University of South Carolina Libraries
WABtnatt i$n lewis m. grist, Proprietor, j Jnkpetitifitf Jfantilg Ittfospaptr: Jfor % Ijrontotion cf ^ofilital, JJorial, ^griralfaral aab (fatmraial |ittotsls irf % jJonljj. fERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, Ef ADYMCE. VOL. 17. - YOEZVILLE, S. C., THUE8DAY, ^TJGYJST 31, 1871. NO. 35. ?1 - ?r>A _ I -a?:_o ;f tVio*fl arft nhildaaa in the Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. ?BS$XHZ. A TALE OF BEFORE THE WAR. BY ALICE ARNOLD. i < CHAPTER III. | The children were now very much thrown upon each other for society and amusement, ; and it is astonishing what resources they de- i veloped. Since leaving school Beatrix carried on her education by means of desultoiy * reading, but the style of literature that she , best loved was the drama. The girl would ; sit up sometimes late of nights studying Shak- , speare, Sheridan Knowles, Bulwer -and all , the other standard plfcy-writers, until the prac- ; tice coming to her toother's knowledge, Mrs. j Livingston curtailed the nightly alf^Jrance of ' ( candle, and the embryo tragedy aheih was j < obliged to discontinue her nocturnal studies. ] Then she took to rising very early aiid dress- ' i ing in the dark; and often, in the grey dawn, i might be seen poring over a well-thumbed and < dog-eared volume of Avon's immortal bard; , then a few minutes later walking softly up and down the floor, throwing herself into ev- j ery possible attitude and rehearsing in an bn- 1 der tone for Desdemotia or Miranda. Her j memory was'wonderful, and her lithe, active J figure executed all her parts with faultless grace. 1 Helen did not quite understand or sympa- j thize with her enthusiasm. She only knew t that it waa^omething which agitated Beatrix, 1 made hdr sleep badly of nights and look pale < next day, and that mamma did not like it) j but Rose fairly reverenced her pet sister's ge- J nius. Her great blue eyes would kindle and dilate with tenderness and admiration as Beat- f rix recited some fine passage with great em- ^ phasis and much graceful gesticulation before G her; and when it was ended she would clasp ? the speaker in her little arms and actually t weep with delighted emotion. ( For her own part, from the time that she j could first hold a pen, Rose delighted in com ? - - - ? <i ,i position. All the books in the house had the ( blank leaves torn out of them, and she eager- j ly appropriated all the white paper that came ? wrapping up packages of tea, &c., to serve for ? her manuscripts. When she had completed j any tale or poem, the miniature authoress would read it aloud to a select audiehce in the g garret, composed of Beatrix and Helen, and j not unxreqaently, Edgar; and receive, with \ graceful courtesy and heartfelt delight, the ] enthusiastic encomiums which they never fail- ^ ed to bestow upon her productions. As she t grew older, Rose became more chary of giving ] publicity to the aforesaid, but there were whole chests filled with MS. that accuraula- j ted every year.. j Helen was possesed of no brilliant talents ; \ but her unvaryingly sweet temper, her cease- ? less incfesfcry-and tirflextWo tu pi^u- ^ ciple, were sufficient to give her a prominent j rank in any household. s In this family there was need of somo sweet ^ spirit to fall like oil upon the troubled waters; j for after Mr. Livingston's return there was an j incessant jarring and heart-burning. When j not intoxicated, he was peevish and irritable to a degree that rendered it absolutely unbearable to remain in the same room with him, and ( his wife's temper suffered from the constant ] -A?-- *** ? UA- ?A?i??fta fiKn roaa fnrAu^r VlAlf?* Siruiu U?IUU lid J1CU VIW. UUU ||HVi.v*.v.y. ; ing, yet chafing inwardly at the ceaseless in* < justice and hardship of her life, and her once j soft and winning manner became harsh and i stern, even to the children. She was painfully j conscious of this, and therefore kept herself as t much as possible aloof from them. ] It was when Beatrix was fifteen that the t thunders which for three years had been mut- s tering, burst into a real storm. There was a theatre troop in L , and Beatrix went with i her music-master to attend the play. The next day she went secretly to the manager and ' stated her wishes; then sang and exhibited 1 before him. The result was that he consented * to receive her into the company, and Beatrix t went home with a new light in her eyes and her heart fluttering wildly. . ' That evening she briefly announced her in- c tention to the assembled family at home. \ Mrs. Livingston, on hearing it, grew very pale and uttered a little cry of horror and ' dismay ; but her husband was furious. He j broke out into a perfect hailstorm of invective, such as she had never heard him use before, 1 against the girl; and vowing to disown her 1 forever should she dare to put her design into i execution, ordered her to bed for the rest of 1 the evening. Without a word Beatrix obeyed, 1 but when Helen and Rose went up to their room, instead of being in bed, she was on her ] knees, clasping the leather straps 01 a irunK | j which she had just finished packing, and the ] expression of her countenance was very hard 1 and cold. Helen went up to her, and weep- : ing, implored her to desist from this false i step, to which Beatrix made no reply, only 1 kissing and putting her gently from her; but ] Rose threw her arms around her sister and 1 covering her lips with kisses, whispered, "Go, darling, go; make for yourself money and 1 fame, and compel the world to acknowledge ( your genius." &any a time afterward Rose thought with ( sorrow and affright upon those words; but 1 just'then her whole being was thrilling with j excitement, and the words had their effect, j1 The color came back to Beatrix' face, and her ; 1 earnest grey eyes glowed as she replied, "Yes, 11 love, and when my efforts are crowned with i success, and the whole world lies at my feet, I j ] will come back here and take Helen and you i away with me; and you petite, with your fine j ] talents and bright beauty, shall marry some i { foreign prince, rich enough ar d noble enough i to be a fit match for you." j i What a child's speech it was! And yet j' the speaker, in her cloudless confidence of the j1 future, almost believed what she predicted, j' After both Rose and Helen were asleep, i Beatrix sat up writing a letter to her mother, the pages of which were blotted with many a i tear ; and the next morning, before any of the ; household were astir, she was gone. She was traced to the troupe, whose j destination was, for the present, unknown ; j: and Mr. Livingston issued a solemn edict that! Beatrix' name should never more be men- ' tioned in the family. She was "a self-willed, | undutiful girl, with vagabond and degraded ! tastes," and he was "thankful that her perni cious influence was removed from her younger ! sisters." In truth, Mr. Livingston had never regard-1 ed his eldest daughter with anything like paternal affection. He could not forget her reception of him on that first night of his return; and in Beatrix'cold, quiet demeanor, he was always reading a contempt which, conscious of meriting, he constantly suspected farter tn the vouncrer children uci m V. J *~b ^ a with. In short, her departure was a relief to him. It was a great blow to his wife, however. She tried hard to bear up under it, and exerting herself to carry on the children's music, never alluded to her eldest daughter. Efut from that day, Helen, with the eye of affection, noted that many grey Hairs wefre added to those which already Streaked her mother's once beautiful tresses. Two years after Beatrix' departure there came, one day, through the mail, a package for Helen. It contained two beautiful India scarfs, marked respectively "Rose" and "Helen," and was accompanied by a short letter from their sister, the post mark of which was illegible. It bore no date and was yer? short ; Ditly a'few fines saying ttfat she was wefrfana 'getting on," and should, always remember i? rr.L.i u nn? jer tmrnugfci. au?l w?? w?uuwi^ whereabouts ; no enquiries as to whether she were forgiven at home or no. She did not s.ven mention her mother's name, and did not uk them to write her in replyv ; Helen cried very much over this missive, uod Rose,cried too; then immediately after- , ward indited a very tender,and touching little joem to the dear absentee, which more than xalf consoled herself. v Their lif;e was pretty,much the same, as it lad been since Beatrix left. They were very x)or, and had to economize strictly, actually o "keep the wolf from the door." l: The house lad grown to look very shabby and dilapilated; Edgar's , parents still occupied die ower floor, and Mr. Livingston was frequenty seen reeling about the streets. When Helen was seventeen, she, through he influence of Beatrix' qmmdom teache* who, good mam always felt that he was in lome way to blame for bis pupil's escapade, ind that he could not do too much toatone to he family for it,) got. some music scholars >ver whom she labored most assiduously, and javegreat satisfaction. ... A year later, as the two sisters were one lay sitting together in the parlor, Edgar came n for a morning call, ffis corfyefsation was ill about a corps dr&matique that hadtec'ehtly irrived in L , and were, that evening, to >erform a new play which had never appear:d on the boards before, and Edgar, having feen the hand-bills, Was extremely anxious to jo. As he was leaving, he suddenly recolected that he had a letter which he had ' * - - - r*M j jrdught from the post office lor rieien. me jirls instantly recognized the handwriting,' ind both their hearts fluttered excessively as 3elen tore it open. Within were two tickets for the play and a lote from Beatrix. She was too much occujied, she said, to see them during the day; )ut they must both go to the theatre that rrening, and-after the performance was over, at the back off' he stage, where they could enjoy each others' ociety without interruption, ss all the rest of he troupe would be at a grand supper in the jublic assembly room. She must go to relearsal now and had not time to write more; jut they must not fail to come. Rose clasped her hands in an ecstacy. "Oh! to see dearest Bee again !" she exjlaimed, "and on the stage, where she always onged to be." .- ?;i "Hush, dear," said Helen, rebukingly; 'and don't let your enthusiasm run away with rour reason. Bee is on the stage, it is true; Hit how cau we know what position she occu)ies there. For my part, I should not fancy ;he life even of a star, and though I do not enow much about it, I fee} pretty certain that he position of a stock-actress is by no means' >o genteel as that of most lady's maids." "But Helen/ Bee, with her wonderful gelius, could, not be an inferior actress." "Nonsense, child!" said practical Helen ; 'hundreds of geniuses die of want, all over ;he world, every year. They are obliged to iccept inferior positions in preference to Starvition, and?" "Oh! Helen," cried Rose, impetuously ; 'what a doleful picture you draw. Don't go '** oolro or?r? rintu 1 At. lis t.hinlf of fUy JLUl ' i/AVJ OUQ.V MU\A **v ?f p. . vhat we shall wear this evening." "What we shall wear I" echoed Helen. 'Why surely, Rosalie, you don't think of ;oing ?" "Not think of going!" reiterated Rose in ler turn. "Not think of going, when it is ;he only opportunity I shall have of seeing my darling sister, that I haven't looked at for five long years. I would go, if necessary, t-hrough a hail-storm." "I will find an opportunity for seeing Beatrix at her hotel," said Helen, quietly. "She must have some time to rest; and I can, most I probably, find out from Professor Schmidbeim J where she is stopping. I have no doubt that! she made her arrival known to him imniedi- J itely. It would not be proper for young girls, like us, to go behind the scenes, and it is mad' aess in Beatrix to propose it. Besides, who would take us ?" "Why Edgar, of course," said Rose, readiy. "Say what you will, Helen, I am bent jn going." "Then you will do very wrong," said Heljn. "A boy of Edgar's age is not sufficient protection, and?" But Rose was off like a sparkle. She J rushed down stairs to Edgar, showed him the j ickets and bound him over to secresy. The i ooy was charmed. He promised to be ready j it the appointed hour; and Rose flew back to | Helen. This last mentioned young lady was in great perturbation of mind. She foresaw that no , ;ood would come of Rose's projected excur- j siou, but knew also, that when la petite had made up her mind on any one point, there j was no gainsaying her. She would not speak of it to her mother, for fear it should reach j her father's ears, and cause one of those storms ! of which they all stood greatly in awe; therefore, with a very disapproving countenance, | 3he began quietly to assist Rose in fixing up j a well-worn white niuslin, which she purposed ; to wear. i i v.1 4. I Helen, a person 01 mucn souuu juugmeut, | and firm with most persons, was invariably ! yielding to Rose, who domineered, almost uii- J consciously, over every one about her. The | little lady tried hard to persuade her sister to ! go also, but in this she was not to be moved. | Seven o'clock came, and Rose stood before | her little mirror. She was, undeniably, lovely in her simple white dress with the rich India scarf thrown gracefully over her shoulders, her hair worn in its natural ringlets, and a n single moss-rose bud nestled amid their luxu- n riance. ti Edgar was already waiting for her at the h street door. Rose slipped noiselessly down tl the stair-case, and tlih two set off in high spir its. si Half an hour later they were seated in tne v street theatre, in themselves forming a fi very pretty and attractive picture; the boy's g< pale, pensive, foreign face, side by side with I his companin's bright, beautiful countenance, tl all aglow with expectation; and more than ti ^ne lorgnette was leveled at them. g As Jtbse eagerly scanned the play bill, she I experienced a keen sense of disappointment; for her sister's name was nowhere upon it. h The actresses mentioned were "Lucretia Clyde,", "Henrietta Wendell," and "Jane Al- si verly." "Beatrix Livingston" - did not appear. s< Rose was so lost in dismay and conjecture that she was not conscious of when the curtain c; renc?and wasp only failed to what was gding g on aroiad her, by ^Edgar's Jtther malapropos applanaC ;of two pages, all dressed up in span- & gles and lice, who came in for the first scene. . Although this was the first time within her g recollection that she had ever been inside of a theatre, the play possessed but little interest y Rose Tf. waa one of those mediocre pieces ! wfciich last out their year or so, and then fade j' from* before the public notice as though they had never been there. The argument was very a cohfased, and her mind was too full of disap- ^ pointment for her to try and understand it ^ She bent forward eagerly when the first fe- ^ male character made her entree; but it waa a ^ handsome, heavy brunette, of a very portly had full-blown Btyle, who, beneath her paint ^ and ringlets, must have numbered some five- ^ and-thirty yearn. Shewae gorgeously attired, ^ and her appearance being the signal for a per- ^ feet storm of applause, some one near told gEdgar that she was Locretia Clyde. She trod tj the'boards with a very prononce strut, spot? in loud*.- ringing tones, and elicited a deal of ^ admiration. Presently she had need of &er maid, and sounded a little silver call-bell, ^ upon which, in answer to the snmmons, there ^ sprang apon the stage a slight, girlish figure Q] which, despite the novel costume and the five years of absence, Rose, with a beating heart, and half-stifled cry, knew at once, and de- C( manded in a clear, sweet voice, "What would 1S ye.with me, lady?" The applause that greeted her was very ^ feeble, iand proceeding mostly from inexperienced play-goers, it would appear as though j. this young actress were now but a secondary figure in the dramatic world. She said but w little and was soon dispatched on some errand a' by her mistress. Presently she returned, ac- j oompanied by another full-blown melpomene s (who was hailed with similar demonstrations as Lucretia Clyde), and then made her exit ' cj All of Beatrix' movements were perfectly ftnav and orraceful. and the rendering of her part unexceptionable. Rose was enraptured, ? but no one els6 eeetoed to partake of her en- ^ fehwiagm.. i~ ty twenty years old, might readily have passed ^ for seventeen. Her form was very slight and ^ her face had little to attract the casual beholder. Its chief charm was the wonderful * eyes, and these did not always hormonize with the character she was compelled to assume. ' Her role this evening was an inferior one and she did not often appear. 1 Lucretia Clyde and Henrietta Wendell were 3( magnificent in their frenzies and pathetics, and elicited unbounded applause ; but Rose ^ had eyes only for her precious sister, and when Beatrix was not on the stage her gaze ai wandered over the house. About the middle of the second act a party " came in who considerably attracted her at- j* tention. The chaperon was a middle-aged ^ lady with a very high-bred air and lovely, ^ amiable countenance, dressed in mauve poplin with rich Valenciennes and a heavy India shawl. She was attended by a slim-waisted a gentleman with a gold eye-glass, who supported, on his other arm, a superb bruhette, with great languishing black eyes and heavy mid-night hair. She wore splendid rubies, ^ was wrapped in an amber satin opera cloak, . and carried an exquisite bouquet of red and white camelias. They were followed by a ^ young man whose striking resemblance to the brunette lady made Rose conclude that they were brother and sister. His was a handBome, laughing face, and though he had the bel air n in perfection, his elegance seemed to be inborn. On his arm was a tall, dashing blonde in ruby * satin and swan's down, with bold, blue-grey eyes, sharp features and an abundance of light ^ hair, which was drawn back from her face ^ and gathered up into a perfect cataract of ? ringlets over her pearl comb. She seemed W s' be full of talk, and showed her long, firm- & looking white teeth, incessantly. Her cavalier was evidently well amused ; but what delighted Rose with him was that once, when ^ Beatrix had repeated a little passage, having rl in it something that caused her expressive grey eyes to kindle, and, as it were, brought a her out to a certain extent, the young gentle- 8' man, after listening attentively, bent forward, ^ and taking his sister's bouquet of red and white camelias from the seat, threw it on the the stage. The regal looking brunette gave him an an- j gry glance and a sharp rap with her fan, to both of which he responded by twisting a lit- n tie rose bud out of his button hole and hand- S( ed it to her with a saucy smile and bow ; then turning to a gentleman who had just entered | tl the box. "Jove ! Morton." he said, "that little j a girl's the only genuine artiste in the troupe." I tl Morton agreed with him. In fact, he j h seemed to be one of those whom it would be j d unfashionable to disagree with; and some j g people immediately encored the fortunate re- ci cipient of 3o distinguished a favor as a bou- U quetfrom Louis Velmonte. tl Beatrix did not re-appear, and the encoring ti soon died away. The curtain dropped and h the lights swayed to and fro behind it, as the a stage was rapidly cleared for the afterpiece, tl Rose thought that the farce would never end, ci and when it was at last over, she hurried Edgar off with such rapidity that the poor little 1< fellow felt quite dazed. By dint of enquiry si on all sides, they at length gained the ap- a proaches to the back of the theatre. f< It was quite a novel scene to Rosalie, but f< in her eager impetuosity she pushed on s< through the motley crowd, the gare and babel of voices, till she came to a large room g where all the actors and actresses, and a great a many men from among the audience, were as- b sembled, chatting, promenading and taking n refreshments. tl At the door stood a withered old tire-wo- g jan who, having had her supper, and having f o one to chat and promenade with and to do 1 lie agreeable to her, was smoking a pipe beind, and peering sourly at the company over i he "book of the playi" J 1 1 Rose, who before had encountered only,, i tage-carpenters and other like functionaries, 1 as now really embarrassed and frightened at 1 nding herself in the face of such a large as- 1 smbly; and the more so as she perceived that 1 Jdgar was no longer at her side. It was, herefore, not without considerable trepida- ) ion that she went np to the fbriorn old wall- 1 ower and asked to be shown to Miss Beatrix M avingstoh's room. [1 The old woman took her pipe from between er lips and stared curiously at the questioner. I "Why, Loir' bless us, child, there ain't no t ich person here," she said. "But there is," persisted Rose, "for I have ^ jen her but just now on the stage." "Then ye must jist find her the best way ye J an^' said tho old hag, curtly, as^hb re^um^pl er pipe and the study of the play book. ^ The teiarssprang to Rose's eyes as she turned ^ way, not knowing which side to go, yet walk- ^ ig in a right hand direction and bent upon 8 nding her sister. She had not proceeded many steps when a 8 oice close beside her suddenly cried out, ^ Stop, for God's sake 1" Almost involiratari- c r the girl paused, thinking that it was some 8 ersoh in great distress who thus accosted her, * od'fo he^'borf-or and dismay "beheld a gaily * reased; but evidently1 inlttyiiiktdd man, holdig a wine-glass in one hand and reelibg to- 4 ard her with both arms extended as though " > clasp her. ; . 'Intetantly domprehending the situation, 4 ith! one agile bound, Rose sprang forward, f ius eluding his grasp, and encountering a juge-pot which had been overturned on the 4 oor, the would-be Lothario lost his balance 8 lid measured bis length uppn the ground, to 4 le infinite jtinnsemetft of a! tali, black-whis- 1 fei&r ybting man,' with ibbpT' mouth and Ia H^ht, recess eyes/th^t were never still an J ^ istant, who had been a witness of the little i1 jene. Hfe now stepped forward, and with a 1 tw bow, asked, "Are"yoU* looking for any ore, Miss, and can I do anything for you ?" ? "Ah! sir," cried the agitated girl, "if you juld only tell rae where Beatrix Livingston V ' 1 "Miss Beatrix Livingston? Certainly^" 1 lid the stranger, with a bland smile. "Step * lis way, if you please." t Rose followed him along a narrow, dimly ghted gallery, till they came to a small door t nich he very unceremoniously pushed open, ad motioning her to enter, the girl perceived iat it was a perfectly empty room to which j le had been conducted. "Now, pretty one, a kiss for my pains," said r er guide, coming close up and attempting to asp her waist as he spoke; but Rose broke way from him, and darted, with the velocity f a young gazelle, down the gallery and fi irough a side door, which stood ajar, out into L le street. ' . ^ ^ It was a dark, Arrow allfcy inKwhicn she e >und herself, but her only thought now was g F escaping from the treacherous creature j ho had so misled her, and whose footsteps ( le could hear ringing on the brick side-walks ( ehind her. On she flew. Like another Atalanta, she r ad got the start of her enemy and there ^ lemed every possibility of her winning the ^ ice. The glimmer of a street-lamp, some . -I 1 . T J ... jJl I " undred yards distant, revealed to ner wnere le alley opened upon a large thoroughfare, e ad toward this goal she directed her efforts. ?nce there, she could place herself under the rotection of the nearest policeman, and her ersecutor wonld thus be effectually' baffled, ler heart throbbed hopefully as she heard a istant clock strike eleven. She was but a :w paces from the lamp-post, and making a ldden bound forward, her foot slipped Upon piece of orange peel and she fell backward pon the sidewalk. A low, mocking laugh aar, announced that her pursuer had gained lore than she thought, upon her. Ere she >uld rise, he was bending over her ; his hot reath fanned her cheek, and he paused an istant to regard her, before lifting her in his rms. "The fates have favored me at last, ear beauty," he said in a laughing tone, as e essayed to press his lips to hers. "Viilian !" crifid a voice hoarse with indigation olose beside them ; and, in another inant the homme galant reeled backward and ill Sprawling on the bricks. "Don't be alarmed, madam," said her devorerj in a courteous and respectful tone, as e offered her his hand to assist her in rising.lut in attempting to do so, Rose uttered a g iarp cry of pain and sank back upon the ^ round. She had sprained her ankle. "You are hurt," said the stranger gently. r Allow me to assist you to this nearest house, ^ here you can remain while I go for a car- j age." t Poor Rose was trembling all over with paiu f nd terror. Her nerves were in a most excited Ate. This evening's experience Jhad L er distrustful of every one, and how could y le know what this new knight-errant might ? lrn out to be. a The stranger seemed to divine her thoughts. "Pray do not hesitate," he said earnestly. ] You are as safe with me as though you were j ly sister; and you may have sustained some i jrious injury in your fall." t She glanced up at him as he stood beside c le lamp-post, the light full upon his features, ? nd she recognized the gentleman who had t irown the bouquet to Beatrix. It was a ? andsorae, refined countenance, and Rose's oubts gave way before his earnest, truthful t aze. Besides, she had no alternative. She j g Duld not walk without assistance, and it cer- j c Jinlir arnnlrl nnf hp fhp t.VlillfT tn lip t.hp'rfi Ml . 1 ie side-walk till morning, and perhaps be c iken up as a vagrant and lodged in the guard ouse, or something equally terrible. With > low, murmured expression of her thanks, ( lerefore, she accepted his proffered arm and a ommitted herself to his protection. r The nearest house proved to be a little tai- 1 )r shop, the proprietor of which sat busily j 1 itching by the light of a dingy tallow dip,' J nd who, upon hearing of the contre temps, c itched a stuffed chair from the inner room )r the young lady, and volunteered to go him- ^ ilf in quest of a carriage. t When the ttto were left alone together the c entleman took out his cambric handkerchief s nd, not without some hesitation, offered to ind up the wounded ankle. Rose, who was t ow begiuing to feel very faint from pain and 1 ie reaction which naturally resulted from so t reat excitement as she had been under, as- r seated by h'slight inclination of her head, am tshguitlly put out the little foot. tier companion gallantly bent his knee b fofcground, and most dexterously and tender ly.woorid the bandage around, inwardly corn hentitig ds he did so, upon the aristocrati and delicacy of the petit prio blew. fdjltf its high instep and slender ankle, whicl latter having just begun to swell, appeared n ajrger than many ladies' do ordinarily. He had scarcely Completed his mild surger vben the tailor returned with' a carriage ; fo vhich thegentleman hastily thanked him, an< dtaiii^a gold piece in his hand, proceeded t jflRTria-companion into the conveyance. "What number shall I tell the driver ?" h isked as he placed himself on the* seat oppc lite her. Even then, Rose glowed all over with fals itemite as she mentioned the streetand numbe >f the housefor her residence was, she wel cngw> in a ipost obscure quarter; in fhct ^HHRp^uiun quietly-repeated the ad raK&rtlehu, and as they drove along toh Rose"that he had remarked Edgar and her elf in the theatre, and afterward seen he >ehind the scenes, just at the moment tha he entered the room where she expected ,ii ind her sister. He heard the insolent speed >f the man he had knocked down, marked he itrdden flight, his hot pursuit, and leavinj he building by another door, resolved to se !he end of it. He then gently enquired wha lad become of her escort, and for the firs ime Rose recollected Edgar. She becam< iTarraed and distressed ou his account, and a ength confessed to her new found friend tha hey were both out that evening without thi /\# lrnnmlarlrMk i\f tliflir nftrp.nt.fl. iwiouu va auvmvugv v* ---- The stranger seemed amused, and then ven ured upon a delicate little piece of advice re pecting the propriety of young ladies goinj o visit the actresses. Enthusiasm was mis )laced here. They were very charming on thi tage, doubtless, but actresses were not eligible Lcquaintancesforyoung ladies, &c. AndRos* istening, realized, with a keen pang, how Beat ix must be regarded in refined society. No hit her precious sister ever could be like thi generality of actresses, and she would cer ainly one day be a star; but, perhaps aftei ill, Helen was right about it. Of course her new acquaintance was quit mconscious of the pain which his words occa ioned her. When explaining how she cami o be behind the scenes, she had stammeret >ut, rather confusedly, that she had gone then o see?an actress; but she did not say wh< he actress was. A feeling, which she coult lot then explain to herself, made her verj iverse to confess that her sister was in public ife. The family at home, with the exceptioi >f herself, regarded it as a disgrace; ant low she felt instinctively that it would neve lo to mention it before a stranger. When they reached her home, Edgar's fath >r answered their ring. He received no an wer to his enquiries respecting his son ; and lpon hearing of Rose's accident, offered hi rttc* td carry- her up to hrir room. Her ?fcger Mend assisted'her to alight; then con ifuing her to the care of Mr. Zeil, and say ng that lie would do himself the pleasure o jailing to enquire after next day, placed hi sard in her hand and wished her good-night When she got to the parlor, Rose found he nofcher and sister sitting up?Mr. Livingston ortunately for them all, had gone to bed in i it'of intoxication?and both looking ver mxious and troubled. Mrs. Livingston ejaculated a "thank Heav in I you have come at la3t, my child f' bu vhen she saw how pale the "child" was, an< h*t she leaned heavily upon Mr. Zell, shi pas at once filled with concern. Helen, toe ooked really wretched. Rose briefly told Mr. Zell all that she kne7 >f Ederar. and the anxious father withdrew t< :ontinue his vigil till the boy's return. Mrs. Livingston and Helen immediately lirected their attention to the sprain, whicl >i?5ved to be no trifle; and while they wen hus occupied, Rose reconnted her adventures Both her auditors expressed much horror md Mrs. Livingston, considering her daugh er's weak condition, fore-bore to scold, bu ent her to -bed. It was not until then that she thought o he card the gentleman had given her, an( isked Helen to take it to the light and tel ?$f who her champion was; Louis Yelmonte," read Helen?"a pretty lame." ' Then without farther comment sh< jegan to prepare for bed. It was past midnight when Edgar cami loine. Helen had been all over the theatn >ailding hunting for Rose, after the crow< Bparated them; and almost wept for joy vhen he learned that she was safely housed. The next day Rose was confined to he :oom, and directly after breakfast the docto vas summoned, who, treating the matter mon ightly than her mother had done, guarantee( hat she would be able to walk in less than i brtnight In the course of the morning, Mr. Velmonfc much, concerned on hear ^^W!erbeing a prisoner; and the next day :ame to repeat his enquiries, this time leaving ["bouquet of hot-house flowers for her. The day following, he came in the afternoon lose was by herself, lying on a sofa in thi )arlor, and yielding to her foremost impulse )ade the servant show him up. The younj nan seemed delighted to see her. Rose re !?ived him with a vivid blush?for which shi ifterward felt excessively angry with herself? hey passed a delightful half hour together ind this visit was the prelude to many more He brought her books, flowers and bonbon: o enliven the period of her captivity (for th< prain confined her much longer than th< toctor had predicted), and above all, his con rersation kept up her spirits and assisted he] :onvalescence. Mrs. Livingston could not but be please( vith the graceful, high-bred manners of hei laughter's new acquaintance, who was to her lelf always particularly deferential. Heler lever expressed her opinion of him, and Mr Livingston, (who, fortunately for all parties iad a morbid horror of meeting strangers jarticularly men) never made his appearand luring any of Mr. Velmonte's visits. Meanwhile, Helen had been to Professoi Ichraidheim to enquire about Beatrix; anc Iia master Informed her sadlv that a portior if the troupe had gone off the day after Rosp'i tdventure, and Beatrix among them. He seemed to feel very gloomy regarding he situation of his quondam pupil, and pooi Jelen returned home with a heavy heart, onli o carry disappointment to Rose and he. nother; which latter, poor soul! her hear i yearning towards her lost daughter, had determined to go and seek Beatrix and asbure o her of her love and forgiveness. "And only think, Rose," continued Helen, i- "if you had asked for 'Jane Alverly' they c would have known who you wanted, and you would have seen Beatrix; for that is the name h she has assumed." 0 "Oh! how dull I was," cried Rose, remembering the play-bill. And this brings us to y the opening of onr first chapter, r [to be continued.] 1 ? ? MMbirmg IMiiur. V-JU ! HIGH LIFE IS SEW YORIL e A New York letter gives the following full p and interesting sketch?no whit overdrawn? ] of the wild and reckless extravagance that rules the hour in "the upper circles" of Gotham: _J ABOVE SOCIETY. ^ j New York is not so much a place of higb< life as of high livhig. The people who' move1 in the highest circles are not the people who r live high. The great families whose ancient t name has given them a semi-noble station in o society, the Astors, Livingstons, <fec., live we]], 3 of course, but quietly?somewhat like a wellr regulated family in Europe. They have been y accustomed to wealth ana its luxuries all their 1 3 lives; what should they care to show offbefore B the world ? Mrs. A. T. Stewart, when she t goes to Saratoga, dresses very plainly. She t can afford to do .so; society will fawn round e her nevertheless. Were she less rich, she t would have to dress more, just as "William B. t Astor would have to live in grander style were his wealth not so fabulous.'As soon as B you have reached here a point where you are j above society, you are absolved from its com mands. ,,i i- .. ON BOiCIETY'p LEVEL. ... ,y y Most of the people ih New York wholiVe r high are not so rich, and they cannot afford ! B to do what Mrs. Stewart and Mr. Astor do. They have to drink champagne to excess, give " large parties, live on Fifth avenue, and spend e a fortune a year. The lot is not a very unr pleasant one, and they take to this mode of t life very well. They can live high with as b much grace as the dukes and earls of Engu land, and with a good deal more ostentation. r Americans are born aristocratic in spite of the constitution and the -declaration that all ' men are equal. The tastes for the grand, B sumptuous, magnificent, are innate with us; , - every boy, they say, is a candidate for the e Presidency. We know better. Every boy j wants to make money as fast as he can. Mon3 ey can bay the best of everything the earth affords, and Americans all want the best. ' They want the most sumptuous apartments, * the biggest bills of fare in their hotels, the J costliest clothes, the fastest horses in the c world, and they get them. It is ridiculous to j hear people who have never been in Europe ] talk about the r THE SPLENDORS OF THE NOBILITY. They talk as if there was the splendor, and . here the Republican plainness, while the reverse is the case. The nobility of Europe live much more plainly than for instance our ' wealthy New Yorkers. An English dinner 8 winds up with bread and cheese; an American r rwlth rtctrple., ^Tfce Emperor and Emprhps of - France have in all their apartments or the . Tulleries but one bath room; an American has f one attached to every room. How plainly were those imperial apartments furnished ? 3 In the times of the Commune a New York gentleman?like many other? Americans? r went through them, wondering at their plain, ness, and comparing them with his own home j, on Fifth Avenue, where there'are apaflrtriifents 7 much more magnificently furnished than the drawing-rooms of Queen Victoria and Emperor William. Americana want the biggest bills of fare, and no hotel keeper has so large a one t as our best houses in New York. They want 1 to dress better than any other people in the s . world?which they do?and they warit to have , the fastest horses and the quickest yachts, and ' as they haye to pay for all these things they spend money like dukes. Our New York 7 idukes spend more money. . In the Brevoort 1 House, where the Lords of London and New York can be seen together, all the waiters say j that the fhre of Prince Arthur and fhe English i nobility in gehetal is much more plain than 3 that of the American guest. They are plainer people, and much easier to please, they say, than the New York nobility, who, it is admit- ! ' ted at the same time, spend also more money ' " than the bloods from England. These Engt lish noblemen we see here are not of So delicate a cast as otfr Americans They don't f live bo much on- cake, and don't depend so j much on their carriages. Prince Arthur used | , to walk, when he was here, every morning from Brevoort House to the Central Park. What New Yorker would ever do that? Not one 7 in a thousand. e THE AMOUNT OF MONEY SPENT here in luxury is fabulous. Every one seems e to be vieing with the other in extravagance. 3 Every one wants to have the biggest house, 1 the best dressed girls in society, the fastest cman r\f tinraea thp rrrnnHpst PflfuhHshment. Incredible as it seems, there must be more than 10,000 families in this city who keep up r an establishment in fashionable style, ana < r spend at least $10,000 a year. , Teh thousand e families?a hundred millionB a year! The i i figures will seem impossible, but here is ; ! proof. The number on Fifth avenue exceed 750. Those on Madison avenue exceed 570. There are, between Fourteenth and Fifty- < e ninth streets alone, forty-five side streets that * will fairly average 150 houses between Sixth f avenue and Fourth avenue, the boundary of I fashion. These alotie would give 7000, and, i with Fifth and Madison avenue*, over -8000.' ! And now we have to inclhde Lexington ave- i I nue Park avenue, the streets beyond Fifty- i 3 ninth street, and the other fashionable locali'? ties scattered over the city?and the number I of four-story brown-stone front houses will - easily reach thirteen thousand, which would ( 3 leave our calculation fitr too low. Some of ; . the men who keep up these establishments are , . poor. There is many a poor fellow on asala- ' ry of perhaps $5000 a year?for a man with j $5000 a year is poor in New York?who lives . 9 in a nice brown stone front house on a fash3 ionable side street. He has to keep at the : 3 very least four servants; a cook, a scullery- > . maid, who helps her, and may do at the same r time the laundry work; an up-Btairs girl, and , ?if he has children (poor people mostly do have children")?a nurse. He pavs $3000 ] * rent for the house, and, after he Has" paid his J servants, has nothing left to live on. Never- | - theless, it costs him $10,000 to live. How can i he do it ? He does it, no matter if he can or not. People live recklessly in New York, and in the vain struggle of emulation they go ' far beyond their means. They starve them- , ? selves, as some Italian nobles do, to keep up t 3 grand state before the world. Your readers ^ will scarcely believe it, that here in many a ] r family the food is scanty because of the car- ( 1 riage being elegant; that many a lady on ; j Fifth avenue has nothing to wear at home be- , cause she gives parties in which she likes to ] be gorgeously dressed. FASHIONABLE HOTELS. J ' There are ten hotels here, kept on the Eu- ) ropean plan, in each of which some one hun- t 7 dred persons board. These families pay for a 1 r suite of rooms, consisting of parlor ana bed- 1 t room, from $15 to $30 a day. Let the reader i well fix his eyes at tne ngure?#ii? wj * day for two or three rooms 1 This price is paid, no matter whether the guest" stays a ' week or two years. In the Grand Hotel there are a few suites which are higher?$300 a week. . But the average is not so high. You can get two good-sized rooms in most of the European hotels for $200 a week, or $10,000 a year. "With regard to your meals, you pay for what you eat You pay for peas, 50 cents ; for a cup of coffee, 50 cents. Ail examination of the restaurant bills in one of these hotels gave the following result: Average for breakfast (one person,) $3; for dinner, $10 or $11; for supper, about $5 or $6.- .A, whole family can live somewhat cheaper, for of some of the dishes, as for instance or bfeef/aa order for one will Bring enough for two. But on the whole the result is pretty much the same. A family of three persons will, living economically, spend easily- between >30 ana $40. a day on their meab; which woaid amount in the year to more than $10,000. $10,000 for meals and $10,006 for two rooms makes $20,000. Most of the families boarding in these hotels keep carriages; theyjive little dinner partiesevening entertainments they are excused from by society in consideration of these gbod dinners, they spend the iuidm&titt Europe, or at a watering place; their girls have the most fashionable-dress-makeis, and thdbestmas tors. It costs them $40,000 or $50,000 to eke out their existence. They might have a grand brown stone front house for $10,000 a year, but then they would be afflicted with a dozen servants. Youask one of the boarders of the hotel, "Why don't you keep house?" and you will find that in most cases a woman is at the bottom of this extravagance, Either she is in "delicate health," or she cannot get along with the "help." And' to they leave their home and its privacy and independence-to go into apartments, and to pay for them a price with which you could rent a palace. But the society of the hotel reoompensates them. There are handsome .young lords and dashing t\ii/?lro nf tto TTmnn TMoriip plnh pnmincr J UUUjg uuvao V* VUV VU*V? there all the time, who are sure to admire them when they come down to dinner in grand state, and who will keep them company if they should get lonely in the absence of their husbands. It is a delightful life to one that lives to do nothing. A woman in "delicate health" will find here rest and deliverance from all household troubles. There are plenty of good rocking chairs in which they can recuperate by the delightful motion. The only burden of theirs is dress. They submit to the trouble for the sake of evading the others, and gladly dress three times a day for the company of admiring young gentlemen and curious young ladies waiting for their appearance in the restaurant. LUXURIOUS LESSONS EASILY LEARNED. Two of the most extravagant of these hotels have been but reoently. built, and their number is still on the increase. It is now ten. They depend more on permanent boarders than on transient custom, which is absorbed by the great many hotels on the American plan. Only those people who would not like the best of American hotels for being too cheap and too democratic^ or Europeans who prefer to live in their accustomed style, go to the European hotels. There they can spend easily $50 a day. We have been apt in learning the art of luxurious living firom Europeans, and in these European hotels, no one sits down to dinner without his wine. Great many have a friend to dinner, and then it is the easiest tiling in the world to spend $25 at a dinner. Grand dukes and princes- stopping at the Buckingham Palace Hotel, in London, may pay as much; but it is for a week or two. Here people pay the extravagant prices for years; they make it an everyday matter. Indeed, New York is the only place where such a thing is known. Neither London nor Paris has such boarding hotels, althbu^h the nret named democratic city vies witn tne splendor of our hotel aristocracy in its very "swelly" clubs. In the summer the boarders all go away. They go to Europe, to Newport or Saratoga, or their country seats. Of late.it has become more and more the fashion to go to -Europe In preference to a water-place. In New York it becomes a regular item of the household, $5000 for three months' trip to Europe. There are many families here who have not missed a single summer for eight or ten years, if we except last year. AMERICAN COUNTRY SEATS IN EUROPE. Travelling abroad becomes cheaper, the more American families learn the ways of Europe, and some of our wealthy men earnestly think of buying a pretty place on the Rhine or on the lakes of North Italy, whither they could go every summer. The plan is feasible, and will be tried by several gentlemen who have found it convenient to provide new places of residence for their families while in Europe. It would have obvious advantages with regard to the noble sport of count-hunting which our young ladies of Fifth avenue delight in. It has been noticeable how large a number of New York ladies go to spend considerable timo in Europe without the protection of males. Married ladies take their grown up daughters and leave their husbands behind to earn the money they are going to spend, just as they go to Saratoga without their husbands. Americans trnst their wives everywhere; and let them willingly stay at a hotel, go to Saratoga, or dash off to Europe, as they please. Of our young widows a great many have gone this summer to Europe, and the rich spinster annt gladly takes the girls of the family over to Europe, if "pa" can't afford foregoingspeculation in the tnree months during which he might fix a "corner" in the gold room. There many of the men are seen frantically vociferating, and earning in the fever of the . hazard .the money which sparkles on the necks of their ladies in the united glim mer of orient pearls and lustrous diamonds; that decks the girls in.thepompof worth, and brings all the luxuries of the world to the feet ofthe dear, delicate creatures. How the men have t? toil, and to jeopard soul and body to satisfy their appetites to get them those trinkets and dresses, and those envious looks of their dear lady friends. MAKING AND SPENDING THE MONEY. A large part of the fashionable population on Fifth avenue, and elsewhere, consists of brokers, jobbers, speculators, men that have made money very last, and make it still very fast. A larger part still would come under the general head of "shoddy," a class which, it must be owned, has left its imprint upon New York society to a larger extent than it has been the case in Philadelphia or Boston. Ihey all contribute to the glittering show of Vanity Fair in which New York has now only two successful rivals?Paris and London. Man must be of Borne use, and the shoddy was created to enliven the park with carriages; to fill the boxes in the Academy of Music; to beautify the city with new brown stone resi fences, and to turn money into the pockets of European hotel-keepers. A special providence makes them flower off from society, and 3ome everywhere to the surface. We owe it to them that it now coste 826,000 to live "respectably," that is to say on Fifth avenue. In this sum we do not include the rent of the house, whioh would certainly swell the amount to $30,000. How this enormous sura?on the Interest of which many a family of refined tastes could subsist?is expended, is easily demonstrated. A first class establishment on Fifth avenue has eleven or twelve servants; man cook, with three female assistants, scullery-maid, <fec.; a man that waits on the table, i laundress, a coach-man and a footman? the latter may help waiting on the table, as his duties on the box a*e not very arduous? i stableman, two or three girls for the up BUtUD fflUJkj BUU) U VU>?? ^.v nr ?x , , family, a nurse. The outlay in carriages and horses alone amounts to $10,000 a year. The three or four carriages which these families keep, one for morning, one for evening, one for the afternoon, one. for the drive, the park* &c., want renewing very often in New York, where the different styles succeed each other just as rapidly as fashions in dress do, and where carriages are not kept so long in the feinily as in Europe There my lady's coach that was bought ten years ago is good enough still now; here Mrs. Snooks wants at least one every year. Then comes the change in horses. Every one wants to Have a faster spah of horses, and fancy prices are paid for horses, which are enormous. If anything, $5000 will be below the average spent on the change in . horses, arid the same amount for stable ex* nana#*, renewing of carriages, buying new ones, Ac., is quite reasonable. With regard to the other expenses, they depend on individual tastes a&d habits; but they all have Ike best masters for their children; at leSfcfr:half a dozen bis parties in the winter; the most fashionable dressmakers for the young ladies ; their country senior their three iftoBtas' trip to Europe; they have to feed twelve servants, and where irill the $16,000 be when they come to the end ef the year ? THE UPPER FIVE OF THE UPPER TBN. Of such families?-families that spend between $25;000 to $80,000 a year?there are about a thousand in New * York. It would be impossible to ascertain the exact figures, but the above figures is the result of considerable research, and to be relied on as very near approximating the fact. Easier it is to give a close figure as to the families spending between $50,000 and $00,0001 a yedr. There are about sixty or seventy such families. Our figures, then, would stand thus; 10,000 or 18,000 families that spend $10,000 a year; 1000 that mend'between $25,000 and $30,000 a year, ana 60 or 70 whom1 it costs $69,000 a year to live. Here are figures for the gods. These are the figures that explain those gorgeousdreeocg you see at paties; those prinoe1 y apartments with all the luxuries of the East and the West; the endless tido of magnificent carriages and horses that flews in the park; that ray and splendid life that has made New York the Paris of America?a city .of luxury and frivolity, in which man begins at $100,000. The dazzling sight is, of course, too much for many a poor fellow who has to work up his way, and who, one fine morning, bids nis friends good-bye and starts for the West, where he will not only find luxuries of the rich, but also comforts of the poor. GEN* B* E. LEE. The example of the late General Lee in refusing all gifts and declining to receive compensation for services not rendered, is worth more to his country and to all who follow it than millions in gold. The facts here stated will not be forgotten : ? ? ./ lofli a. n.*i_ r\ :i ?c in tne winter 011004 tne vitjr v/uuuui ui Richmond tendered General Lee an elegant mansion as some small token of the high estimate in which he was held by the city which he had so long defended. But the grand old man replied: "I do not expect to be in Richmond during the continuance of the war, and my family are as comfortable as they have a right to expect to-be t^ese times. I must, therefore, with many thanks for your consideration, most respectfully decline your offer. If you have money to give, I hope you [ will bestow it upon my privajA soldiers who \ are more needy and more deserving than myself." * At the dose of the war offers of pecuniary assistance poured in upon him from all sides, but he stedd-fastly refused to receive them. An English ndbleman, thinking he would rejoice in some place of retreat from his afflictions, wrote to offer him a splendid country seat and- a handsome annuity. drfe nobly replied, "I ata deeply grateful, but I cannot consent to desert my native State in the hour of her deep adversity. I must abide her fortune and share her fate." Soon after he took charge of Washington College.he was visited by the-agent of an insurance company, who offered him the'presidency at a salary of ted thousand dollors. He told the agent he could not properly attend to both. "But, General/' sum theagent, "we do not want you to discharge any duties. We simply wish the use of your name; that Will abundantly compensate us." i,r "Excuse me sir," was the prompt and decided rejoinder* ."I cannot consent toitecei ve pay for servides I do not Tender." He received many offers of this sort, and" just a short time before has death a large manufacturing company in New York offered him a salary of fifty thousand dollars a year if he would beoeme their President. But to alt such offers he had the same reply?his duty _ -v. /~i-n? .c..u u,-. in Ultt ?jUllQg|t) iUlljr UUVIUCU ma uuie, auu ?? would not receive from the College anything like so large-a salary as it desired to pay him, and when, last year, the Trustees deeded to Mrs. Lee a house and annuity of three thousand dollars, the General respectfully declined, on Mrs. Lee's behalf, to accept; it. He decliped, all gratuities, and though a loving people, for whon) he had toiled so heroically, would joyously have settled on him a hand- < some property, he preferred to earn ho daily ' bread by his personal exertion, and to give his people an example of honest industry.? Christian Observer of Richmond. ' \ * . * / y. How Wives Should be Treated.?The man who loves his wife will see that , she is happy. He will find time to spend his evenings at home, and will never be at loss for society, for he will find in his wife, children and books, the best society ill the world. He will treat his wife as the true partner of his joys, or of his sorrows and in the sacred retreat of home, the troubled heart will find that consolation that the out door world can never bestow. How many consult their wives in matters, of business ? And yet there is no advice which should be sooner sought. Make it an established rule to consult your wife on all occasions. Your interest is hers, and no plan should be undertaken contrary to her ad vice, and approbation. The wife should always be informed in regard to the state of her husband's finances, in order to exercise proper economy in the household, avoiding wnat would de meanness 11 nis luuume were ample, or extravagance when his resources are diminished, if the wife is not permitted to Bhare her husband's counsel, at least in a general way, she is necessarily shut out from such sympathy with him, and one of the greatest sources of happiness is thereby diminished. And let not the "lords of creation" despise the counsels which woman's naturally quick perception may suggest A well-timed word from this source may at all times be like the railroad switch to turn the train from running quickly to destruction. Moreover, in the daily intercourse with those you love in the family relation of husband and wife, a constant watchfulness ought to be maintained over words and actions, in order to avoid inflicting unnecessary pain. Remember to speak Kindly to each other always. Good Advice.?Don't be discouraged if occasionally vou slip down by the way, and others tread on you'a little. In otherwords, don't let a failure or two dishearten you; accidents will happen, miscalculations will sometimes be made, tilings will turn out differently to our expectations, and we may be sufferers. It is wortn while to remember that fortune is like the skies in the month of April, sometimes cloudy, and sometimes clear and favorable. "Sp