes abhe -was in mnost things.
She should not have a friend and adviser in her un-
c~lle' tminly, she sawr very plainly.
She felt interested in her uncle Vanderlyn. She
thought she could discern flie.elements. of what
should have been a better or a greater man. Oftetn
wasr his name a7ppended to liberal sums contributed
t o ward' fashiona ble- object s of- benevolcouce, b ut in his
ho-me cire~le she saw none of the small drloppings of
charrity; n or could- she discover' thbat be had any other
object in all his scheming, t-ban to keep up his posi-
ticon, andl his frimily wrell supplied with money, Shie
brid come to New' Yor~kwith an earnest purpoKe! to
do some good work, esipec~ially for her owrn ase, and


longed to talk w~ith her uncle about it, as she could
have done w~ith her father had be been alive. This,
at present, was impossible. H~er heart yearned, too,
for the affection which even his own child did not
cov-et so much as she-an orphan, who must have
something and somebody to love, lavishly, ear~nestly.
"' I will win him byp a thousand thoughtful atteu-
tions, to give me, itoo, a part- of his erections,"' she
'' Uncle Philip," she said, suddenly, looking up
w~hen breakfast was finiabed, "L I wish you would let
me love you and wait upon you as a daug~hter."
"Wait- upon mle!" .he replied with a smile;
'' Banache leaves that to the servants. She has not
done sio much for me in a month as you1 have in girF-
ing nie this flower. It has sweetened my breakfdast.
But you shall be my second daughter-yes, indeed!i"
and seeing the tears wer~e in her eyes, he came round
and kissed her, before he buttoned his beart up in his
conat, pr~eparatory'~to a day among the stock-;jobbe-rs
and money-broklers.
SNeither Mrs. Vanderlyn nor Blanche came down
toibreakfkst, but had'.it served in their rooms; after
which they arose, to prepare for visitors,, was
their (' reception day. They expected an unwfohted-
number of calls on account of t~he-beautif~ul weather;
but., more particularly, as they had given notice to
their ti-iends that a young lady, pretty and an heiress,
wa~s to be added to their family.
All these calls to r~eturo--al thbis circle of alc-
quaintance to keep up," thought Elizabeth, when th~e
fatiguing day was over.


The ceveing was comparatively quiet, and she was
rewardedp for her effoI.rt in meeting sitlnra~ngr all dayr
by some fine music. Eizabeth could sing a clear,
beautiful alto, which delighted B~lanche, na it aided
and neccompanied her brilliant t~ones. She was sur-
prised to find her consain's musical educ~ation equhll
to her ~own. MIusic was one of the things which
B~lanche r~eally liked, oaidle from its being one of her
LL Card~s."



"L Howr fW, Llike thee, Inquire Ibe wiretchted out,.
Andl court tne otlices of soft. humanity I
Like thee, reserve theiri ramimt for the onked,
Reach out their bread to feed the dying orphan,
Or mix the PItyIing Lears with those thalt weep."
Pa~nr CI lDERLIN, juDiOr', or1 DrI. Philip, as
Blauche love'dl be~t. to cal bi~m, came home, afterl a five
years' absence, during wFhich he had seen his r~elat~ives
twice--once whe~n they9 spent a4 month in.Paris, and
once w~hen be paid a flyingv visit t~o his native city.
His thmily wer~e delighted to have himt It home.
Blanche he~d three tear~s- upon his breast wrhen be
lrireive, and could hardly wait to see the pr-esents he
bad brought fr her. That the longr absence of his
only boy hadl been something of a trial to him, may
be inferred fr~om the fact thlat now, whenever Philip
wass to spond no everning at hom'e, his thther remained
also, enjoying his melrry small-talk, and laughing even
at some rather dloubtful stor~ies of t~he young gentle-
L1nan'B ownD t~lexpeienc~e.
Elizabeth hand wondered w-hat she should- think of
her cousin. Nowr abe found him an in~~sufrble fop.
.i\t least this wans her Erst opinion. Hie had eyed her
cr~iticaslly w~hen introd~c~ed, and hadl been ver~y con-
c~eited and condescending. She hadl expected that he


would at, least be intelligent, -f'or-she bhad understood
that, notwfithstanding 'his wnildness,- be studied wilth
painful assid~ulty when be. did study. But be was
worse, a hundred times-worsae as a man, than Blanche
nas as a wFoman; and .his beauty did not keep his
cousin from despising him. She kept out o~f his way
as mueb as possible. If' she could get. idto a quiet
nook of the li~brary, w~ith some beloved book, she was
content. Or into her owrn oom, where Blanche too
often t'ollow~ed her, tor~menting her unw~ittingly wit~h
ceaseless talk upon subjects interesting t~o herself
alone. Now that Blanche had a handsome brother
to go everywhere with .her, annd whose time she
could monopolize, she was lescs persevrering in :her at-
te-ntio~ns to-ber .cousin. Elizabeth began to rec-form
t~he scbemes which had be~en nearly dr~iven oult of her
mind. Her aunt laug~hed ot-her when she found that
she had. been visitingy the rangged schools, and had
beld twco or three conbultatio~ns with Mr. Pease, and
that, on Thna~ksgiving day,.she had given tffwenty-five
dollarsa fo-r the chilIdren's dinner. The class in which
she felt the anost interest was that of the respectable
siewing-women who depended upon slop-shops or
chance enlAtom.'-Herhbeart 'burned with the story of
thieir-great wrconges .She longed to-consult some in-
tellipent and' ph~ilanthropice person As t~o- wya and
means for pecrmanently bettering their condition. .As
she could find none such around her1, she~tiinall wr1ote
to her pastor, Mlr. .H:Ast-ing. The noblle impulses
whichi that letter betrayed, tilled him with a strouge
;joy. H~e answered! it as best .he could; And one let-
ter led ~to- anothber, until* there was qulite & steady


correspondence, and all upon the subject wRhichl frst
began it. His advice w~as very much prized by Eliz-
abeth, and served often~in the place of a friend nearer
at hand. It. encouraged her, too; often giving ~her
strength to resist the fascinations of. example and
entreaty. Still, she fwas not up to her ideal-she
could not reach it; she was so far below it that some-
times she felt. altogether discouraged with.herself.
"W~hat a cownsummate dandy Phiilip is!" she
thought, indignantly, one day as she was hulrrying
along the street alone. Whant had called up t~he
thought at this time mor~e parlticularlyl, had been the
super~cilious way in wh~icih he had bowed to her as
she passed him, a abort time before. So~much conceit
was intolerable She turned down a ;by-street, for
she was out to visit a sick woman whom a charitable
society had recommended to her espeelal notice. She
found the number, knocked softly, and went in, when
whom shoulld she see but her intoleranble cousin
Philip,.holding the hand of the dying w'oman, as he
sat beside her and wiped the death-sweat, 11-om her
brow. No one perceived her, and she stood still.
"L I pledge you my honor.?" said her cousin, in a
gorave, sweet voiice, that your children sihall-be p~ro-
vided for. I will see that they have oil1 they need at
present, and that soon they shall: be providled with
good homes in the country. ,Do not, be so distressed
thr them. He who will no:t, let even a sparrow fall
to the ground unnoticed will surely care for
".It was he ~ho sent,.you to mue, I am suret," whis-
pered the woman. "' You wrill be blessed--your youth

A 14TEW Dild'ONRY.

will bo''joy to yo~,' and' y~ur old age honor~ed. Bult
fb~r you-"
"' Do not try to speak," bdj imterrupted her, gently.
rr I ha~e done but little, yet I will do more. Com-
pose yourself, and be at peace, for your little ones
shall thr~e better than they have done."
I am-at,-peace," gasped his comupanion.
Truly she whis, fdi- the dejith-pallor came -over her
face, and in a moment she breathed no more. Two
or three children clambered Rbolit the bed, sobbing
and rseveaming.
A4s Philip composed the dead wo~mata's htitid upon
her breast, she sawf him drop 3 tear.
'Cousin Philip, is tbia you ?" she ask-ed, counting
to his side. He looked Around quick~ly.
"W~ell!i sugpposing it is? W Phat bilsideas have
youl wanderingr around in thesebad localities? Soime
day you rrill be! found missing !"
I bare no fears upon that score; at. least. not
enough to k~eep me at home. But, Philip ?"n athd sHe
Iilooked up into his thee with a questioning -look, as
much as to ask where all its conceit And indifference
bad gone to.
Philip had namii~ea; his cousin mueb more than he
had allowred her to see; wrhen be had complimented
h~er, it bad usually been in a maimer not pleasing to
her fastidious taste--it hiad seemed as if he had' only
dlone it to provoke her. Now, he said :
You are' a pearl among wromeu, Lizzie. D~Ce
Blanche nevrrl accompany you on these excursions ?-'
for I' am awanre they are asritost of daily occurrence
with you."l~

40 ToH courNTY cousInr.

"( No," replied she, unwilling to cast a shadow of
blame upon any one, she is so happy, so admired
and busy, she bas no time. But she gives to. many
a good cause. "She handed me. five dollars as I was
coming .out, for charitable purposes; yet I know abe
wanted to get herself a newp th."
"L Wonderful self denial l I am afi-aidl it will make
her ill-especially as she bne so few fafncl," replied
Philip, in his usual mocking rtone-. Blanche dressesJ
sernphically, doesn't she, Lizzie ? I do love to see a
beautiful woman bonultifully dressed. By the way,
cousin, you are not remarkable for a superb toilet;
nont enough, but you do not do yourself justice. Are
you so poo1r ?"
It is a strange subject to introlduce h'Ere;") and
Elizabeth tur~nedl away to console t~he crying children.
I do not wrish you to think; that I have been do-
ing any thing good." continued Philip. I abomi-
nate goodness. I happened to be called as this
woman's physician. C'an I do any thing for you,
cousin Lizzie P"
If you will find some neighbor who is willing
to take charge here for the night, I will see that she
is well paid. In the mean time, I will give these
poor children some suppe~r."
While he was gone for a watcher, shel soothed the
little ones with many gentle words and promises, and
setr forth brf'ore: their longing eyes a-comllfortable rec-
past, which she took; fr~om a hlall balsket she had
brought with her.
WFhen they had completed armongements to insure
decency andl attention to the dead and comfort t~o t~he


living, the consins wa~lkied home ~together. Philip
sas as gay as ever, but Elizabeth was certain she had
made a discovery of a portion of his nature which he
kept" bidden from the eyes of his friends. He was
molre of an enigma io her than beforIe; consequently
mlore inter~esting. If you pique a wroman's curiosity,
you bare a certain hold upon her interest; her. imag~i-
nation is greater than a man's, investing all untangi-
ble things with more importance than they deser~ve.
Fools and villains ma~y put on a land, mysateriouns air,
and adorpt the grand, gloomy, and peculiar," and
be suc~cessfid in w~inning the consideration of tolera~-
bly sensible wo~men.
'L If he was not such a fbp,"~ murmured Lizzie to
ber pillow that night, as it nestled close to ber glow-
ing cheek, "' he would be qluite--endurable."'
The next morning he came and e-at down b~y her,
wh]ile Blanebe was d~irting with a morning caller, and
they bad a long, and, to her, interesting conver~sation,
upon poetry, esthetics, etc. Just as herl face was all
lighted up with lovely animation, he quenched the
ight slidldenly, by obselring, car~elessly :
Folk / you knowc too much Girls should not
bare opinions. There's Blanche-she is mye ideal of
a woman-don t knowf an equation fro~m the equator.
Lrook at her! Don't you think I ought to be proudl of
uEbc a sister ? I did not see her equal in all Fra3nce."'
Eizabeth was really lost by the b~eginn~ing of this
sp'ieeeb. Hler cousin bad~ chnrurned and sur~pr'iSed her
byg his stores of' knowlclege. anld hiad led her on into
unwfontedl commlunic~ativoeness; had purposely s~awa-
aned her spiritual nature by many an eloquent touob,


until it bad expanded.p~ure as ~a lily in thesunlight--
and now, how quickly the fr-oat nipped it.
Oh I it is veryS trus! .a woman should have no
soul, no perception, no will, but what is gracriously
vouchsafed her by some lord of herl being," she re-
plied with bitterness; and r~ising, she went to the
piano (the visitor having departed) and played fast
and hard all the noisy, meaningless, bravado music
she could think of.
I lik~e to strike the fire from such a jewel as
that," whistled Philip, under his breath ; and floingin
himself' into an esay-chair, be listened with balf shut
W~hen she had wernied hersaelf' she turned to'leave
the r~ooml, and there was Philip leaning on the corner
of the instrument.
ii You remzind me of Tennyson's Princess,i' said
he, "Land I long to be the Prince who whispered:
"'Ifr thoul be what I think thee, somea sweet dream,
I dor but Eusk thee to fulfIll thyself."'
"L My temper is not n1 'br h~)of a thousands str~inga,'
"for yiou to smile on its--all its chords Fith might,' "
she nanwered, having subdued her little blurst of in-
jured feeling, so keep your flatteries for somle more
eager ear. I am going to my room to write lettersy."
She went to her room and wrote to her aunt. Faith-
full, and to A~Ir. Hatstings. Her. mood was such as tor
tinge her letter with just~ that shade of me~lanc~holy
which madell the receiver wonder at thle cause, andl
linger over-1 the: woilrds with dangerous interest.
L Here you are~ up here staining yoiur fingrers with
ink., when Mr. Thomnpson, has been waiting lifte,en


minutes 'ol; you 'tosmake your appearance. 1 1eft,
him with Mr,'P~hilip, lookipgr at some edins which .he
brought from Europe, while I went to look~forljou I"
exclaimled ~Blanche, running into their chamber, just
as Lizzie hind finished her Second epistle.
"L I guess you will be able! to entertain Mr. Thomp-6
son without my assistance, my dear, and I do not -
feel one bit like trying to interest myself in his dtisa-
"L What a girl you are.' Here's a wFidowe', wit~h-
out childr~en, not overiifty years old, and worth dight,
hu~dried t~honusnd d'6llars; dresses irell, "is* used
to good society, and madly in lote with you, yet,
you treat him as coolly as if he wans 'some pehrilless
poet of sweet, eighteen. I do not believea you cnte-a
gold dollar for all t~he conquests you have made since
you came to New~ York."
"L I certainly do nojt; I have yet to meet the inan
who comes within the faintest shadow of the-ideal
man, upon whose brow I have set the shining mark.
Oh, Blanche, how eanr you waste your time, and wit,
and beauty upon suoch a se~t as you have about you?"
"LThere!i there!i there-"
"L I don't intend to preach; but I musit observe
that of all the beetles, butterfies and other ephemein's
who tiutter about this mansion, this Mr. Thompson
is the most repulsive and bat-like. If he had ten
times the fortune which~ he has, I could neverbe more
than colldly- polite to hiu. Howf did be get hris
wealth ?-asrk hlim that. I should think Philip would
be afi-aid to show liim his coined, for fear he wofild
elyly pilf'er them."


"L Why, Elizabethl i" laughed Blanche.
"( It is strange how the glitter of gold blinds eyes,
even those as bright andl pure as my dear cousJin's.
Don't go near. him, Blanche; don't aIllow him to,
touch your hand or y~our shtiwl, or qven to look; upon
you!i That is the way for pure women to treat guch
men! Then weo would have less villainy in high
"L You are the queerest girl! Every one-almost
--sreata AIr. Thompson wfith respect. He is a grleat
fav~torite wit~h the young, ladies."
Who wodid sell every thing but the outside up-
pearance of propriety, for such~ sample means of grati-
fying their ambition. to be first in display-most
extravagant in dress."
"' How disagreeable yon can make yourself, for
such a nice girl. Wetll, I must mak~e your apologies
I suppose, to your adorer. Now, don't look; grieved.
I hate himt myself!-w~orddn't 4ave him if he wras the
laBt man on the thee of the earth! But I must be

She darted off like a Ilark, caro~lingr,, while Elizal-
beth went to M~rs. randerlyn's r~oom, who really wfas
ill that morning w-ith the headache, and begged to
be permitted to do something fb~r her. Her voice
was so soft~, and her touch so gentle, that the ladly
was glad to send anway her maid and accept hier se~r-
vices instead.
Mr1s. Vannder~lyn sat in an involid's easy-c~hair, wetll
tipped back; on its rol:cker~s, andl a handklerlchief tied
about her brows. Her niece removed the bandage,
took; downu all her heavy hair, brushed it out, and


left it ftloating about -he: shoulders, while, with a
soothing touch, she passed her hands:over the aching
head, and- soon magnetized the neryons pain almost
entirely away.9
"' I believe you are a magiciatn-ypou bare nearly
cured me," said her aunt, gratefully.
Then you have no need of my -sielrices," said
Philip, who hadl at that moment stolen into the room.
"L I came to Offer them, but will wfithdraw. Let mue
wrarn you, though, my lady-mother, against employ-
ing empirics--it is a dangerous experiment."
"' You have always something foolish to say," re-
plied hia~mother, looking at her handsome boy wivth
a smile, and thinking how much he resembled herself.
He placed a bouquet of exquisite flowerain a little
Bohemian vase upon her dressing-table.
"LI will not bring them near enourgh-t~o cause the
offending headache to return by their perfume, but
you can1 fast your eyes upon them, my beautiful
mother, and-think of. the faults of the giver."
I am much obliged to you, for r~ememberinga me,
I am sure, Philip. They are full as pretty as those
that Baron Steimbrack brought me last evening for
the opern. If you will ledve me now, children, I
thlink; I can sleep a little, and awake edt~irely re-
She gave them her plump, white hand, sparkling
with diamonds. Philip kiesed it, while be pressed
his owFn to0 his hea~t wit~h 'an knpr~essive air.
"Is that as grascefully done as the baron can do it ?"
GL~o away, yo)u foolish boy. Take him away,
Lizzie, my love."


"The meousine went dowrli and f'ound Blanche Looking
for her brother.
'' Oh, Lizzie, Philip, come and see! I wonder ch~o
did it ? It could not be papa, for I had never said a
word~3 to himn about wanting it. And lie is no judge
of these things. And this was selected by a3 person
of the most perfect taste!"
C~Ahi" gronned her brother.
She bhd unfolded a packet whieb had just arrived,
addressed to herself ~and displayed a robe-silk of the
.most delicate bloom-color, faint and fair as the inner
fold of are apple-blossom. It was the very thing she
had been wishing for, in time to make up for New
Year's day.
"It's a very handsome present," continued the de-
lighted gir~l. "L I saw it yesterday, when you and I
were passing the shop, Philip, and I woridered then
how I could contrive to coax it out of papa, for my
own nilowance was spent long ago. It was marked
seventyS-Hye dollars. And, ob,. Lizzie, there was a
blue-one.of the same .pattern as this, that you must
buy. It -will just suit your style, anrd be so lovely!i"
You know that I can not afford to purchase so ex-
pensive a silk-eepecially after all the new things I
have been getting."
Oh, but you miust get this, darling. to match
minel I saw .n hundred-dollar ebeck in your purse
yesterday, and yet you pretend that you can not af-
ford it."
I adnilred that blue silk yery mueb, myself Liz-
sie," added Philip. "' It is a tint that not many la-
dies can weanr to advantage. I should like t~o see you

in it.! I vbut.ur~ 'td&*it~rm;'Shat- the fBcle circle of
this extensive city will not furnish- a mole difstii-
guished pair of beautiful Idelles---each" so different in
her stySle, and so perfect in the type. Really, I Alall
have to call upon you myseelf ladies; and' pay the meed
of admiration. And be sure, "eousin Lizzie, that you
wear the blue dress. I want to see youin it. I have
a fancy that you will fri my ideal of a blonde. Do
not let any New England nrt~ions of economy prevent
you from doing your own beautiy justice, and carry-
ing out th'e pretty-conleit of theiCtwin dresdde."'
Philip could look o ~persunasive whhn Tie-wiikbed,
that it wans'aluiost impossible to deny at request of bi-'i
still, his cousin book her head, with 'a dowrdia~tlook,
and said:
"I can not promise you, ifatering as you are."
Lizzie was not invhdnersible- to-emoti80s of female
vanity; the desire to look- weUl in Philip's eyes was'
stronger thou she would acknowledge. In the sececee
of her onfn heart she pondered the matter. The
phrase, "L New England' econoljy," grated urporr her
ear harshly as coming fi*om hjm. The native strengthi
of her obaracter came to her, and enabled her to cast
it out of her mind.- It is true That she liad a hundred
dollars in her purse, and should have more bdfore
very long. But she bad formed a plan fjir' spen-dinig
it differently. There was a woman employed by h;Ir.'
Vanderlyn to do her sewing, whenever she had any
that could be sent from the house. She was a widow,
with three young children thb'cnre for, and, conse-
quently could not, go out, to sew '`Lizzie had seen
her sev~eral times, and had becoiho more than usually


interested in her. S8hebad been. reared in yer1y differ-
eat circumstances ; in her youth had b~een the pet of a
happy home, been tenderly cared for and weLl edu-
cated. But, lik~e so inany loving and trusting young
girls, she bad married a man not worthy of her--one
who abused her confidence, and who finally died of a
fever, brought on by excesses, leaving her with little
means and this' young famuilys. .She had struggled on,
as women must struggle when left dependent; bad
tried all the narrow and crowded avenues to a living
left open for women to-choose fi-om;- had kept board-
ers, and lost what little she had by it.; bad taught a
select sebool, tak-ing her own little ones to-aud fr~om
it wBith her, and waiting upon them, doing all her
work out of school ours; had met with mor~e disap-
pointments, insults, meanness and want., than need
here be told,-and was now wearing out her life, as
women wear them out, at .the evFerlasting stitching,
to keep bread,.without bitter generally, in the mou ths
of her children.
Elizabet~h, as was natural to her, had..interest~ed
herseelf: in this personage, a lady and a C'hristian, a
coldly-treated sewing-woman. She .hadl taken work
to her humble door, and, while leaving her orders,
had fallen into pleasant, conversation, which, at times,
grew confidential on t~he part of the widow, so little
used to sympathy.
"WThy do you not go to the ibountry," she asked
her ofte day, "L and secure steady patronage in some
village ? The means of living would be cheaper,
and the prices much better. It is a mistake
many. to stay in the city."


"' But it is hard -to'rget out of itE was tIhe reply.
"' I havre never been~ able to lay up enough to take us
safely out and settle us in a newf place. Besides, it
is hard for a stranger to find good employment, even
in a country village. Oh, if I had a sewinga-machine!
I could do my work with so much more dispateb
that I need not wear out my life in this manner.
But., in this, as in every thing else, men come in with
their capital, and turn the blessing into a c~urse. Mien
buy up the right to make sewing-machines, men pur-
chase at a price far beyond the reneb of the toiling
needle-women, and put them into their't~ailor-shops,
and skirt-maiuf'actories, and shirt stores, and cloak
dtpi-its, taking the crumbs out of their mouths of
wridowss' children, and andding it to their own over-,
ilow-ing stores."
"' It is all too~tirue," sighed Elizabeth.
That evening, the casee of this one sui'er~er weigh-
ing upon her mind, she had formelltd a pinn which sent
her to bed with a smile upon her face, and gave her
such sweet sleey as the good alone enjoy. By a little,
very little self-denial, she could save this mother to
her belliless flock, and bestowr a benefit which would
Ai~life-long. She resolved to take the bundr~ed-dollar
check and purchase a sewing-machine for her seam-
stress, and. seud it to her as a NewfYear's present.
This she would do- now, and, in the~spring, if the
widow wished, she would filmnish her with ineans
and recommendationsr to set up in some rural place,
where bor children could feel the gr~eensward under
their feet, and growf up upon healthy air.
The thought mlade her rdsufusully happy all the


mornmg. She had fidly decided. upon the deed
when t~he r~obe came ho~me for Blanche, and the
te-mptat~io n was set be~for~e her. It was not the dress
she wanted so muuch ars t~o please Philip, and to
look- well dressed in his eyes. She could not get the
robe and the sewing-machine bothr at thiat time. She
remembered that she ncalread bad spent much more
upon herself, and less upon othtera, than she had de-
signed. Yet, shet muight get the machbine and make
the widow happy at same future time, say a couple
of twonths, whlen mioney was pleen.y again-the dress
tioouldl be so becoming, andi plenae Blancho~ so!i But,
what if the health of the over tnsk~ed seamstress should
give uwny.ent.irely, while che was tak~ing a little f'oolish
pleasure in a blue silik r~oe that abe didl not need ?
The young gir~l went to her psillow less happy than
on the prevFious evening, but. she arose thle next, moor-
ing to go) out, after b~reald'ast and select a siew-ing-
machine, for whieb she paid, with or~ders to have it
sent to its destination upion the first day of the new
year. Then she went home gayS and gjeesome, with
no thlrtheri thought of the covetedl dressP. Sh~e told
no one, not even undle Vanlderlyn, to whomn she some-
times confided her benevolent plans. They would
only call her siLly--hatt" laugh and half scowl at her;
and it. was rewarld enough t~o have the consciousness
that she had resisted a temptation v-ery~ pow~erful to
a pretty young girl.
Whlen New Year's day, with all its splendor and
exCitement, was over, thle amociunt of it. which she
wrote for the amusemlent of her aunt Faithful was
not tinged with one shade of envy. or discontent


because she had received calls in a less elegant dress
than Blanebe.
Blanebe was beautifull' she wro-te, and just
enough conselo~us of it to put her in the most brilliant
spirits. She w.asevidently very mueb admired. Aunt
Vandlerlyn searcely less so. Her dress was rich--
relvet and lace of the costliest kind, relieved byF dia-
We irere ~overwhelmed nith calls fi-om morning
till midnight. This being my first New Year's' in
the city, I was amused at the beginning, bult Jis-
gnatedl at the conclusion. Of course we had wine
upon') the tabli, and of course everybody e~lfe had.
I am sure that uncle Vanderlyn, upon any otherl icecn-
sionu, would have hadl the~ servants put some of the
viaitors out of doors, had they appeared in his par-
lorsmin so maudlin a state. Am I fault-findiing ? I
am atfaid I am growing less ebaritable than I ought
to be."'


''* 1ry, fairy Lllien,
FULtting, fairy Lillien."
These prertty babes, with band in anud,
Wecnt Riandering up and down;
But never more they saw the man
AFppraching from the town.
Thus wandered these two pretty U~nbes
'TLL dearth did end thei-r grief,
In one anorber's airms they dlied,
dA babes wanting relief.
17te Chkildlren in time Wood.
Twco fair~ies sat in a gorgeous bower. Their names
w-ere Blanche and Elizabeth. Not in a bower lik~e
Titania's, where the green woods glimmrer in the
moonigrht, but in the boudoir which terminate~d MUrs.
Youderlyn's msagnificent su~ite of p~arlors. Nor wfere
these fairies lik~e those talntalizingr crentures who shake
their scarfs at you fi-om the vanishing rainbow, or
hlide their evanescent beauty in the heart of some
dewr-bespangled flower. They were those more pre-
clous household fairies who wrin p~et names, of suebh
subsalntial make, and burdenedl with sunch pressing
wants that a Ilarge purse fidl of mooney barely sffitc~es
for their "Labsolute necesseities."'
Shall we say that Elizabeth, the smaller, demurer
fdry1' If' the twro, was t:;st following in the footsiteps
of her extT\nravagan cousin ?
It was twelve o'clock of a clear, cold February



day; but bere you could hardly have told that sum-
mer was not still a lingerer. The atmosphere was of
genianl warm'Zth, thei songs of birds were tangled amid
thec Ince dranperies of this boudoir, whose windows
opened upon a c<:mservatory so large and so blooming
that a tropic garden seemed transplanted into it.
Blanche wans lounging in an easy-ebair; and no
rich-breathed~ rose ever leaned amid her cluster~ing
`leaves w~ith a mor-e dreamy indolence, than she amid
the enshions of damask around her.
Elizabeth, in a morning neglig4 of dark-blue silk,
which set off the faint. bloom of her cheeks. andl the
dainty fairnoess-of her throat and hands, was~ dow\n
upon the cirpet, with heaps of music all in disorder
about, her, and a guitar lying nerose her lap.
"'I have broken the string, and I ba\e no patience
to mend it~with a new one," she said. 'L I declare,
Blanche, we have so much to do that we have no
time left for our own pleasure. I're been trying
these two days to read- that new book Philip gave
me. But what w~ith breakfast at nine, and music to
practice, and the dressmaker, and going out in the
carriage these brief afternuoons, and dinner, and com-
p"Ony in the evening, one has no thne for the improvre-
ment o~f the mind, or atny other sensible object. Phi-
ip says we ought to improve our minds."
~Does he?" replied Blanche, with anu cent of
intinite scor~n. "' I pr~esume oulr minds a\*e a match for
his-the conceited dandy. The nexit time Tsee him
I will tell him that his curlsl need improving; be
prides himself upon his beautiful hair, andl I intend to
mortify him."


Here there nas a low chuckle in the next room,
but, they did not be-ar it. The sunbeam went.on ty-
ing its threads to Blanebe's balir, while Elizabeth's
hand wandrered tenderly over her guitar.
'' I kn~ow it seems to me as if wFe wer~e alwffays busy,"'
resumed the fo~rmer. "'Papa thinks we have nothing
to do! That's just the ~ay with these men l"
It seems to me as if we wasted a great deal of'
vllaluale time. I spend mine very differently from
what I had intendled before I came here. I seem to
have got into a hir~lpool of gaye-tyr-all spray and
bubbhles, da~ncingr in the. sulnhine, ifascinating to lorok
at, burt bearing me round landl round, and evermore
backi to the starting-point, except that I sink; a little
deeper with ever-y cir~cle. I wonder what MrL~. Hast-
ings would say!i"
"'Fie!i howr.6erious you are. You talk; like an es-
say. W~ho is MIr. HastingsP"
"c Ie is my' minister"
"L And you've been giving me a piece of one of
his sermons, I suppose. How stupid he must be !"
"L He is far from stupid," replied Elizabeth, flush-
"cAh! i s he a yongln man-or has he, like most
country ministers, a wife and nine small children"
No mantter,") was the answer, in so vexed a tone
that Blanche laughed-it was3 not often she could
tease her cousin.
"L Never mind, Lizzie, dear., for you need not. tell
me. I can inf'er that be bus neither wife nor children
na yet." (Her~e there was a slight rustle, as of an
impatient movement in the next apartments.) L By


thbe way, I wonder if: our forty-second cousin, Beseie
Bell, intends accepitingr our invitation to spend a week
with us. She's-a nice little thing. I can make her
perfectly happy bys giving her some of my cast-.of
d ressies."
"'Tha7t you've worn three times," xanghed Elizabeth.
We'll dlress her up so that she will be quite pr~e-
sentabile. The truth is, I like her better than I do
myg envious, elegant 11-le~nds; she's such a candid lit-
tle groose."
"L WTon't she even tell a white lie ?" queried Lizzie,
who had found that white lies were current in fash-
iojnable society.
"L No,; and she hase no v~anity."
Does Philip? know her ?"
I presume he does not remember her. I wboder
if be will like her! I should be in doubt about it;
he is so fastidious. If be loves any thing besides his
own sweet self', it is to see an elega~ntly attir~ed, self-
possesse"d woman of' the world."'
"~ Nobody cares whether be likes her or not," quoth
Lizzie, breaking another string with a twang.
The noise which she thus made concealed an omi-
nous bem!" proceeding fiom the other room. If
Lizzie bad told a white lie"_in that sentence, she
was hersaelf unaware of it at the moment.
I hate any one who considersa himself perfect.,
and tak~es the liberty of lecitur~ing other peoplee" she
co:ntinued, with some energy.
Ah, yes!"' murmured Blanche, languidly play-
ing with the tassel of her girdle, "Bt~ill, Lizzie, I
think Philip knows how to be very agreeable. He


dances exquisitely. Grace Livingaton would die to
please him."
She'sS in lo\e with his fortune. However, I do
not blame you for liking him-ho's your brothers."
"L And your second cousin," added Blanche, with a
gay Inugh. "L But here comes the lunch w~hic~h I or-
dered brought in here, for I feel indolent this morn-
ing. Come, let us have a nice, quliet kunebeon, all by
"L Not quite by yourselves," said a voice, which they
knoew too well, andt Philip emerged fr~om his conceal-
ment in ~the bay-window of the adjoining parlor.
"L Exercise your hIospitality, 41~esdemoiselles "-and
be ran his fingersa nAffctedlyg through his hair, as he
stood wa~itingr to be ot~red a sent at the board.
Listeners never hear any thing goo~d o~f them-
selves," said Lizzie, trying to suppress a blush, which
gr-ew the rosier for her effo~rts.
"L That must be because mortals--especially women
-are so given to saying hard t~hings. Who would
think so much beauty was the vail fo~r so mueb un-
charitalbleness?3. But., sister Blanebe, you mi~ust give
me a cup of t~en. I had no, breakfast this morn~ing.
I wr~is called out at eight o'clock to set the leg of a
poor' laborer, who fell ti-om a building, and bruised
himself terribly."'
"L What will youl gain by goings among such peo-
pleP-nnot the fame for whieb you ar~e so ambitious,"
spokle his sister.
I shallga~in the conseousnes of having relieved
human misery, my dear," respo~nde~d the young phy-
sician, gravely. "LNot t.bat I wcish to. be considered



g.-.od,"~ he added, quick~ly. I hate charity-I hate
phGilant~hropy. Everybody knows there is nothing
:Ioodt about me." ,*
Elizabeth looked at him with softening eyes. She
was8 beginning to see further into obe labyrinths of
Philip's ebaracter.
"' Why abould you put such a scornful accent ulpon
the word good 0?") she asked.
Because the kind of people whom I detest ar1e so
fearf'ully go~od. The Scribes and Phar~isees were, you
reme-mber. Your 'Reiv.Cream Cheeses',are goodr,
and so are your sallow-ebeeked deacons who delight
in thbreatening little children fr~ith everlasting tor-
tures. Brokers and stock-;jobbers, and those who
prey unpon wridowsa and or~phans, are, I k~now, gener-
ally very pious--influentially so. There's father he
ownns a c~hurPch and a minister-he has made a fash-
ionnble thing of' it and the abares are rising. It is
a very good specullai~on. Mother's a member, too,
and would not miss a communion any more than she
would the rich dinner she k-eeps the servants bnsy in
the mean time preparing."
"L Oh, Philip, bow can you talk; so ? You have not,
a particle of reverence in your composition.'
Not a drop of ted in my cup.. A little more, if
it please your highness to be so generouss"

Houre before the persons enacting this tablCEau P'-
ventl bad slipped from beneath their downy coverlids,
their LL forty-second cousin, Bessie," bad deserted her
ebamber in the old farm-bouse, and gone out of doors.
with a m~ilkcing-pail on her ar~m.


As she stepped off t~he wooden stoop," which
fi-inged the dining-room door, she drew in her breath
with a sigh of surprise, and stood in mute delight,
regarding the marvelons transijguration of the landl-
scape. A silent spirit from the cloud-realms above had
been busy all night--and now, what a beaultifid wdr~k
Swas completed before hierl The familiar yard with
its long well-sweep, its picket fence, its rows of c~ur-
r~ant bushes ranged beneath, its high clustered locust,
trees, with the' rose-vine by the stoop, all so browRn,
so blenk, the previous evening, were converted into
a fairy hower, mor~e exquisite than mortal bands ever
All bad smuered a snow crhange
Into something rich and strange."
The snow had come down damp and thick, clinging
to every branch of the old trees, and every spray of
the bushes, and every symmetrical pick~et, so long as
a flake could~find-~a point to hang by. The well-curlb
and the low bushes looked lik~e couches of swan's
down, spread -out for the repose of some invisible
beauty. The'trees were burdened so heavily that
there wFas a soft gloom underneath, wrapping the
scene in" mystic quiet and repose. Bessie. lopk~ed
through the dreamy vistas, wrhile to her eyes the in-
terlacedl boughs of the motionless trees formed arched
w~indows loftf'ad intricate as the famous wocrk- inl
ancient cathedrals. No alabaster ever was so white
as the pure material of this enchanted bowrer. Yet
so bright w'as it, as t~he daylight. strengthened, thut
it, seemed as if it might have flahed off' from the sil-
ver stars, and dropped down in gleamling radii.


Stillnerls, both of motion and sound, reigned absolute.
BEss~ie felt all the beauty of the time, pausing, her-
aelf' so rosy~ and native, as if the spell were working
uylon her, and she might momently gl~ro into> a dream
or a statue. But sbe b-loormed on like a single rose
in a garden of lilies, and a red ray shot, from tbo
quirer of the rising sun, pierCing the bowery gloom,
andl striking her where she stood, deluging her cheeksa
writh crimson, her eyes with light, and her hair with
gold. The sleepy chantic~leer in the tianmyard gave
aShrll sc~ream to tindl be had slumbered so late, and
nas answered, here and there tlhrcrugh thie distanceg,
by; his cheery brortherhood. ThP c~ows lowed indo-
lently, as if' still oppressed with dreams of summer
p~atures. B~Esie, giving her milk-pail a swing,
plunged into the untrodden path. The snow lay all
around her so soft. and dleep t.bat she could not resist
the temptantiojn to mill~e its unsoiled page. Breakling
a LtickL froml a lilne-bush, with this rude grav~er she
traced tigures and flowers with considerable skill upon
its yielding surface. As thbe sun arose in his full
splendor, glorifying the world at a glani-e, some lines
fi*om Tenonysio's, Arab~ian Nights came into her mind,
and she wr~ote them down upon a page as pur~e as her
owrn young beart:
8LT: columns--three on elhher side--
Pure silver, undelrpropt a rich
Throne of' he massive are, from which
Down drooped, in manyr a floatinLg fold
Engrlanoded and dropededd
With inwrougit flowers, a cloth of gold.
Thebreon, ble deep eyre, laughtr-srtirred
With merriment of kingly pride,
sole star of all thtntplace andltime,.
I saw blml-in his golden prime,
Thre good Hron~ln A9rasehid!


Then she looked fiurtively into the enebanted bowfer,
as if .the magic lines might have called up the king
to sit upon the well-swecep. No king wras there.
She went, on a little further, tracing thoughtfly'll, it.
may be unconsciously, the initials J. 1.A." These
she duplicated many times na she pnesed Along, and
once she.wr~ote the name in. full-"JTesse A~len."
Just. then her .brother W~ill coming, whistling, fr~om
t~he house, withl a blush ebe blotted out. the telltale
record, and speti onward to the barnyard, w~her~e her
own pet cow- awnaited her milking.
BesJsie did not stop to snowfball her brother, as he
dould buve liked, but. burried through writh her task
and back to the house ; for it, was na great day wiith her,
and she must needs haste. A-t nine o'clock: the train
passed the station on itH waIy to the city; she must
mak~e ready and ride twro miles, in order to rac-ih it;
for she had necepted her cousin Blanebhe Vanderlyn's
in~itatiopn to spendJ a wreek in New Y~ork.

Philip wras passing his cup f:.r thle third time, when
a fuller burst of' sushine br~ightened~ the boudoir, and
the three, looking up, liebeld Behsie, all wrapped in
clocks and mut~er~a, but as br:ight as a winter-berry
peering out o~f a snowf-drif't. The girls gave her a
welcome arfectionate enough to satisfy a more exact-
ing nature than hers, and presented Philip, wbc made
some pretty speeebes about r~enew-ing old acqluaint-
Mlore luncheon wras order~edl fbr the anew-comer.
W~hen the gay repast was finished, Blanche proposed
thus Bessie, if not. too mulch fhtignued, should


nccompany them upon their abopping .expedition,
as they did not lik~e to leave her so soon tfi~er~her ar-
rival. She was not at. all fatigued, and was as eager
to go as most young girls would be when making a
hloliday trip to the metropolis.
Philip threw himself upon a sofa, and tried to look
ibandsome--in which attempt, it must be confessed,'
he succeeded, to Lizzie's infinite.distaste, who threw
a glance at him from beneath her drooping lashes, as
she turned to leave the room, to make ready for the
carriage. No sooner had the twoc girls vanished,
than he shook off' his air of languor and vanity, sat
up lik~e a man possessed of health and rigor, abd pro-
ceededl tp entertain Bessie in a manner which sur-
prised her. Places he had visited, people he had
known in the ild country, scenery, customs, pictures,
be tallked of in a sensible, liverly~ way. To see her
innocent face light up with inter~est wans stimunlus
e-nough to mak~e him exert himself more to please
her than he had any other person since bia return.
Elizabeth would hardly have recognized the con-
ceited young physician, who loved to display his
foreign graces as if on purpose to _call fourth her
contempt, had she heard him entertaining their vis-
The moment she returned hg put off all the E~lo-
quence which bad held Bessie enchanted, and begged
to be allowed to accompany the ladies, as there still
was a vacant seat in the carriage.
"' But Blanche is going to the dressmak~er's. How
could you go there ? You would get out of patience


"L I do not purpose to wait, nor to hav~e you wait.
We can leave her at Mdrs. Flummery'~s, and drive
about the city until it is time to call for her."
"L Of course you will have your own way," said
Lizzie, and there was a triumuphrnt smile up~on his
lip, as if he meant it.
WFhen. Blanche otune downNlushed w~ith the mag-
niticence of her beauty and~.apare'~ling,..Bessie cast
an uneasy look ovrer her own modest attEire. Blanche
noticed it., and smiled.
"Do not fret yourself, mia. cara~; that graceful
head of yolurs in its little black valvet bat will look
veryV weU from a carriage window. Come, all, or we
shall not get home for d'umoer."
The horses pranced, their harness glittering in the
sun, and the tasteful equipagre, writh its gay, band-
some, and happy party, swept down-th-e avenue.
-" Q dear Do look Will you not stop the car-
riage a moment ?" cried Bessie, as they passed a
'' That is one of our fmest churches; I do not won.
der that you admire it," rema~rked Blanche.
I was not thinkingg oft the chu~c~h at all. Those
little children, there, upon the steps. Cousin Philip,
wfill you not tell the.cone~bhnan to stop until we can
give them somne money?"
The snowf, whieb hisd fallen so heavily fifty miles
back in the country, hatd touebed the city but lightly,
and hadc m~ostly disaplpeared itom the streets. It
lurked here and there in corners, soiled by coal-dus~t,
and looking but a wretched relationship to that
purity whieb badl charmed the country girl at sunrise.


SomJ~e of ikeadratggled wrmeathe were broken about the
eburch steps; and, abhrink~ing away fi*om these into a
6pot which the sunlight touched with wRintryS warmth,
wr~as a group of three little beggarsf, holding out their
purp:le hands, and vainly trying t~o shelter their
pine~bed feet beneath their dreary rage. The two
oldest, were girls of eGight and ten, and beneath them
nestled a little brother, .
Psbaw, said Philip, you will see such sights at
every corner. Those are regular little villains, Pll1
'If they are not," e-aidi Blanche, their parents
are, and will take away whatever we give- them, and
spenotl it for rum. It is really an injury to society to
encouraged them and their parents in sulch idleness."
"' But these are too small to we rk;,.udr -they look
so hungry.. Indeed, I can not bear to pass them w~ith-
out giving theml a little," pleaded Bessie. Blanche
'" How unlSOPhistica:ted yolu are, little one. rYou
remlind me of Lizzie when she first came here. I
have lect ured her out of it pretty well, as far as gir-
ing to streetr beggnar is concerned; though I suspect
she makes a simpleton of herself a great many times
when I kno0w nothing of' it. I[ bare heard of some
oft her aby doingrs! That sewing-malcine, you re-
member, Philip, that took the place of the silk;
d ress~."
And that consumptbve school- teacher, whose
board she is paying so that she can rest awhile fr~om
her labors," added Philip.
Elizabeth blushedl. She did not know that her


charities Srere discovered. She was as modest as she
was9 generous.
That has nothing to do with these children," she
said. I rently wrish webhad given them something'.
They looked so dejected, so forlorn. Oh, to think!
that,.such childhood is, and must. be i-here, all aioult
us, little immortal souls tainted at their veryp bir~th,
little sensitive bodies pinched by want before- they
can stand alone! A nd all f'or no sin of their own.
They had no power over their own birth, no choice
of the c~ircum~stances which surround them. Angels
mnat weep at the sight; yet we have become so
har~dened to it, in this Christian city, that wfe do not
realize the fajCts. Each one says, 'It is no b~usine~s
of mnine;' t~he philosopher ssay, 'It is a necessary
evil of human society,'- and we go on building
churches and palaces of gorgeous beauty over, as
Dr. Chapin says, 'these cellars, this under-strata, that
heaves wRith rolCaniLc vice and misery beneath their
fond'datione.' "
"L And to think that little children actually go to
bed hungr~y," added Bessie, the tear~s coming into her
How serious you all are, I declare. Lizzie, I
shall fine you for spoiling t~he pleasure of this glor~i-
ous afternoon. Here we are in Broadwaly. Now
open both those innocent eyes, Bessie, for the display
to-day is quite brilliant."
Nothing affects my dear sis~terl's bnppiness bult a
wrink~le in a new dress," spoke Philip, in one of Ins
prrov~okin tones. L` Buit here- we are' at Mandame
Flummery's--that's her name, isn't it ?-apd I hope


the dress will set well, that we~ may not find a cloud
up~o that peerless brow when wRe return."
Blaneb~e's indolent, eyes flashed for a moment, but
she concludedi to entile, for she was very fond of her
brother, taking his compliments and contempt usually
with equal good-nat~ure.
Wh~en shopping and eight-seeing were done, they
drove home in the early twilight. It bad grown cold
and clear, but not still; there was a sharp wind, not
bluastring but searching, that made the blood curdle
at its touch.
A\b, how billy it is," shiverred Blanche, as she
stepped fr~om the carriage, drawing her five hundred
dollar f~ur cape closer about her..
"' How pleasant home seems to-night," said Philip,
as they~gathered in the luxurious par~lors, and all
assented with umnuual earnestness.
They lingered long at the dinner-table. The ladies
chatted over their coffee, the gentlemen laug~hed over
their wine. Twice or thr~ice Elizabeth gave Philip an
earnest, looks, whiob be could not ruisuaderstand, as
he filled and refilled his glass.
'I wonder if she thinks I can not tak~e care of
myself?" thought he, with a man's willfidlness, and
be took; yet another, to show that he was not at all
obliged for her mute interfe~rence.
He was consequently in v~ery gay spirited after din-
ner, anld it seemed as if some wicked demon at his
ellbow p~romptedl himn to make binlself' as thscinating
:rs he could to their single-minded, unsuspecting
guest. If Bessie's heart had not been preoccupied
by the owner of the initials graven in t~he snow that


morning, obe would probabry have yielded it forth-
with to the systematic besieger, who brought all his
accomplishmuentsg-ad they were Inanifo~ld--to the
capture of tbis little rustic hantlet. Bessie was as
innocent of any coqueetry, aside fiiom those natural
instincts of playtiklnese which are given to women to
highten their attractions, as 's child; she thought
Philip took a great deal of pains to please her, and
that he was the most elegant gentleman she bad ever
met. That he was trying to add her~ to the long list
of "broken-hearted ones" she never sur~mised.
There was one present who had it clearer vision.
Elizabeth was distressed. 8be: was afraid that Bessie
would really become too deeply interested, and that
Philip, after be had won her innocent at~ections,
would despise them. She thought him too ambitions
to think; of marrying Bessie B~el. She had been him
playing this game of conceit and beartlessaries over
and over, in the brief time she had k-nown him, and
had seen several of' the belles of their circle he fasci-
nated as a bird by a cat, and as ready to drop at, his
feet. But. in their caseshe had no pity; she knne
them no vain and capricious as their tormentor, and
that their ballow hearts wer~e filed more by his posi-
t~ion, his money, his handsome looks, than by any
appreciation olf the excellent qualitie-s which he pur-
posely k~ept in the background. 8be had only won-
dered how be could so 11-itter away abilities which
might be plit to better purpose.
Note/ she wafs indignant forl Bessie's sakei, and un-
harppy.f'or her own. WDhy nuhappy for~ her own?
That was more-than she could answer. Per~haps~ she


did not ask herself. WCe ar~e all prone ~to put away
self questioning when the result. is unpleasant. That
she was becoming more and more interested in Philip
--that person whom she daily saw and avowed.was
vain, tyVrannlical, and foppish, if nothing worse-was
true; but she had persuaded herself it was the study
of his peculiar character, which was always eluding
and tantalizing her, which absorbed so much of her
thoughts. Of one things she had become convinced,
that he was better than he ~appeared. His superdili-
ousness was put on to vexs his mother and sister as
much as,any thing, andl be allowed all his selfdlove to
appear upon the surface, because. his .ladyr friends
wvere guilty of the most apparent and grosseat flat-
tery. Eizabeth never flatter~ed him; and she could
see that be had a sFecret respect for her opinions, no
matter bow closely be tried to conceal the fact.
This evening she saw and heard his impressive at-
tent~iops and delicate compliments to Bessie w~ith a
pain which was somethbing more? than sympathy with
the girl. She bad not thought him so heartless;
she had not blamed him for flirtations with accom-
plishedl coquettes, who invited htub to a trial of skill ;
now that she was forced to blame him, she did itr un-
willingly, and there was a heavy pain ait her heart
which ought to have warned her.
Her face was grave when she bade Philip good-
night; be answ-ered the silent rebuk~e in her eyes
with a sauey arching of his browrs. B~essie.was radiant.
She roomed with Elizabeth, andi kept up such a GOm-
mentary upon her handsome cousin's pserf'ctions,for
San hour after their heads were laid upon their pillows,


that her companion began to fear for her foolish little
heart, but wnas rlieved by the gipsy's saying with a
sigh, as she turned her r~osy cheek closer to thbe bed,
before droppingr off to sleep:
"' But, heigho! I would not give my Jesse for a
thousand men like him--no, indeed !"
The next morning, while those who wer~e up were
at br~eakfst, including Philip aind his two cousin,
Lizzie took the paper, as usual, to read the news of
the day to her uncle. While reading in the list of
local items, her voice faltered and came to a pause.
"' Oh dear I shall nevrer forgive myself," she exi-
claimed, looking quite pale.
A~ll inquiredl the cause of her emotion. She read
in reBply :
"' P~um.u INCIDNT.--Three young children, sisters and
brother, probablyl, were found in the doorwayg of the church
of' the Ascension, early this morning, frozen to death. A
w~atchman, passing about two o'clocki, discovered them hudl-
die~d together in ir corner. as if' to shelter tbernselves from
the winl, bult'it was too late to recover them. The night
woa the coldest of the year."
Elizabeth looked towardt Bessie, when she had fin-
ishedl, wbose lip was.trembling, and who finally burst
into tears and left, the table.
"' Girls, what does all this meau ? Your sensibili-
t~ies must. be unusually ac~ute," said ADIr. Vanderlyn.
-" It means, uncle, that we passed these poor little
things yesterday, as they sat on the steps, and al-
though wet sawf Ibey were small and- helpless, cold
and hungry, w-e passed by o~n the other side, without
risking so much as a dime out of our overtlowfing store,
for fear we allight harm society by our liber~ality! We


came home and eat a luxurious dinner, Inughed,
jested, went to our warm beds, while all the time
those-- Oh, uncle, it impresses me as if their death
w~ouldl be laid to our c~ha~rge 1"
"L Nonsense, Lizzie! Y you're a good girl, and you
give enough, we all know. It is unfo~rtunate that
youl did not chance to bestow siomethingr upon the
children, see~ing~it has turned out as it bns; but, such
things hap~peri, and will happen, and nobody is to
blame, unless it be their improvident parents."
Lizzie could not sa rrtisf herself with such reasorning.
A servant brought M~r. V'anderlyn~ his fur-lined
cloak; and gloves, and another sat, wrapped to the
lips in robes, upon the box of. ~the carriage, waiting
to drive his master to Wall street. Even the bgrees
were more~ warmly eovrrled than those children had
been. She saw and reflected upon it; was thougaht-
fil all day,~ renewring her good resolutions, and tryingr
to solve the problem of the uisequal distr~ibrt~ion of
blessings among the, inhabitants of the earth; bow
some w~ere born to the inheritance of poverty, and
ill-benith, and evil inclinations, and some to riches
which they could not spend upon their pampered
senses; how beautiful souls were in ugly bodies;
ugly soul in beautiful bodies; how boors couldd plu--
chase pictulres to line their palaces rand starving poets,
thirating lik~ewise for refreshment to their spiritual
nature, must be kept away fi*om t,be shrineJ of ar-t
and loveliness to which the boor could bring his
gold. A~nd through aH her musings rane an undertone
--the wa il of' hunrgry and fi-eezing humanity-of hun-
gry and freezing~ childhood.


"1 You shall be myp Valentine."
"1 With a passioonte glowf in her crim~son heart*,
The rose sat in her bowebr."-BDaTRD TAYLOR.
"1I woRDRan i I shall have a Valentine this morn-
ing "F" quoth Bessie, as she siprung out' of bedl the
morning before that fixed for her departure.
Valentines are going out of sthsion; I dio not
expect any," repliedl Blanebe, fr~om the dressing-room.
"' I do not clarte for the fashion'; I know I shall
have one," continued Bessie, her fingersa almost too
tr~emulous to tie her s~hoe-trings at the thought.
She had nevezr been away fromn J. A." since they
were beti-othed, long enough torhave a letter, until
nowf; so it is no wonder that her heart bent some-
what, fast, with expectation.
True enough, t~hey had not yet' gathered around
the table in the breakfhlst-palrlor, when the postman
enlled with a whole piackage of missives-, and among
them was one for Bessie Bell, which sent the roses
dying to her cheeksa at the mere sight, of abe ernsl-
ope. As firl reading it, she'wrouldl not think of that
before so many prtoae,.eyes. 'Evryrbody, even her
uncle and aunt, rallied her, insisting upon their right
to hear her Valentine; brit she put it in her poo~ket
and sat down to b~reakfhst-w~ithout much gipetite,

sF.~ VALEhm 8B DAY. 71

hou~efer--and it wras obselrved that she took the first
orpportunityr for slipping rout of t~he room. This
ought to have distressed Philip, consider~ingr the at-
tention be hand paid her;- but, as usual, he ~as will-
ing to grive up one firtation and commenopf another.
Blanche had4 several notesd, a bouquet., and a jewerl-
bos cojntaining an exqulisite bracelet.
Elizabeth had a missive, ac~companiedt by a aplen-
did houquet;j she threw~ tbo missive la the grate, and
gave the ~tl0wers (COstly and fragrant as they wrere)
to Towser to iplay writh; for the Valentine contained
aIn o~ffr oif marriage from lier rich admjirer, AIr.
Tho~mpson. ~She told no oneo-the' contents of t~he
burnt, epistle, but Philip guessed whant-thby~ wer~e.
"Ylou will neverlget another i~ihb'n-'chtch'- T
helieve that's the tkirm nmong innocent, unselfish
young maidens; and"'y~ou bad better think twice
betbrle yoiu discard eight hundred thousand dlol-

Thankj you, Philip, fo~r yo~ur advice; but I hold
myseelf wforth~niore than -that sum, when it comes to
mlak~ingr a binrgain "' and she broke the seal of a sec-
ond note, a small sheet whereobn were inscribed four
lines of~ poetry, without any sigantur~e:
Those feet, so undefile-d, so pure,
Shall lead, and I will fllowr htl;
WIould'st thou my hieart's high good seculreS
Take It, nan moldl I to thy wnil."
She looked up qunicklly at Philip;l his eyes w-ere
bcout upon her wvith no expre~ssion which she had
never before Reen--eatrnest, questioning, pasJionat~ely
appefing:. 2 he loo~k thrrilled her, andl, before she
thought, before she reflected, upon the impulse of' the


moment, with a blush and smile of' divine swfeetness,
she p~lacedl the note in her bosom.
You pr~omise 9-ygou tak~e the whole r~esponsibil-
ity, then ?" he whispered with a f~lushing cheek-, and
turning away, he went out~ of the room, as if to con-
ceni the too turbulent rising of his soul into his eyes.
The itext time they met, it wRas not alone. She had
stolen into the boudoir with a book in her hand, and
eat in an easy-chair, apparently reading. But, she
could not see a word of the page befor-e her. Her
bosom was1 in a toumult, such as had before never
trloubled it. Doubt if Philip really meant wbant his
look and whisper led her to, infer; fear that he was
trailing with her as she bad seen him writh others;
doubt if she loved him; fear that, she ought not, if
.she did, doubt of' his goodness; fear of his follies;
but, above all-yes, the crested wave that r~ose high-
est of all tlint s~uging sea of feeling, and caught the
sunlight up~on its c~rown, was bope-tbat he love$
that he would prove himself worthy.~ Then ~came
another, rolling higher still; that~way bliss-an bliss
she could not, helpl, nor restrain, nor rea-son w-ith it
toozuld havre its sweeping wFay. Wh~lile she sat there
mnlte, inward~ly filled writh t~umultuous joy, dashedl a
little wFith uncri-tainty, a servat~.1 brloughy~t her a card.
Mr. Hnstinlgs!i"
She hardly paluse-d, fterl readling the mime, to wron-
der bowf he ca3me to b~e waiting ther her in t~he par~lor.
Now she shIouLld siee an'old friend! Now she should
bear fromiu home! W ith~ a thee radiant with pleasure
she hastened into the rooni. Philili has there, and
had been spreaking with him. His quick gilheet was


upon the strangaer as Elizabeth made her appearance,
and he detected the tremble of the lashes, very slight
through 1,t was, the r~ush of color to the thee, the sud-
dlen thr~ob of the breast. He e~i~t a penetrating"
glance, too, upon her countenance, which was radiant
wi~th 'pleasure--pleasure and nffectionate in terest cer-
tainlyl-he could ~not, decide if it wer~e more.
'"It is':enough to sihak~e the self-possession of any
mnianto be 'welcomed by such a creature as that,"
muttered Philip, under his breath. She was, indeed,
looking most beantiful. In her thee was a light
which made its pureo and delicate lineaments unusu-
ally lovely. The' rose which she had fastened on her
breast wFas notmniore fine and transparent in its tex-
tur~e than her fi*esh complexi-on.
She introduced her friend to Philip. There was a
alight reserve in her manner, which either of the
men might have taken as a- favorable augury- of her
interest in himself. Her cousin wondered whether
the unexpectfd appearance of t~he minister, or the
remembralae b'f'his ow~n word, causedl it. In. five
minutes he had made up, his kiiindl that ~111r. Hastingvs
loved Eipabeth; he k~newf it as well as the minister
himself-much better than thte object of ble passi<.>u.
'" How have you .chanced to be in the c~ity so tih-
exp'ectedll ?' You enid nothing oft coming, in your
last letter."'
"L Hn they' correspondl, hPen,"' remarked Philip,
8ntto vroce. r
The younDg pasitor told the trluth, but not the whole
trut~h. He said that, tak~ingr a sudden cold upon his
lungs, wfhich unfitted him foi- p~reaching, he had


obtained some one to supply his place for a Sabbath,
and had come down to the city, think~ingr a change
of air would clire.his tranlsient malady.
He did not, add, in the presence of a third person,
that, unable any.longer to endure the suspense which
was g~nawing at his heart, or to ,deny himself. 160
happiness of -seeing her face, and hearing her vgico
again, he had seiLzed upon the furat oplportunity.which
offered itself, to come and listen this fate frotln Miss
Ward's own lips. .. ,
.He found her apparently but little changed. Her
dress and manner~s were somewhat'more studied, in
accordance-with~ the soc~iety in which she ived. She
greeted himl~in thle old manner, and~ sat, by his side
while she ask~ed que-stions as fast as he could anlswer
themu, about hler, aunt, her old home,.the village, the
chur~ch, himsett, his health, lais labors%, his studies.
Philip excused himself,;and for a couple of horyl~ they
had an undisdturlbed.. eat upron tbo past. I~ t was~a
joyful time to Lizzie, whose trctionatey remembra!nce
clung to olld nasociations.. Twice or y he heart
of the minister almost overofloed. his hfsy, but. be
re~strained- himself f~or be, tooi,.bad been cognizant of
that subtle mnagnetism which wrnlned him t~hat in
Philip Yanderlyn was a rival,. He must wait and
'" Have you not discussedl your old home sufficiently
to permit usa nowf to bare in welcoming :our- friend TT"
said Blanebe, coming iilto the room with her bright-
est smile. .',
She, was in full dinner costump,, superbly at~tiredi,
and apeannlred fairly dlazzling-ta the country pastor.


Little Besale followed hber, and a little :before the
dinner ho~ur camel Mrs. Va.nderlyn. The family all
were afable !and graLt~ified Lizzie gxceedinPly by t2he
attention they bestowred upon MI~r. Hast~ings. Be
could not be otheirwise than graitef~ul; and, it may
be, that for a time his bet~ter- judgment was held in
abeyance -;he admired all he saw, without question-
ing its int~rinsic excellence.
They-would not allod him to return to his hotel,
sending fcor his carpet-bag, and assigning him a oop
in-the house. At dinner he tookl a single glass-of
wine with his hostess. Wines anid liquors were~in
profusion upon the board. Mlr. Yanderlyn. drank
fiteely, as usual, and his son followed his example,
though in a less degree. Even Blanche_ must Rip n
glass of sherry, to give a brighter witchery ro her
"Sp~eaking of Valentines, here is one which Ire-
ceived ;this morning,"' quoth rPhilip, as they still lin-
gered table, and were teasing Besale abput
hers. d
Thylanik being-sec with silken sails,
And manned by pleasure's Jolly ecegg,
Flew sw-ift before the spicy gales,
From y-outh'sAreadann lands that hlew.
But now, in mannhood's deeper seas,
It bufes writh life's rougher breeze-
Oh, may Itstill as solely ride
Aa when it-sk~immed gouthr'a spaddipJg tlde; r
A4n8 when its slllen sauls are furled,
Be h in some stilllinipler wotld."
"Lizzleivroteb tha~t. I caug~htheratit yesterday
ced B3gesi~e..
WelL" rep~lied Lizzie, wirth a1 laugh, I have not
comrititted mnyelf' very far, have I f"


"Nho, it's entirely too non-committal," gr~owled
Mr1. Hastings looked around to see if there was any
meaning in the jesting.
Philip is so vain, he would like to have the, wifole
femlinine world1 at. his fee~t," sanid Blanche, hIvingr he'r
fingers upon the guest's arm, and drawing him away
to a picture upon the wall. Elizabeth kn~ew' Blaqnche
well enough to dliscover when she was trying to be
pa~rt~icnlarlly fascinating;'and was surprised. that she
should give herself so much trouble to entertain MrI.
Hastingas. But she, like? her brothers, lik-ed to flatter
her insatiate selflove, L~y continual cojnquesta; and
there wras something new in trying. her powerls upon
a quiet, reflective young minister.
MIr. Hastimgs was not handsome; scarcely good-
looking, though his thee impr~essetd you ats a fine one.
His forn~al short, with ~broad 'sho~ulder~s, and his
head manssive. H~is brow was pur~e as a c~hildbs, yet
expr'essive of solid intellect; his eyes were a very
darki blue, lighted- deeply froim withib a spfir~i~t-
unl glow. He was a man most deserving of a love
like Elizabet~h's; and. why she had not thought. of it
long ago is a mystery. A Jove lik~e bb, rightly ap-
preciated ond returned, must confer upon a womanl
the hiighest happiness permitted in this imperfect
world. But it seems that life is full of perversities,
and all its aimsl aire at c~ross-purp)oses.' If Mlr. Hnat-
ings had spoken, as he would have! done had not too
much reverrlence and self distrust pirevented, before his-
young parishioner went out into the world and ide-
came enamored of one of its brilliant children, no


doubt he would have been successful, and we had
not had so njuch reason to doubt the wiisdom~of
Elizabeth's 'choice.
Thart evening he could only worship his star fr~om
afar.: Visitors wer~e in;- music, wrhist-playing, gay
repar~tee filled up the hours, until he sought his pil-
low 'to dreaml of what be should say npon the mor-
Blanche anl Bessio were running up the stairs, and
Lizzie :ibout to follow them, when Philip enught her
by the hand- and drew her back into t~he dese~rted par-
lo.: -He held her ball so tight that it pained her.
'" I' ant to know, this very night, Lizzie, if you
love MLr. Hastings."
"L Love him ?" queried she-the thought bad -not
conie to' her befo~re.
Yes! Y ou must decide, for his sake and mine.
One thing* is certain--he loves you, ferrvently, with
his ivbole soul. Newp answfer, do you return 1 is
love ?"
Why do you question me thus, Philip ? What
right haie you to declare that be loves me'when he
bus never brelt~hed such a thing ? HBe would hardly
like it."
"L I kinowf it. But it is impossible to blind the eyes
of a rival-a~nd I aml his rival, Lizzie. I tell you be
loves you, and he w~ill tell you so hlimself the first op,-
p'ortunity. Having saidl as much as I did to yo~u this
morning, I shall finish my declaration, that you may
know your true position before he sp~iaks. I love
yoil, L~izzi I never kInew how deeply until to-day.
Whiat';do you say, dar~ling? "


S5he walk'mithing.~a Brow and cheeks were crizq~-
~onoi; -she ans af\*aid to lift; her eyes, lest he should
see the happiness that was lighting thein.
"' You haire wron- me fairlyjimd comupletely by .f~ur
goodness, your purity, your-ignora~nce oft ~f~ahion-
able faultewlmd sins. It is-my better balf that loves
you. I am filled wci'th shame andc regret for nriy frivol-
ities; I desire to become more worthy of yrou; I wish
that I had had as sacred influences 'sulrrounding tny
childhood as blessed yours. T am sick of the life l lea~d.
If you will, yoil can make a good mann ofmze. W~ith-
out you I ball be w~or;P thou reveri. Speak, Eizzie!i"
"L I` believe I love you, Philip."
". Dear Elizabeth!i"
"' But I know not if I do 'right in sayinga it. I
love you against my best judgment. You have ways
that do not please me, and I do not have perfect con-
fidenc~e in your sincerity, wvithout-w~hich there~ is no
hap~piness. Whby did y.ou try so halrd to win Bessie's
pure heart ?"'
"' Bless ylou,.Lizzie, she told me all about her en-
gagemen't, writh the prettiest simplicity, the Arst
evening. I kinewa she was sanfe--and-nnd-I. was
trying to s~ee if I could provoke you into caring any
thingr for me."
"' Indeed !"-her face growing happier all1 theo time.
"LTrue! unmanlyns it may~iae.been.- I could
not help it."
"L Well, that seemed. to me- the worse, thing I ever
uset in you,"bicause so unprincipledl. But youa have~
habits that I. do not lik~e, and ~ou do0 youlrself injus-
tice all the time. I could not bare liked yo a;ail' al


Irad I not discovered the generosity, humanity, learn-
ing, and common sense, which you .take somuch
plenasre -in -puttingr out of sight-dressing them up
in-thea.,cap.nan bells."
": You shall,herish allmy.good. qualities~; rootocut
a~lzly bad.o4nes."
Where is there a woman who is. not mllade happy by
thinking that her love has power to win~a~rman fr~om
evilY. It.Las.. tempted many a young incur
dangerous risks. Elizabeth looked up at him with
eyes eloquent of love.
?L When you are mry wcife I shall try to be all you
He spoke the words v~ery tenderly. She shook her
drooping head, though her cheeks glow~ed roseate
through her: curls.
'LlI do not promise to, Philip, util I see
that you are changed in some respects. But I love
you----ove you l"--and sliding from his arms, which
would have held her, she gave him one bright glance,
And flew from the room. ..
And so. the journey, .npon which hung the most
important errand of M~r. Hastings' life, was an.unsuo-
cessful one. He.dlid not need to be told -this by Eliz-
abeth; he saw it, nil; the. liappy,. triumphnt face of
P~hilip, the timid yet joyful mannoei* of -the-young
girl; the interobanged smiles, t.he stolen whispers.
He wass- aware,.too,,of a restraint in her manner to-
ward himself, and attributed it to the true cause. He
shortened his visit., remaining only three; days, during
which time he studied the character of y-oung Van-
derl~a closely. He was incapable of wishling to do


h~im injnstice because be was a successful rival; on
the contrary it pained him to discover any thing un-
w'orthy of his r~espect, or of the esteem of the wo-
man he loved. The outwarld beauty, which is always
more or less effective izi winning.-approbatioff, had
but little power over him-bhe looked straiJght through
at, the principle of the man--t.he motives which'influ-
enced his actions; be undercurrent of~bravery
and geureoorts sentiment, a courage of c~haracter, that
acting upon the outside in the levity of foppishness,
was capable, when called into act-ion, of exercising
resistance to evil, and d rig the eneers~ of the world
in a good cause. Therle was nothing disholiest, or
penurious about the young physician; his heart, wRa
as hardy as ano oak tree, which, outwardly, le thuci-
f'ully bedeck~ed wit~h climblling r~oses and purple grapes.
So Mlr.. Hasting's took courage to hope- that all would
be well.
-His own heart was heavy, as if dead in his bosom.
It was bnly with a mighty struggle that he gave up
the hope which had filled his future with unspeakable
splendor. It was a long time before Elizabeth could
s~h~ke off the-baunting memory orbhis parting glance,
troubled to itsR inmuost~depthe, love struggling against
the will which skept it back.
'L Farewell, Elizabeth. Remember that I pray al-
ways for your welibre-your best good. Be true to
yo0urself, be good, be~ happy. No one deserves hap-
piness more than you. G~od bless you.'


Breakfast setts, dinner setts, ten sertt of gold--
Sweet 11Lile finnined thin's to hold
Mustard, eggs~, salt. celery, sauce hot and cold--
Borhemijan crystlI, worth prices untold--
Porcelain modern andi porcelain old-
A tea-kett le also, of, pure, solid gold,
For making ten in the geben:
Birbyr sertta, diamond sertfts) earls in great strings,
Ear-bobsr and nerkcklac, brooches and rings,
Jewels the brightest tht- orieto brings,
Basikers and trinketsl and eyquilsite things,
To entangle the souls of the rich ia.
Tme first of June wras set for Elizabeth's wedlding-
day. Loving Philip us she did, she could no:t refuse
to consenot to an early marriage. She had meant to
keep him waiting, as she at firt threatened; but that
very audacityB of his, which had givoen a malnly air
even to his vanity, bbre all opposition before it, nod
her will had given way in this, as in mnany other
The household were charmed wfith the prospect of
a. marriage and its attendant bustle and gay~ety. Mrs.
Vanderlyn liked the mateb, which is saying a great
d~eal for Elizabeth. MDothera who have sons, be they
handsome or homely, gifted or stupid, are apt to
think thlere is no living viomen quiteagoodl enough for
them. She liked Lizie, her ways, her pesonalap-
pearance, hier good sense. Philip was suc:h a By-


away himself she thought a girl of as much dignity
as Lizzie woulld keep himn in bounds. If she was not
very wealthy, sbe hadl enough for pocket-money; the
Wards were an excellout Exmily, related to her own~.
Mr. Va~nderlyn had no pbjections either; he hoped
Philip's bills would be smaller and his industry
greater, when be got a nice wife, never known to do
an extravagant thing.
BIlanche was in her element. The preparations af-
forded~ just the kind of' excitement she lik~ed; and after
the marriage was the promise of a long season of
change and gayety. Herpotlier, herself and Philip
arranged Bil the details itahe br~ide-elect was indiifer
ent to them--except that she confessed to beings an-
noyed at the prospect of so much display. Philip,
orn the contra1ry, was fond of fine EreCts, luxurious
festivities and costly dlress. He nas resolved that
the beauty of his' chosen-one shouldl be higoht~ened by
every elegant surrounding. Elizabeth yielded to su-
perior numbers. She did not care how they arranged
thingEF, Only. that they would give herl some- pened
andl quiet, of her life---hic~h Blanche declared was
..All t~he thoughttidness and depth of Elizabeth's
character ans aroused by the nearness of an event of
such importance. S~he would fain bnve got awdy,
from the silk; and ribbon, Ince and frippery which ptu'
sued her everywhere, and found leisui-e for careful
meditation upon the new duties opening before her.
She wannted, too, hours of allence, in which to.realize
the strange joy which p~ervaded her heart, and to so-
custom herself to-thoughts of the new position she

'rn anodUBSEAU.; 88

was to occupy. Earnest~ly she asked of .heaven,.
ktrengt~h to hear her happinesss meekly, wisdom 'to
use her influence rightly; but it was only late at
night, whecn thec hurry of the day was over, and
Blanche's busy tongue was silent in eleep, that she
tbund the rep~ose which she needed.
Elizabet~h- had quite a sum of money which had ne-
emu~Ila~ted out of' hEr income, before she elnm to New
York, .and which she could devote to her t6roiu~ssau
without interenhing upon the principal. She- had a
valuable set of pearls *which had belonged to herl
mother; -and sbe did not~purppse- purebasing any jew-
elry9. Indeed, ther~ewas little need. Philip~a xIne la-
ish of his gift~s. Ahnd every one of their wealthy rel-
ativecs gave in proportion to the splendor of the occa-
sion. If Elizabecth had been a poor bride, marrying
only a rising young man," the pr~esents would have
been none too costly; but now,.there was' a riv~alryS
of ostentat~ions gifts.
SBlanche was vexed because Lizzie would not con-
somne half her property in preparing her dresses; and-
finding she couldl not persuade her into the purchase
of an elaborate pattern of Honiton flounces and vail,
she brought Philip's influence to bear.
I'- would wiish my Elizabeth to look lovelier upon
that occasion than upon siny other of her life; and
not only lovely, but queenly. I would have nothing
but the most exquisite fabrics to adorn her beauty.
Ydu.-knowf II am very fastidious, my darling."
Tbht "' miy Elizabeth" melted her resolve, and the
ifetis hundred dollarcl ~doi-th of:.lace for the :bridal-
robe was ordered. And having begun by yielding,


she found that the wrish to please the man she loved,
or the fear of offending his fastidious taslte, intduenced.
mo01re and m~ore f-equent.1y against the principle of
action she: had manrkedi out for herself.
It. was sur~prisinga what an amount of fatigue
Blanc~he could3 endure in a cause like this whiebh now
interested her. Her private apar~tments wer~e~fidl of
sea m ur esses, and the fur1nit ure was draped and loaded
down wfith every tint and tissue of the innlumerable
dellente and expensive articles which go to make uip
a trou~cssau. As she was to be bridesmaid, she ha'd
about as much to do for (hpelrslf' as for Lizzie; who,
p'oor' child, was dragged out up~on shopping exrpedi-
tions, and kept standing to have .new~ dresses fited,.
until she was, nearly ready-to elope and be married
by some country squire.
"If they would only~have allowed me' to go bomes
to nont Faithful, and be married there, in.quiet, how
mulch happier I should feel about it. It seems as if
all the sacredness of the time was buried up in trifles..
I long to be out of this atmlosphe~e--it oppresses me..
I pine for.the repose of my aunt Faithfill's cottage
So Elizabeth often whispered to herself while all
the time she was riveting the.gilded chains tighter,
windingr them aromid everyv noble aspiration, and,
narrowing down her soul to the compass of' a tlounced.
silk or 's lace berthe.
M~rs. Vanderlyn interested herself- in choosing
guests,- arranging rooms. and tables, the wedding
breakfast, and geolnleral e ects. She .prided herself
upon her entertainments.


The first of June arose, cahn, sunny, promising.
With the- first red ray of the; sun, Eizibeth glided
frocm bec couch, and throwing awhite:,wrapper abou't
her form, sat by-the open casement, to gather cour-
age during the quiet hour, for the important events
of t~he day. The small garden lay beneath her win-
dowi sweet with early roses and glittering with! dew.
A wild longing possessed 'ber bear~t to be out in the
open fields, gatherihg a simple garland of wild-flow-
ers to ador~n her br~ow for the marriage sacrament.
In that peaceful hour, the birth of another morning,
wvhenaiGod seemed visibly presentin the east in the mir-
ne~le of creation, overwhelmed by a sense of the rela-
tionshipabhe was about to take upon herself, she blained
herself -ftjr the fr:ivolous routine into which she had
allowed herself to be drawfn. She safw that instead
of opposing her moral dignity and sense of~ duty to
thbe light wi-shes of her friends, and especially of him
whose welfare wa~s, in-a measure, in-her keeping, abe
had yielded-one stand-point after another. She had
not been true either to her best self or~th'e best self
of her lover. She bad~promised herself to excite his
conscientiousness, his nobler ambitions; agd to hold
in cheek the -rushing wheels of dissippticon, that,
loaded.ns abo car might be w-ith flowers, was wear-
ing out the solid foundations of: his characters. All
about-her was-vanity, She was lost and- perplexed
in 0, maze of frippery. Life seemed to have no prur-
pose' higher than dressing,~ and being dthtteredl.. A
wedding wasL meaizeBI gotteri up for he display af
fanty goodser -. -. :' i -
She yearned for asunt' Faithful's -bolnely-advide, for


the fervent blessing of her- minister, for the freedom
of her old if'e..i One breath of country air, blowing
he~at her casement, would have been sweseter. a~t.t~bat
moment than any incense of-praise-which could ~have
been offered.
"-Ob,'my mother," she cried at last, with A sud-
dlen*-burst of teare,."whmere art thou? Bend-down
from the heaven that -bolds thee so-far. a~way.froth
mue, and press my head a moment to thy tender-bo-
sojm. -Thou~r wer~t so different, from these--th~y life
was sGo.Imuch holier, so mich more truly lovely I
Feel unwobrthy to be thy child. GUivelfe thesy blessing,
mother !"
Her fair f'ace,-wet with tears, was uptunmed, and
her blinds -stretc~hed forlt~h- imploringly. W~hen heY-
prayer watserided, she bowed her head, like a weary
child;:upon the window-sill, and wept quietly, until
be~ibrasdt was relieved of its eight.
What! in teatrs upon your .bridal-morn ?" ex-
clairied' Blanche, entering the cebamber, half an hour
later. -" Sea! her~e is the Inst gif't of your af~ianced
--t~he- weddling bouquet. He just knocked
door .and left it for you. He the florist,'s
himself to see it made- up. Is it not: magnificent ?"
Quickly Elizabeth s prung to her-feet,.while- te
warm color r~ushedt to her-bosem and~brow. It. was
her wedding-morn Phlipii was up, and-thinking; of
it., had been out and-anrrangedl thoserprire white sym-
bols. Every drop of bloodllin her.;body tbriuelle t'
the sight of them. Silent~ly she ,tdok-st~bem lhissed
then, and put them in a-vdie of fl-esh water.-
- on do not say ifltydit lik~estheng~ Lizzie." e

wcas cmen~antn v .

"( Bees it need w~ords ?"..a~nswered-she, with a glew-
ing smile. -:
The~hourllrrived~i and Philip: saw only~the shyp,.sofb
glance. 0f hie- brides .eyes and the flutter~ing of h~er
bealrt, as~ehe cazme to his side. At that.moment he
was indid'erent to the effect of her JHoniton vai~l, to
the splendorr of the bridesmaid,- the imposing alway
of' the bridal palrty, or the critical glances of-his
"cdeardivie hundred( friends." .
B-~is mother* assured him,-afterwfard, that she~bad
Ileveri tnessed-a :ceremony mor~e-graceful-and cem-
plete iulail its~ appointments.
Bhtnche had eyes for the discontent, with which
her unmarried ladygfi-idnds.were forced to admire the
profuse dlicplayp of beautiful presents, and her owno
impor~tance as brideemaid. Sh6 loi~ed toprovoke.the
envy of' her associates.
The breakfast was all that could be expected, even
at MrLs. Vanderlyn's, who moved about :is hostess,
well pleasse d wth herself, her son, her daughter-in-law,
It had been deranged that two couple of particu-
lar friends, including Blanche and the 'groome~an,
should accomgpny them upon..the round of exc~ur-
sions -which wore -expected to occupy most of the
. .Th ree hor~s~after t~he-ceremon y, the-traveling .par-t
were'on their w~ay-t~o the south.- They were to spend
a-month-in Fisiting some beautiful .portions of .Yir-
~i~dinerwhere they had friends.;, aeturn to the-sea-siide,
from thencei-in--August, to-the-~hite mountains, and
from therepfgortodtit~chville, .making stint $'dthful a
slhort viitae-thader i87~i haeldatown ..


Th3is pro0gramme of change and excitement was de-
lightfill to Blanche. She was constantly seeing new
faces~making, or trying to mnake, new admirer~s, w~ear-
ing new dr~esses. She lived in a sort of rarified at-
mosphere of' pleasure.. Every one was anxious to do
something to please her. The days were but
rounds of enjoyment; the only study,. how to be
Even Elizabeth forgot that life.wis any thing but
a dream of love and idleness. Happy in Philip's so-
ciety, blessed by his tender attentions, surrounded!.by;
summer warmth and delight, she felt~like murmuring
with the Lotus-eaters:
"Pi'opt in bi~ds of ammannth anti moly,
Hiow sw~eeL(.while warm ahrs lul1l us, blowing lowfly,) .. *
With half-dropt 6yelids stil,
'B'e'nearth' a heaven dark and holy,
To watcht the long, bright river drawing slowly
His waters from the purplel hill--
To hear th~e de~Si echoes calling
F~r om ave tro enve through the thick-twist~edlvine---
To! hear the emerald-colored waters falling ,
Tlirough many a woveconacanthus-wreath divine!
Only to hear arid see t he far-orT sparkli ng brine,
OPly to bedr were sweet, st retced out beneath the pine,
Let us sWear an oath, and keep it, with an equa'l mind,
In thellollow Lotus-land to live aind 11e reelinedi
On,t~he hills. 114ce gods~ogerbeir, careless of mankind."
It was nearly the first. of September before the
bridal party reached Fitebville, and were welcomed
by good aunt Faithful, in her .best musflin enli with
the futed border, anddthe tears dimmning her flue~ old
eyes. She loved Elizabeth as a child, and wniebed
her joy of her new life with a-trembling ernmestness
which contrasted well with the .elegant.compiment~s
which-had been lavtished-uport her of late. Lizzie's


own cheeks were wet with tears as she introduced.
Philip to her aunt.;
Appr'eciating the character of the old lady, he put
asktle all .unnecessney display, and w~ith true high-
blree~ding, kissed her cb-he rev;erently, and received
her blessing solemnly as she gazve it.
The gny young people of the piart~y looked on wcith
enriiosiity: the whole aflhir was different from any
thing which had transpired within their city observa-
tion. They saw nothing, bowfever,.but- what they,
careless no thbey wer~e, couldrep~yectt gnd admire.
Aunt Fanithfhl was quaint, and her house and boune-
keeping were quaint, bu't right refreshing they atll.
seemed, upon that~sultry afternoon, during whiich~ her
visitors arrived.
The cottage was low, but large, -and .so obeltered
by trees, imd so blown upon by a cool-breeze from
the mountains, that it was more desirable by far than
the crowded chambers of a watering-pinee.-- She had
met them upon the porch, and nost conducted them
into the parlor, whose muslin curtains were.tied back
with blue ribbone, and whose atmosphere wasn deli-
clous with the breath of the honeyouckles-at the win-
dows. Bouquets of flowers, among which were the
homely china-asters and everlastings of her garden,
with pinks, flox and verbnenas; were arranged in, the
old-fashioned vases upon the mantel. A.l carpet of
her ofn manufacture, almost as fine as boughtenen,"!
covered the-loor,.atnd the dark, solid mahogany furni-
ture a~nd -lowceiling made the room refreshingly dinw
upon that glaring~day.
Au~nt Fai'thful was a widow, and her only son who


away upon the sea. She lived alone, withl_the excep-
tion of a couple, a man and his wife, who attended
to the overseeing of her work.
There never was-a neater misti~cess of a hlousehold
than nunt Faithful; she was w'hat her Puritan thth-
ers w-ould have entled a notable woman. Elizab~et~h
could not remainl long in the parlor. She just paused
to throw off her t'raveling mantle, and was out into
the large dining-room the other side of the hlall,
back intot~he kitchen to shake hands with 31l~nrgaet,
out into the yard, hot ns t~he sun was, dar~ting~ dither
and thither, wild -al the humnming-birds that, ;flewf
about thle ho~neysuckes.
After h. time Philip went in seareb of rer.
Oh, I think; it is so declightfitl here, so much bet- than aniy other place I ever was in.-- It is haunted
with sweet memories.for-me. Oh, Philip, I wish we
were' going to live here forever !"
Philip smiled at the enthusiasm-of- his young wife.
"L Thris is just the place to have raised a pure wild
flower, lie -the one I have gathered to wear in my
bosom," he said.
Wha'~t a pleasant ten was that which was partaken
of 'that evening. A long portico ran around two
sides of the dining-room. The doors and windows
were all open; the cool, green trees stood silently
outside; and straight out of t~he golden heart. of the
sunset, a western breeze blew lightly, just quivering
their leaves. There was no carpet upon therfloor,
which was white as the wood could -be made, and
waxsed. The table was spread with ancient china,
with patterns of bright-colored birds andl flowers


upon its white surface. The~silver teaqbings over
whichl the hostess presided were still more antique--
they had been brought fi-om England by her
fo~refathers, two centuries plrevious.- The fareb might
bove~ pleased an Ep~iourean.
Therle wasi only one guest fi-om the village, nod
as no New-Euglandl ~fetivity- is complete without
thle muinisiter, of course it was hIe. Mlr. Hast-
ings came at the--ppointed .bou1r. He grleeted
the bridle with earnest kindness; his manner -was
quiet and, composed. After .be had interebhanged
greetings with- all.and wa~s peated in conversations
Eizabeth saw that his toee ans a little thinner than
when she met him last, and his brow ered1 morea
thoughtfill. There wa3s nothing melanchotprin-his de-
meanor; his talk was dlelight~fid; he inspired respect
while be c~heck~ed nothing of the liatural gay;ety of a-
party of young pleasiure-seekers. Everybody liked
him. -Blanche- contrive'd to get by his side at -the
table. She was ready to renew her fhttter~ing at
So ready,, that the next mornifig, when hber escort.
was prepar~ing to go on to the city, she begged per-
mission of dear aunt Faithful to allow her to remain
as long as Phiilip and Lizzie did. The newf-married
pair', to p~lease'the wife, had resolved to spend several
weeks in her native village. B3lanebe was so charmed
with every thing there, so fresh, so pure, such a place
for ruambles and rides, she wanted to stay.
Blanche was trunly delighted with this aspect of
rur~al. liffr at this pleasant season of the ypear, andl
would probably have sanyed had thier~e been no hir.


Hasitings infie village; but she certainly pr~omised
herself a mor~e piquant enjoymlent upon that. account.
To-morrowf-whlo shall tell wPhat it will bringo
forth Blanche, youg, rivac~ious, beautiful-Blanchei
said~ in her heart that. to-morrow should bring her
freshl stor~es of pleasure and pr~aise.
WVhen they had b~een at.;Fitchville about a wFeekh, a
riding party was made up. Blanche rode by An~r.
Hsatings' side; her ey'e was bright with bealt~h, her
cheeki blooming with exercise, darkl plumes waved
above a face of glowing beauty; her laughter rung
silver~y clear; h~er form, er~ect, full, queenly, seemed
exultant wpith its own loveliness.
Suddlenly, as shle bent t.o say some gentle wor~d,
careleuss.#her hold upon the rein, looking into the
minister's face.w\ith an arch glance, a paper which
had been- caught up fi-ou t~he r~oadsiid by the windl,
came flutteringr down before her horse's eyes; he
plunged fiercely to one side, and his rider was thrown
heavily to the hard ground. The concussion w~as
terrible, and the alarmed attendants reached her, to
find w\hat to them seemed butr a dead body..


"Bweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, 11ke t.he toad, ugly arid venomons,
Wears yet e. preolonsJewel in its head."

Ala. and Mrs. Va~nderlyin were telegra ied to, and
received th e fearfid newsd in time to tak i~e night
traij out. WVhen they reaelyed the bedaiddiyf their
child, in the ngr.ay da of the next mornitagf~ihe had
not jet given token of consciousness, although she
still breathed. They had brought their fainily physi-i
cian wTith theml. It was as if Death stood iri'whitin~
at the portals, while they waited for nearly' an .hony-
for striaggling nature t.o sinkr or rise. The d6ctate8
wer~e doing what they could. The another -hras
obliged to repress her shrieks, the father his bitter
groansa; all hung pale nod shivering as witih- cold,
upon the iluttering breath now drawn wfith a mor~e
distinct effort.
At length she opened her eyes abd- lo'oked slowly
from face to ~face; she inade an effort to stir, \vben
her breath was cut suddenly off with a spasmL; her
eyes closed, a deathly pallor came over berr.ace, she
wn~ais~ dyng
"LLObEod,'be mercit'ul !" Bxclainied-:tunt Faithful.
i'Mrs.'Vanderly~n gavre a wild. so5~ in An fell into
the trem'blng slinis of her husbana. At this intstait


Philip sihook; off the clinging band of his wife and
sp'uprun forward with his pen-knlife in his hand; tear-
ing away the cover'ling firom the swollen, empurpled
wound, he struck thbe sabrp point, several times into
it., the others lookinga on as if they thought him mad;
but blood tlowed freely fri-ci -the deep cuts, and r~e-
lieved t~he excruciating pain a little, that~had snatched
away the breath of the Wuferer.
Powerful restoratives were addc to aroute her fromu
her sinking plate; "fojr a wile rlife fluttered ito and fro,
and hope~j~lared and waned in the breasts.of her
friends, like the flame of an expiringlamp. Presently
the med;ical attendants allow ed themselves to confirm
this bo~'pj~ghe w~as be:tte,.and might rally. By night
they announced that her symmptoms were favorable;
carefid:-nading might.raise her, if she had the~consti-
tution t'o` Ijear .long pain and. confinement; but, she
would not leave her bed for weeks, if for months, and
her health would probably always be impaired. .
This was distressing: tidings;. misch better
than t.hey had.nt one time expected, that her friends
received it wi~th heartf'elt gratitude. Toethe skill imd
untiring watchfidness of Philip, who remained.by1 @[*
bed, noting her symptoms and Ireporting them to the
elder physician, the.:gentle, patient znursing of
Elizabeth, Blanc aowedl hJerlif. Hour after.hour,
day after day, the twp~ remained with her, taking~just,
rest e-lqugoh to~keep their~ strength from failing. At,
the end of ten dayZ the parents r~eturned home.
Wi~th her ineflicieney and restlessness,~ Mrs. Va~ndcer-
lyi~was only'~a hindrance; here daughter, whobwas
holer permitted tosnhisper a fet.sen~telices at~s time,

col\YAL~EscENlcE. 95

4er~elf' urg'ed hei* to go, knowiing how irkesome con-
finement, dark rooms,' bushiedvroices~ were-to!-her
mother.' ~TIf Blache should have a relapse she: could
be sumrnoned in less than a day. So she very gladly
c~oncluded to ittur~n, thought she w~ept freely, upon
par'ting withi bor unhappy child, and dec~lared .over
and over again to' idl, that nothing which had ever
happened to her had soi completely prostr~atedl her as
this terrible blowf. ~She did not think; she could ever
be gay again a single instant, even. if hier daughter
.Alfter shelariried home, she took- to her rooni, sit-
ting in an elegant dresssin:g-gdwr in~ her easy-oba'u~,
with lier vixiaigret~te in ldie bli 4 rleceivitig 'calls of:
condolence, and sweeping over the messages which,
were sent -once or twice a day,' fliithifhily reporting:
the c edition of the $utfrler.
Selikhness had b.een supreme wit~h her sio long.tbat
she was3 helpless to aid' or comfort others; all- the
consolation she had was lu thle synipathy which w~as
expressed for her owis re~at .trouble in being so af-
flicted. For her husband, harassed. by business as
well as by) this calamity, she hjld not a soothing word.
W~hen he came home of' an evening, it was to find
her exhausted by a day of tribulation, r~eady to give
up, nervous, siickl;. ]\1-. Vanderly~n felt the blow as one of' his temperament could".; all the
heart.he h~ad-was set tipon hiis beautiful daughter, as
be looked around upon the magnificence whieb he
badja,quired, he 'e~lt that he could give it all up~for
the. assurance that' she wou~ld'be restored to her for-
mer health and loveliness.


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hkiztewh nztothing better thap their Hese
af~f~bdordedo it, and I encoourage him. in it...
odh~Iil i Stlcome soodli andi see howv; charm ingzlyaw
live: Myrb~ioyis oo,l can no~t:wnoit ilong for his narge..
He is a Aplend~id'little-f'ellow,- my~ti frivalssy.' Blanche
niak~es ibe greatestipeb-of hinf. -&.~elieve she thinks
he ir7'as much, hers as thiie.- Shells now- entirely iwell,
at least. we> bope seo,, and much mrore h eut~if.ul tilhani
ever. WhyJ:do yoix not choose he~r-for a -w~iifeP,-Shle
will make a magnificent wifeb. for yous!--but she
would bhi-dly for~giv~e-me .if she.knew,~ that:L.La~d said
do.--l:kInow- of noicouple so won~tit oli:eah _oter;i
and although notugiven to match-makin~g dbeliev;eJ
whizl do :81 in my pow~r. to bring, about thisp one."
If Elizabeth could bare seen the-manner in wi~lich the
minister dropped hieshe rpon :his hpud~in a-tradden
h jppy dream of future, lossibili ti ea, 41el w~voul .have
been satisfied with the result. of h~is-readi~ng; of her
he christening a~tie pedrormed wi\~thlput~u neiledle
delay, and ~it is expected that-a weddcing w~ill phytty .
followsi. e. .
' tA-queer. match for Blanche. Vanderlyn,"l
the probable remarkb of her-~fashionable acquaintanpe;
but,.she~does not.considrer. tbeiryepinion- of -sue a ital
imaportance as she once did.. .She.~will.mai S~ary a signn
for ~thelgloy.e she- bea~s him, and wil lov E~~cm ftor
tbo .ph~ieti is most worthy of her affection,

Ibeaid.1e's Din~i NTovels, No. GO,
W Iill be aisiiving roian~an of love anii inti~n IHe tImesa wick tried ndin's d fi~s,'
by one of our mee admired iorit~er qf kidorical~fictin, dia..


iP Tale of the Ramazio in 1779.
BY N. J.` IRtO.N.
Afristoin o% Two Gw~Pns," GlODOLD THE QPT,"' iTna Donal.e Elisso," a~a.
MYr. Iron has here seized upon the well-known existence of the
Brigands of the Ramapo Brotherhood to present the render with 's
most interesting and spirited story, introducing, as his active chaiihe-
ters, several tried soldiers of the Revolution. A leading eat'ure of the
romance ise the female element, which plays a peculiar part in a most
absorbing drama. The story is timely and will prove a favorite.
S old by allNewedealers. PrielNce *Efmrs. Sent, post-p aidt o aby
address, on receipt of price.
Beadle's Ilime Base-Ball Plae*
FOR 1868, Eton, Eto.
eR-aiF1o, illustrated. For sale by-newedealers generally. Or,
sent jidaltiad, obn receipit of p~rice, te'n~cen~~
BEAbLE 'AND CO'MPANY, 'General Dime Book P~ub~lis'hers,
118-~ILY 8& ST T~J, iew York.
Entered accordinL to Act of Congrees, in the Year 1864,
by B~asna Awo CoxIPb~x. In Le Olark's Oilce -of the District Conrt of the inlitiid
*States for the Southern District of New Yorkr.

8 b-~ol 3felodiet,.' Spatr 14i' ,2 : Sn Bos ostt 4
Letter-Writer, 1. Almerican 8eaker. :Sojngs ofrhbo Olden Time,
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Dress-Maker 1'.4. Comic Speaker. 4..napsack Songstler,
FamllyPhysician, -Dialogues, No's 1 & 2 Drill-Book,
Book(.af Eriquette, Chess Instrutor, Bo~k of Dreadihs,
Book of~ersee,. Bpo oF: Cricket, Book of' Fun, No's 1 &t s.
Melodiet, Baise-Ball.Plaijer, (for '6. uide to Swimming,
The Newf National TPax Law, Pitlsborg Canding, Dime Tales, Nos. 1 to 0.

4--ALI1li WILDBi. 8-TB% 4WHO3d~INGEMAN. "
8--SiTII JONES. -~ 49L-TH1E KlFNO'82MAIN..
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11& MAUM GUINBA.:20#) cemte;:-.~ 67-INDIAN;J-.TI31 'k:
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No. 2--BDnAOKBMITH O F AlfYTIVERP. No; 4--TEE LOYAIST.( ., .:.-,,--
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