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^ - GECarroIl ij?n i > , -9 lewis >i. grist, proprietor. j ^it Jjnlitpciibcitf Jfamilj ^tetuspspcr i Jfcrr % -promotion of % |)(iJitiniI, Social, ^griraltoral anir Commercial fnttrcste of % j$<rat[>. TERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IK ADVANCE. VOL. 17. YOEKVILLE, S. C., THtn&SDi^Y, SEPTEMBER 28, 1871. NO. 39. ? ^ .. . _ _ ' ' "* " ' **1 n " -'? ?"J ' +" o?nn/M4 mo in oomo oVioart nlltPA until the I send me some dinner, for I am getting hun-1 nal gin drinkers. 190,000 intoxicated people jto Original jilorg. Written for ttye Yorkville Enquirer. Wt!1" ell ^Vf/ '5' A TALE OF BEFORE THE WAR. % BY ALICE ARNOLD. CHAPTER IX. "New York, April 29th, 18?. Dearest Helen:?I have just one minute to scribble this in. We reached here yesterday, after a quick and pleasant passage. I j was very little sick and really enjoyed the , trip. Weare staying at the "Fifth Avenue," ( and I am going out on Broadway, presently, to do some shopping. Louis says that I need ( not go in mourning until we return home, as , no one here will know of the family affliction ; j and he wants me to participate in the gaiety of the summer resorts. We will not remain here longer than a month or so, and then we i " III <fl? (ta uoitamner nlnaae ' oq T.miiq SftVfi. "I" V?v ww r*" ? ?J -- I t Good-bye now ; I am in a great burry, and ,, Louis is waiting on me. t Affectionately, in great haste, i Rosalie Livingston Velmonte. , P. S.?Four o'clock, p. m. I found this j open on the table, when I came in from my | shopping expedition just now, so will try and , give you some account of it. Oh ! Helen, j ] New York is fairy land. Louis hired a pub- j j lie carriage, and we went?it seemed to me? , all over the city; but he laughed heartily at } my greenness. I did not stop at any of the stores but A. T. Stewart's, where Louis met an ( old lady of his acquaintance?a Mrs. Ruth- t ven?to whom he introduced me, and asked j her to help me select ray things. At first, I s felt annoyed at this, as I thought ray own ] taste quite good enough; but Mrs. Ruthven ( seemed to take it quite as a matter-of-course; j says that she has two married daughters, neith- ( er of whom does she ever trust to select their r own wardrobe, but goes with them, herself, t every season. I suppose I spent about fifty dollars at Stewart's. I felt frightened when it ^ was summed up, but Louis only laughed, and ^ says that I must double the expenditure to- ( morrow. Oh! Helen, I have bought some such lovely things for the summer; and this ; morning when I went to fix my hair, I found : on the toilet table, a blue velvet case which,: t UL1 UptJiiiiig, X san tuiibauicu au UAv^utoav ovv of pearls; and Louis explained it by saying that he had not time to make me a bridal present before we left home. Oh ! I am so happy; so perfectly, exstatically happy. My best wishes for you are that you may be the same, some day. I must mail this now. Again, good-bye." The next letter was from Sharon Springs. "Sharon Springs, May 30th, 18? How are you dearest? Hejgeia's self was never more redundant of bloom and vigor than I. We arrived at Sharon last Saturday, and there are very few people here now. We are rather in advance of the season, you see. Mrs. Ruthven is with us, and under her directions, I provided myself with really a magnificent wardrobe before we left New York. You can't fancy, Helen, how charming it is to spend just as much money as you want to. Every day that I went out, Louis put a hundred dollars in my pocket-book. I don't know what his resources are, and sometimes it mikes me very uneasy to see him lavishing money-ao freely; but as he has never let me into his confidence on the subject, it would seem indelicate in me to question him. I know this much, that he has a plantation on River, where we will spend a part of next winter. Heigh ho! it is so pleasant to think of owning an estate. I am determined to entertain a great deal of company in the winter; so you will have to come and help me keep house. But this is running on too fast. I have enough in the present, never to give a I thought to the future. My life is so filled up with delights. Helen, you were always harsh and unjust in your judgment of Louis. I wish you could see how perfectly devoted he t is. Not a day passes that he. does not make i me some costly present; and every afternoon takes me out to drive or to ride on horse-back. ^ He is more lover-like, if possible, than when we were engaged ; and Oh! darling, I am so perfectly, intensely happy. Indeed, I some- f times fear lest in the excess of my happiness, r i snail some day awaxe ana nna it an a aream.. t All my dreary past life now seems like an ug-! c ly fable. I am learning all the fashionable j y dances, and Louis says that I will rival "La * Sylphide" in a very few weeks. Mrs. Ruth-1 ven makes a great fuss over me. I can see j c she is a thorough woman of the world, but 8 find her very amusing; and Louis says that e she is the best of ton. So I have invited her e to come and visit us at 'Woodstock' next win-; ^ w ter. Oh! if you could only see the lovely j things I have got for the sea-shore! I have j * acquired quite a taste for sherry cobblers. | There is going to be a ball this evening; and j"? I suppose we shall have a dance. I must i e close now, as Louis has come in and wants me ! c to talk to him. Au revoir, darling. I v Your very loving sister, j t R. L. Velmonte." I v "P. S.?I received your letter. Please : write me very often." 11 The next letter was from Saratoga. It con-' ^ tained three ten dollar bills and ran as fol- j* lows: i1 "Saratoga, July loth, 18?. j* "I am really ashamed of myself, dearest 1 Helen, for letting such a hiatus occur between | * my letters. I was quite frightened just now j < on looking over my desk, to see that I had not j j answered your last letter, which I received ] while at Sharon ; but. Oh! Helen, I am hav- j ing such a glorious time! Saratoga is dek-t-.c..! i a ?ii i ' 1 llgll uui uc^'uuu ail uvjui i pi tun, auu cyciji uuuji seems to be flocking here. We are staying at the United States Hotel. It is quite full, and 1 I have made so many new acquaintances; i more of gentlemen than ladies, however. Ev- j erybody seems to know Louis, and that, of ( course, is the reason why I receive so much attention. There is a ball nearly every even-1, ing and I enjoy them hugely, I assure you. j1 Let me tell you of something that happened two days ago. It was in the bowling alley, where Mr. j Leynton, a friend of Louis', was teaching me. Directly opposite me was a tall, stylish look- . ing blonde, whose face was, I thought, not j; unfamiliar; but I could not remember where j I had seen her before. I happened to make a 1 very good hit, which all the gentlemen ap- ' plauded. Mr. Leynton said it was one of the j best coups he had ever seen, and I heard the toll blonde ask the gentleman next to her, "Who is she?" "A townswoman of yours," he answered.! 1 "A Mrs. Louis Velmonte, from L?." "Indeed I" said the lady, lifting her eyebrows and looking very hard at me, which action I pretended not to observe ; but went on talking as though I had not heard her j y, 1^ "Tney are i^ely married, I believe," the j gentleman continued. "A handsome couple; I am surprised that you don't know them." "I know him very well," she said, in a tone which seemed to imply something very supercilious and disagreeable. I felt my cheeks! burn with anger, and raising my eyes, fixed \ them for an instant, full upon her face, which, though rather handsome, is a very bold one. j "W ho is the lady opposite ?" I asked of Mr. Leynton. "Oh ! don't you know ?" he answered ; "that ( is Miss "NVitherton ; a great heiress from th South." Then it flashed upon me that she was th lady whom rumor gave to my husband; am I dare say she would gladly have confirms the gift Therefore, I could not help feelinj a sort of pity for her; for I know 1 shouh have hated bitterly any woman who ha< robbed me of Louis. Soon after this we left the bowling alley; bu at dinner, I perceived Miss Withertou starinj at me from the next table. She has watchei me closely whenever we have met since, am last evening at the ball?where, by-the-by, ! received a great deal of attention and was Louis said, the belle, par excellence?she mad> herself known to Louis and asked him for ai introduction to me. She is much too sharj and prononce in manner to suit my taste ; bu enough of her for the present. About a week ago I made the acquaintance of a Mr. Mo83, the editor of a literary maga zine in Boston. I became wonderfully socia ble with him and (how I ever came to do it [ don't know) told him about my writings He urged me to show him some of them and? svould you believe it, Helen ??was actaalh ieJighted wjth the little ppcms and ,sketc)>ei vhich I submitted to him ; and further, sai( hat he must have some of them for his mag izine. I would not have sold them lor tn< world, as I really do.not need the money, anc ieared that Louis would be displeased at it DUt when I thought of mamma and yourself md how acceptable the money might be a* lome, I closeu with him for three of them. ] lope the thirty dollars will be useful; ant fou mu9t keep it a profound secret, for Louii loes not suspect any thing of it. I have frequently heard him express hi* lisliketo literary women, and, therefore, woulc lot, on any account, have him know of mj due proclivities. Mr. Moss has overlookec iome portions of that voluminous MS., whicl [ have entitled 'Imogen,' and gives me greai mcouragement to finish it. But I am so ta ten up with dancing and enjoyment, that 1 jannot think of writing or anything else jusi low. I am going to play in some charade* o-raorrow evening. There is to be a hop thii svening, and I have an exquisite dress t< vear. The hair-dresser has just come in fherefore, I will have to conclude with a grea leal of love to mamma and yourself. Your very affectionate sister, R. Livingston Velmonte. P. S.?We will leave for the White Sulphui lext week." ***** The Hon. Frederick Yelraonte sat in hi: >ffice one hot day in August. As he turnec >ver the morning's paper and glanced care essly through a letter "from our own corres jondent at the White Sulphur Springs," hii :ye was arrested by the following paragraph "There was a fancy ball here last evening it which the South was well represented. Th< peculiar taste and appropriateness which th( southern ladies display in the arrangemeui >f their dress, has always been proverbial jut this season seems to eclipse all former pe iods. Among the bright galaxy last evening ve distinguished several from the artistic anc lighly aristocratic city of L . Mrs. J. C ippeared as Aurora, and vividly reminded us )f the approach of day. Miss L. W., &' noon-light, dispensed her silvery beams wit! ;elliug effect; but, if we may be allowed th< ise of the superlative, the reinepar excellent >f the scene was a lovely sea nymph (Mrs. L V. L , we were informed,) whose*ob< >f sea-green crepe set off and enhanced to perfection the most exquite of complexions. She vore a wreath of water-lilies, from beneatl: vhich her magnificent chevalure fell unconfin id in rich waves almost to her feet. The char icter was admirable sustained; nor did hei lancing deduce from the effect, for it was wanimously agreed that such pas could onlj lave been learned in the regions from whenc* young Dione' sprung; and I felt that witl jerfect truth might be applied to her "Nie nymph, nie neriad, nie grace, A fairer form or lovelier face." We understand that the beautiful enchan ress will appear in charades to-morrow even ng." Mr. Velmonte scowled until his bushy eye >rows were locked over his nose. "This is Ned Livingston's daughter, I sup >ose," he muttered angrily ; "and this is th( eward which Louis has got for his fraud tc he dying. Gad! I was never so complete!) nitwitted in my life before. But his time will et come. The scapegrace has no idea of how o keep his money, and ten thousand dollars an't last forever, at the rate he must b( pending it now. Let me see?Linda With rton wrote Claudia that his wife wears verj legant jewels. Of course, they have beer lought since her marriage. Ahem! such lurchases furnish wings to a man's income ^.nd for the plantation, ha! ha ! I have satis ied myself about that valuable piece of prop rty. I defy Louis to make a barrel of rire iff it with the present force of labor. And il vill take, at the least, four thousand dollars 0 make the necessary repairs and putv it ir vorking condition. Bravo! for your inde >endeuce, young gentlemau. Ten to one, h< vill come back without a dollar in his pocket ind having put his wife iu the way of acqui ing all sorts of extravagant tastes (she, ar ipt scholar, no doubt; set a beggar on horse iack, of course,) will expect her to sit dowr rod starve on his landed property, till I tak< compassion on them. Ha ! ha! how furious madam wilT be when she finds- out what i helpless, do-nothing, spendthrift she has go lold of. Jove ! I don't envy him his domes ;ic future." And so saying, Mr. Velmonte took out hii watch, and remembering that he was to attenc 1 meeting of the vestry of church, a four o'clock, p. m., began to rummage in hii lesk for some papers necessary to be produ ced on the-occasion, till the perspiration rollec in great drops from his forehead. CHAPTER X. It was about the middle of September, au< Mr. and Mrs. Louis Velmonte were in Nev Vork. They were sitting together after din ner ill a private parlor at the "Metropolitan/ The desert yet remained ou the table ; bu they had both left it Louis stood at th window with his back to his wife, who havinj thrown herself on the sofa, was playing wit! her bracelets and looking thoughtfully 011 th floor. She was richly attired in opal hued sill and point lace, with costly pearl ornament Mrs. Velmonte was, externally, something 0 an improvement on Rosalie Livingston. A1 her natural advantages were enhanced by th most elegant and fashionable dress. She ha* grown several inches taller, and acquired tha ease and confidence of deportment and cai riage which is styled the "bel air." Her lip were somewhat curled, and there was a tr: umphant light in her intense dark blue ey< as she mentally recapitulated her brilliant s( cial successes that summer. It was so swet to think of it. She who, since she was ol enough to remember, had in her native cit lived poor, despised and miserable 011 her fat! e er's account, thus suddenly to emerge, as i were, out of the dark chrysalis of obscurity ? to life and light, wealth and homage; aw j love, the crowning, God-given joy of all. True g she had known love of one sort all her life? J had from Her earliest childhood been the pe j and darling of all about her; but the love ii which she now basked was that sublime ge t nius, the longing for which hurled the Greel | muse from the Leucanian Rock, and sappe< j the life springs of the grandly gifted Bologn j ese. It was their fate, with the mournfu it gift of genius, the fatal intensity of its pas e sions, to lavish all upon the wrong objects?V i fling their rare treasure to the winds; thei 3 warped and sapless for lack of the strengtl 1 that was gone out them, to sink into nothing ness. Not so with her. Her treasure wa . laid up in golden coffers ; her flowers had fal . len on a genial soil, and exhaled new fragranc , day by day. Her whole soul kindled witl ' loving enthusiasm as she thought of how man; times during that summer Louis had whisper r ed46 Aer; . i-i i r I "How much tho wife was dearer than the bride ' ~ j # * 1 Lam AAMinfo ana tne iriumpnaiu expreseiuu ui uo? wuukv 3 nance changed to one of melting tenderness. 1 Oh! for an opportunity to prove to her hue ; band that she was worthy of his devotion? '? all the sacrifices he had made for her; for al ^ though he had never spoken to her on thi j subject, Rose knew, by this time, that he hat 3 married her against the wishes of his family Delicacy, as well as pride, forbade her ever t< 3 touch upon the subject which Louis showec I no desire to do; and she did not suffer it t< ' | mar her happiness. So long as he loved he; ' and was happy in her love, she cared not fo; | the countenance of others. Her husband' . will was her law; his happiness almost he; [ religion. t -'Mrs. Velmontehad several times wrjttent< 3 Rose, and always in an affectionate strain, bu * she never mentioned the rest of the family } Linda Witherton, who corresponded regular * ly with Claudia, had once asked her, with i peculiar smile, "Have you any message t< send to L ? I am going to write t< Claude to-day," and Rose answered with cold r though graceful politeness, "Thank you, Mr Velmonte will give all my messages." They had parted with Miss Witherton at thi 3 White Sulphur; she going on to Philadelphia * while they preferred to stop in New York and both Louis and Rosalie felt her absenci - I L-.L !- -/? rr. T ???? somewnai a renei. jlu juuuio, duo unu uo?& 3 ceased to praise his wife; to Rose, she had al : ways been caressingly attentive, yet both wen ? glad to part from her. 5 As Rose now recalled the anguish of jeal * ousy which she had once suffered on Linda'i . account, a smile parted her lips and brok< . out like a sunbeam through her tears. r "What are you thinking of, love?" asket 1 Louis, suddenly turning around. "Of how happy I am," she answered, witl * quivering lips. j "Shall I add to your happiness by taking } you to the play this evening?" 5 "I should like to go, very much," she an ? swered. "That's just what you said tc? me nim | months ago, and yet you did not go, after all ( you capricious little vixen. I've half a mine . not to take you now to pay for it." "If you wont, I shall find some one els< * who will," she said, saucily. 1 Louis' brow darkened for an instant anc [ he was about turning away, when Rose sprang ^ up and throwing her arms around his neck kissed away the momentary cloud. "Tell me if I look nice enough to go jus as I am," she said, as pausing before a tal mirror, she shook out the folds of her dresi and passed her fingers lightly over her beau tiful hair, upon which the skill of an expe rienced French coiffeur had been expendec in the early part of the day. "Louis put his head on one side and sur ; veyed her with the air of a connoisseur; ther > taking a cluster of crimson and purple fus chias from a glass, placed them in her hail ^ and said quietly, "I think you'll do, now." Then looking at his watch, said, "It's fifteer 5 minutes after seven, now; the doors will b< 1 open at half-past, and its time we were off, ai " I did not think of taking reserved seats, anc r there are people enough in the city to fill th< 1 "Fifth Avenue," which you know is quit* 1 small; particularly, as I see by the papers that a rising star (Susan somebody-or-other' " will appear in Richard III. So get on youi " gloves and shawl, and don't keep me waiting 5 if you please, madame." t With a profound salaam, Rose swept majes 5 tically out of the room, and in a few minute 1 returned with all the requisite additions mad* " to her dress ; and Louis, who, during her ab 3 sence, had chanced to see a little flower gir > pass the window, had purchased an elegan " bouquet to present her with. 1 They walked to the nearest carriage stand * and were soon whirling away to Fifth Ave 1 nue. 3 The house was, as Louis predicted, pretty 31 well filled, and they had great difficulty ii 1 getting seats; in fact, could not have been ac j commodated at all, but that Mr. Leynton " I whom they had not seen since leaving Sara | tago, recognizing them from his private box 5! immediately came out and invited them in I I Rose was glad to meet him again ; for Ik II was a man of fine intellectual powers, who s; having traveled a great deal, had the mau ! uers of the world, and knew well how to pleas* ^; every one. He was also (which has its weigh ; with the best of us) a popular man in so ciety, and just now a candidate for Congress with every prospect of success. It was pleasant to sit there, partially con ] ; cealed by the silken curtain, and listen to th< v ; even cadence of that low, well-modulate( -1 voice. He had been to Long Branch, wher " | they had not, and recounted his expericne t! of that sea-shore Elysium very wittily. Ros' e i was so intent on what he was saying that th a;! curtain rose, the "winter of discontent" ha< ti j expanded into "glorious summer," "grim vis e aged war had smoothed his wrinkled front;' k ! and Clarence, moaning out his complaints t 5. Gloster, had come and gone without her pay if! ing much attention to any of them, lj The first scene was over. The curtain ha< c fallen some minutes, and Rose, playing with i d hand-bill and laughing merrily over an ac ,t count of manceuvering Mrs. C. being out ras noeuvered by innocent Miss C., who adroitl; is effecting her exit through a window, was gui i-; ded by Hymen himself down through th j, branches of a tree, to be led to his altar by a >- i indigent young physician, the object of man ;t! ma's especial destestation?did not notic d when the curtain had risen again; the scene y ; were shifted, and a funeral procession wa l- j moving across the stage. t Suddenly there arose a voice of wailing, , whose mournful pathos thrilled to the^jiearts 1 of the hearers. Mrs. Velmonte started, and 5, her heart beat quicker as she bent eagerly for ward to regard the speaker. A slight, gracet ful form, habited in deep mourning, was stan- j a ding beside King Henry's bier and uttering e her lamentations. That delicate, qpirituelle i face; those intense, earnest eyes, Rose knew, ] at a glance to be her sister's. As she proi nounced the passage? 1 "Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! i 0 Be it lawful that I invoke thy ghost, To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, 3 Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughtered son, ! 1 Stabbed by the self-same hand that made these j wounds!"' j 8 And in her excessive grief bending over the corpse, p "Lo, in those windows, that let forth thy life, ' j B I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes," . j 1 Many among the audience were affected to* ^ tears. Beatrix was in her element. She h&fo a Qjtble and difficult part to sustain, anil th^l >, j thenvhole power of her genrus into the cnar- j i nnter When frlnster entered, and she turned i -1 ? J upon him with ! " 'What black magician conjures up this fiend, * To stop devoted charitable deeds ?" -; the sudden transition from her attitude of - ] drooping sorrow to one of fiery denouncement, e was so startling that some persons involuntari1 ly rose from their seats. As she pronounced, "What, do yon tremble? are you all afraid? 5 Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal"? j she raised her eyes to Mr. Leynton's box, and j they rested for an instant, with, as it seemed r to her, a reproachful expression, upon Rose's r face. 3 Mrs. Velraonte colored slightly, but casting r her eyes downward, carelessly tore a slip of paper from the margin of her handbill, and 3 as though toying with her little gold pencil, t wrote upon it, "Where shall I find you ?" . twisted it adroitly into the centre of her bou quet, and again directed her attention to the i performance. > Beatrix was frequently obliged to pause for 3 the bouquets that fell at her feet, and the tu, multuous applause which drowned her words. In the box opposite Mr. Leynton's was a party of young Southern students, who, reb turning from their summer vacation to Yale , college, were stopping in New York, and ; seemed transported with admiration. They b showered bouquets all around the fair iragedir enne, and one of them, detaching from his finnof a nnoflw /Jiomonrl rincr which a foolish 3! ly fond mother had put on with a wish at parting, fastened it amid the petals of an ele gant rose, and as Beatrix exclaimed, a "If I thought that. I Uril thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks," 3 the boy sent it flashing through the air; it fell upon the stage and was swept along in the train of her dress. Beatrix' air was truly regal, her voice the richest music, and to-night 1 it sounded like the tones of an oeolian harp. | When Anne says J "I would that I knew thy heart," she again lifted her eyes to Mr. Livingsta's'! * box, and Rose, leaning forward with her eyes 1 full upon her sister's face, dropped her hou-1 3 *qtre!t upon a cofner of the .Hage" where BeafKx^ ? could not fail to see it. * Louis looked annoyed. "Pray, do not do that again," he whispered ; 3 "It's very bad taste, Rose, to show enthusiasm in such places?I wish you would remember." ' "I shall-not do it again," said Rose meekly. > As Anne made her exit, neglecting all the ? other flowers, she picked up Rose's bouquet, and swept off, followed by the enthusiastic. t plaudits of the delighted assembly, i What followed was absolutely wearisome, 3 until the fifth act, when Anne arises in her * shadowy drapery to haunt her guilty husband's " dreams and says, I "To-morrow "in the battle think on mo, And fall thine edgoless sword ; Despair and die!" How strangely hollow Beatrix' voice sounj ded 1 It seemed indeed to proceed from the tomb, and startled all the students amazingly. r The ghosts vanished. The remainder of the play was acted out, and the curtain fell on , Richmond's invocation to Peace, i Rosalie did not care to wait for the farce, 5 and Louis accordingly conducted her out of I the crowded house. Mr. Leynton, as she shook j hands in parting, promised to call the next , day; and Rose, anxious to escape from the crowd and heat, expressed to Louis a fear that j she was going to faint. She was indeed pale . enouerh to iustifv anv such apprehension, but r " * ^ * * the fresh night air seemed to revive her. As they stood upon the sidewalk waiting for ! . the carriage, a little boy running against Mrs. j 3 Velmonte, roughly jogged her elbow. Louis, j 3 taking him by the collar, instantly wheeled j . him aside; but Rose perceived that he had ' j slipped a note into the folds of her nubia, and J t hastily thrust it into her bosom as the carriage came up, and Louis offered his hand to assist her into it. "When they reached the . hotel she went directly to her dressing-room, locked the door, brightened the gas, and j j throwing herself upon a couch, drew out and | j read the note. It ran as follows: "Green Room, 10-30 o'clock. j I Oh ! for time to say all I want to. But* j trust I shall have the opportunity to-morrow, i * j Call at the Fifth Avenue hotel, between one j j i and two o'clock, p. ni., and you will find .! Whom You Seek." u j When Rose had concluded the perusal, she I ', I burst into tears. It was so hard to be obliged - to act with such secresy and caution, as b [ though Beatrix were some condemned crimit j nal whom it was a treason to society to asso j ciate with. Her own precious, gifted sister, i, j whose talent she had always revered, and looked up to as the means of elevating and -' enriching them all! And now she dared not e ! even acknowledge to her husband therelation1 ship she bore an actress. It was very hard, e ; It was very cruel. Was this the destiny?the e curse of genius?" e In a dream that night, Rose thought that e Beatrix and she stood upon the banks of a 3 flaming river, in which they saw their whole i.1 livoo mirrnrpfl hefnre them : and in the air. " I above the stream, hovered an illuminated o scroll, upon which was inscribed in flaming - characters, "Vanity of vanities?all is vanitythat Beatrix read it aloud in the same J voice that she had used for the ghost?then a vanished as the ghost had done ; and she 1 (Rose) fell forward weeping, with her face to i- i the ground. y She awoke, and pressing her fingers upon i-! her pulse found that she had a high fever and e did not close her eyes again that night. The 11 uext morning, although the fever had abated, i- she was too unwell to leave her bed. e i Louis expressed a great deal of sympathy s and seemed very much concerned on account & j of her pale, wan looks; but Rose would, on no i account, hear of a doctor being called. . ."\l snail rest until aiternoou, sue ouiu, then, if I am not better, you can summon the whole medical board. It's too bad, tbriugh, that I should be so good-for-nothing this morning, as I wanted to go to C's and look at that elegant set of sables which Mrs. Curtis told me about." | . ^"It's an awful pity," said Louis, and pres; ently went out. | About twelve o'clock Rose got up, dressed j herself, and went down stairs. Upon enquiry, she.lpamed that her husband had left the 1 house more than an hour before; and des; patching one of the waiters for a carriage, was in&tshort time set down before the principal ! entrance of the Fifth Avenue Hotel. 1 The waiter who. carried up her card, brought , back word that the lady was out, and would not return for a good half hour yet. i J'Then show me into the drawing-room, and -pwflliawait her there," said Rose.'- j ^^he man obeyed, and after enjoining it upon let Miss Alverly know of her being onnn o?ol,o oVtnnM /WtrTIO ?T1 flllt A. dflfCj WIVIU ao owu wguo guuwiu wimv mm*j j***- w ^ Iar into his hand, and he withdrew. Rose amused herself looking over some albums which she found upon a table, the time slipped rapidly away, and when she next looked at her watch, it was half-past one. She put her hand upon the bell and was about to sound it, when the same waiter who had admitted, her came in. "Will you please to go up to the fourth floor, now inam ? Miss Alverly has come in," he said. Rose got into the elevator, and alighting on the fourth floor, the man conducted her along the passage until they came to No. 99. Here he stopped, rapped, and the door was opened by a French-looking girl who thrust her head sharply out into the passage. "It's the lady whose card I gave you a short time ago, Mademoiselle Julie," said the man. "Ah, bien oui,"said Mademoiselle Julie, "II faut que Madame entrasse," and she ushered Rose into a handsomely furnished, but well littered apartment. Books, papers, ribbons, gloves, gauze, lace, spangles and feathers were promiscuously distributed over the room ; while in the middle of the floor stood a heap of white satin, gold lftr>e hitrh-hfifilpH shoes, red clocked stockinsrs. i farthing gale and French corsets, all piled together as though the owner had just got out of them. Mademoiselle Julie threw open the door of the inner room, and Rose entering, j found herself in a neat, handsomely arranged : chamber, where, stretched upon a couch and : wrapped in a white peignoi lay Beatrix, her j long dark hair flowing loose over the pillow, her wonderful eyes glowing with feverish ex- j citement, looking very large and bright and sunken ; and her face so worn and white as to startle the beholder. She smiled faintly and held out her hand, saying in a weary tone, "Come close to me, 'darling; I have just come in from a matinee at Wallack's, and am too tired to sit up." Rose went up to the coach, and bending lover; kissed her several tunes without speak- , . iiyfc The^ ghe dre^up,a foot-stool and sea- i twrnerself close Reside her sister. ' ' "Take off your hat," said Beatrix; "I want to see your beautiful hair. Is it fixed as you had it last evening ?" "No," said Rose, laying aside her jockey, i "I twisted it up myself to-day." 1 Beatrix passed her hand fondly over the 1 rippling waves. 1 "You are very lovely, little sister," she said ' softly; "you have fully realized the promise of 1 your childhood. Now tell me all about your- 1 self, Rose, and first, why did you not come to see me when I was in L , last February 7" 1 Rose began eagerly to explain, but Beatrix ] interrupted her. 1 "Is it possible," she cried, "that you. were ' actually in the theatre, and I did not see you ? 1 Oh! child, it was such a bitter disappointment 1 to me. I had a terrible cry over it. The de- 1 sire to see Helen and yourself was all that 1 carried me to L , and I purposely selected the most insignificant character in the piece, as I did not wish to attract attention, and per-11 kips be recognized. I made myself known to Professor Schmidheim, of course; I have kept up an irregular sort of correspondence with him. But I could not feel safe or easy 1 in L , so asked for permission to join a ( detachment of the troupe who were going out 1 to the West next day. God only knows how 1 wretched and forlorn I felt, coming back to 1 my native city, and not having one relative 1 to seek and bid me welcome. I learned from Professor Schmidheim that you had not moved away, but were still in the same old place, 1 before I sent the note; and it seemed so like casting me off." "Oh 1 Beatrix, darling," broke in Rose, "You can't imagine what a great sorrow and i disappointment it was to us all not to see you." Then she briefly recounted her adventures f of that evening. "Quite romantic," said Beatrix, when she ha^concluded, "and you are married to the rQHftt'errant uow, petite. You have been quite a favorite, this summer; I heard all about you, and it was to see you that I flew from Long Branch and came to this city. I j was urged, and consented to make an engage- j nient here for one month; but I fear my j strength will scarcely hold out at the rate I j am working now." "Oh 1 Beatrix, you ought to have rest," said Rose, earnestly. "You look so wan and " I I weary. "As soon as this month is out," said Beat-1 ! rix, "I shall lay myself quietly by in some re-! j tired country place, and recruit all my facul-1 j ties until the New York season begins. The ! managers predict that I will be quite the rage | next winter. Well! success must eventually come to all who patiently work and wait ' for her, and I have labored hard and endured ! a great deal; but I love my profession. Thank j God for that! I have never doubted my j own ability. Through all my early struggles j i and the trials that beset my career, I fixed iny j [ gaze steadfastly on my goal; and, seeing a ! ! rose-hued future behind the dark clouds, never j fainted, never despaired. Step by step, I mounted upward. I feel now that the goal is j nearly attained ; and when a notable success | is ensured to me and I really make some ! money, I can send assistance to our poor J mother at home. I do not now make more j than enough to suffice for my own expenses. , I realized something very handsome last ; spring?they gave me benefits in various j j places, you see?but my dear, one has to live i during the summer; all of those earnings are Bpent, and I am now actually working to de-1 fray ray expenses here, end have a little over | (AS OU|/|/V* y UAV lu UVAAJV vuvM^y , season opens. I could not remain in New York idle, or I would, soon be bankrupt I must dress in a certain style, you see, and I must have two rooms. Then Julie's wages are a considerable moth, but at the same time indispensable; for she is so honest and faithful, and fixes my hair more tastefully than any one else. True, I might have had an easier time, for I was offered an engagement in a country village, where I would only have to play once a day ; but I was pining for a sight of you, petite. I had heard so much of you; and did you know, Rose, that we came here in the same train, last week ?" "No," said Rose, "how should I ? You were not in the same coach." Beatrix looked steadily at her for an instant, then with a little sigh resumed, "We were in the same coach, and only a few seats removed from each other, but you could not recognize me, for I kept my veil down, as I wished to remain stricUy incog. I knew you immediately, but did not spekk, for I had studied your husband's face and*felt instinctively that he could ill bear the knowledge of his wife's sister being an actress. Of course, you have not told him anything about me?" Rose colored vividly and cast down her eyes. "You are quite right not to do so," said Beatrix, quickly. "Your husband is, I can see (I am something of a physiognomist, you know) a proud, fastidious nature; God grant he may be strong withal, and you have nothing left to desire in him. You should never do or say anything to conflict with his fastidious ideas. Excuse me," she continued glancing down at Rose's rich dress, "but I should judge him to be well off." Then leaning forward and throwing her arms around her sisters neck, she whispered, "Tell me, dearest, are you really happy; as happy as you would have been with the prince I promised you long ago ?" "Far happier than any prince or king could ever have made me," murmured Rose with deep feeling. "Then cling to it," said Beatrix, kissing her, "and never let any one else's interest come between him and you. For my part," with another sigh, "I have learned, by this time, that my profession cuts me off socially from even my nearest of blood. I did not anticipate this when I first embraced it; but Rose, little one, a few years' experience is worth a great deal to us all. I have not realized the hopes with which I started on my career, yet I do not regret the step. As I said, I love my art; I glory in the belief that some time in the dim and distant future, I may contribute to the great end of elevating and ennobling the stage; that long after I have ceased to be, men may remember that my life was blameless, and acknowledge that a great artist and a woman whose fair fame is unsullied, can ex ist in the same individual. Yes, I love my art," she continued, sinking back upon the pillow; "I am happy when I feel that I am doing justice to my God-given talent And now dearest,tell me about your self, and all at home i and if I close my eyes, dpn't fancy I'm asleep, for the pupil^ are bo Wt thej gleam of swords and glare of the foot-lights." "Close them by all means, darling/' said Rose, as she pressed her soft, cool, white fingers upon the hot, tired lids, and began, in a low, soothing voice, to relate all that had happened from the time that Beatrix first went away up to the present; but long O'er she concluded, the parted lips and regular breathing attested that her sister had, in reality, isl&n asleep. Mrs. Velmonte looked at her watch, saw that it was ten minutes after two ; then rising noiselessly, pressed a light kiss upon the sleeper's lips, and passed out, leaving a message with Julie, whom she found sewing on a scarlet cloak in the now orderly dressing-rood^ and re-descending the stairway, was presently ensconced in the carriage and driving to Delmonico's. In truth, Rose felt that she must find some pretext for being out, and was resolved to act upon Beatrix' counsel and never let her husband know that she had a sister on the stage. Half an hour later Beatrix awoke. She looked around and called her sister, but receiving no reply, got up and went into her dressing-room. Julie had put it all to rights, and gave her Rose's message; then advancing toward ner witn a large oasKec containing tne Sowers which had been thrown her the pre* ceding evening, "If Mademoiselle will overLook these," said the girl, significantly, "she will, perhaps, find something of more value than perishable blossoms." "Show me what you mean, Julie," said Beatrix indifferently; "I don't feel equal to the task of turning over all those things." The maid eagerly selected a single rose from among the rest, and presenting it to her mistress, Beatrix perceived a diamond ring sparkling in the centre. She detached it, and holding it up to the light, said gravely, "Have you any idea of where this came from, Julie ? You were, most of the time, stationed at that side door, I think." "I did see the young gentleman who threw it," said Julie, "and he is staying in this very house." I recognized him in the front entry this morning; and Tom, the tall waiter, tells me his name is Steele. He was asking another gentleman a great many questions about you, and waited for ever so long to see you come in. He is a very young gentleman, Mam'selle, and seems very much epris." "This must go back to him, immediately," said Beatrix, as taking a little box off the toilet table, she put the ring in and tied it carefully down with a white ribbon. "Could I trust it to one of the waiters, do you think, Julie?" she asked. "T * t . .1 1 P 1_! "i can una out tne nuniDer 01 nus ruuw, and take it to him, myself, if you really mean what you say," said theastouished Julie, "but surely, Mam'selle ?" "Go at once, then, and find out his room," said Beatrix, cutting her short; and the girl, still wondering, obeyed. Then Beatrix wrote upon a slip of paper, "Miss Alverly returns the ring which Mr. Steele was so imprudent as to let fall upon the stage last evening; and cautions him, for the future, to abstain from throwing about his valuables in such a style and folding, placed it inside the paper in which she wrapped the box, then directing the package, waited for Julie's return, to add the number. In a few minutes the maid re-appeared. "It's No. 87, Mam'selle," she said, "and Mr. Steele is in his room now." "Then take it immediately," said Beatrix, briefly; "and after you have done so, go and >1 Beatrix seldom dined at the public table, and on this occasion felt more than ever disinclined to do so. In about ten minutes Julie returned. "Your dinner will be up directly, Mam'selle," she said. "Did you go to Mr. Steele ?" asked Beatrix. "Yes, Mam'selle," the maid answered, smiling, "and found him in his room. He seemed perfectly ravi when he heard that 1 had come from you; but after he had read the note, you should have seen how blank and crestfallen he looked. Oh! Mam'selle, I am sure you have made him disoU" "C est assez," said Beatrix, impatiently. "Now roll that table up here; for I scent the odor of turtle soup through the key-hole, and hail it as a prognostic that a term will presently be put to my fasting." [to be continued.] fading. HOW COD IS TAKEN AND CUBED. . Now that our ood fishery has fairly set in, every man, woman and child almost will be haraat work, catching, salting, drying and packing codfish. One of our fishing villages, at this time, presents quite a lively scene. The small boats that have been out during the day on the fishing grounds, usually only a mile or two from the harbor, are seen coming home in the evening deeply laden with fish. On reaching the stages, which are platforms of poles laid close together and nailed to a strong frame work supported by posts and shores, and jutting out into the water, the fish are forked one by one out of the boat and flung on the stage, where they are opened and the head and entrails removed, the liver being carefully preserved for the sake of the oil. Then the fish passes into the hands of the "splitter," who dexterously lays it open, so that it lies perfectly flat. Next the "salter" takes it in hand; and after remaining _the proper time in salt, it is spread outjfltoflj "flake" to dry and harden in the sun^^HH undergoing this part of the process itve^MP constant attention. On the approach of night, or during wet weather, it is piled in little round heaps that resemble small haycocks, the 3kin of the fish being outward so as to throw off the rain or dew. Bark coverings are spread over those heaps when the weather isvery bad. When thoroughly dried and hardened, it is taken to the store of the merchant, where it is "culled," or sorted into varieties for the different markets. The "Madeira," "West India" and "Dun," or broken fish. The first named is the best quality, the second a degree inferior, while the third is considered good enough for the negroes; the "Dun" is used at home. The "sounds," or air-bladders, and tongues of the cod are pickled in kegs, and make an excellent article of food; when fresh they are esteemed a delicacy. The cod-liver oil is world-renowned for its medicinal qualities. The best is made without boiling, by applying to the livers, when quite fresh, a moderate degree of heat, and then filtering the oil three times in succession through thin flannel or similar texture. When carefully prepared it is auite pure, nearly inordoroug and of a crystalline 'transparency. Of this refined cod liver oil, about060 tons are exported annti?Uyr the,' value?ere~being $240 per ton. It is larely adulterated by mixture with inferior oils by retailera and sold at a very high price. In tbfl London hospital for the treatment of consumptive patients, it is found that 70 per cent improve while taking cod liver oil, and with a -great many the good effect is permanent? Abetter from Newfoundland. V-';'. ' Bull Another Cancer Remedy?A physioian writes to the Newberry Herald as "I Bate tried the 'cundurango,' in several oaiedl of cancer. It is an efficient alterative, but in several cases I entirely failed. I have tried tea infusions of the red clover tops in ten cases of cancer and have failed in none. I will venture the assertion that by means of this unpretentious plant I will cure more cases of weUHKafed deposits than 'cundurango/ or any other remedy that is known to the Matem'Medica, can effect I feel that I cannot urge upon the public too strongly the wond erful remedial alterative power of this plant, and having been in the practice of medicine aboutr forty years, it must be conceded I have hihd some experience. For all dermic diseases and cntaneous affections the red clover tops are the most efficient remedy I ever have tried, I have cured some fifteen cases of cancer that my brother physicians had abandoned as inourable. Let every farmer understand there is flourishing in his fields a remedy which is far superior to 'cun-i durango/ in its wonderous curative properties, and that remedy is the red clover tops. In my hands it has proved far more powerful than 'cundurango, for I have had ample opportunity for testing the latter in the country of its growth. To use thered clover, all that is necessary is to render a tea of it, and drink freely through the day. A piece of rag ought to be wet with the tea ana kept applied to the cancerous sore. Arrangement of Books.?Give your apartments expression?character. Booms which mean nothing are cheerless indeed. Study light and shade and the combination and arrangement of drapery, furniture and pictures. Allow nothing to look isolated, but let everything present an air of sociability. Observe a room immediately after a number of people have left it, and then, as you arrange the furniture, disturb as little as possible the relative positions of chairs, ottomans and sofas. Place two or three (hairs in a conversational attitude in some cheery corner, an ottoman within easy distance of a sofa; a chair near your stand of sterescopic views of engravings, and one where a good light will fall on the book which you may reach from the table near. Make little studies of effect which shall repay the more than usual observer, and not leave it possible for one to make the criticism which applies to so many homes, even of wealth and elegance?"fine carpets, handsome furniture, a few pictures and elegant nothings?but how dreary 1" The chilling atmosphere is felt at once, and we cannot divest ourselves of the idea that we must maintain a * * V *.t -V stiff" and severe demeanor to accord witn tne spirit of the place. Make your homes, then, so cozy and cheerful that, if we visit you, we may m joyous and unrestrained, and not feel ourselves out of harmony with our surroundings.?Art Review. ? A Wonderful City ia London.?It is four times more populous than New York and St. Petersburg, twice as populous as Constantinople, has two-thirds more people in it than Paris, and one-fourth more than Pekin. It contains as many people as Scotland, twice as many as Denmark, and three times the number of Greece. Every eight minutes, night and day, one person dies ; every five minutes, one is born. 800,000 have been added to the population since 1851. Only half a million of all this population attend public worship; and there are a million of absentees, who, if inclined to attend, would require to have 80O new places of worship built 100,000 people work on Sundays. There are 140,000 habit every year taken off the streets. iuu,uuu lailen women. 10,000 professional gamblers. 50,000 children trained to crime. 30,000 thieves and receivers of stolen goods. There are 10,000 public houses and beer shops, frequented regularly by 500,0000 persons. In every 890 of the population, one is insane. There is one baker for every 1,206 persons; one butcher for every 1,553; one grocer for every 1,500; and one policeman for every 608 inhabitants. On the other hand, out of 60,000 street Arabs, 30,000 are at ragged schools. There are 400 Bible women, 380 city missionaries, and 20,000 persons attending public worship in the theatres every Bun- # day evening. It is a world in itself. A Big Snake Story.? The Elk Bon Gazette, published in Virginia, is responsible for the following snake story, the truth of which is vouched for by reliable parties: "Last Saturday Messrs. Isaac Wentz and Isaac Corl, of Brandy township, in this county, very unexpectedly embarked in the snake trade, and for a short time drove a first-class business. They were engaged at work on Wentz's premises, and disturbing the slumbers Of a We rattlesnake, received the usual TT i?L: j i.i f warning, upon iou&iug iuuuu mcr muuu the reptile ready for battle. It took but a moment to despatch him, bat our friends found that this was only the advance guard of a regular den, for a short distance from them five snake heads protruded from a hollow log. As they approached, the snakes for defence drew in, but kept up a terrible rattliug. The next thing in order was to split the log. This accomplished, revealed to our heroes a crawling, yellowish brown colored mass of snakes, and now the fun began. One ! by one their snakeships fell beneath the well directed clubs, until the number slab amounted to thirty-nbe, and with the one previously killed, forty. Of the thirty-nbe in the log six were old ones and thirty-three young ones, varying b length from fifteen to twenty inches. The Toweb of Babel.?A writer describes the present appearance of the place tare language got mixed: . > l^^fter a ride of nine miles we were at the foot of Bier Nimrood. Our horses' feet were trampling on the remains of brick which showed here and there through the accumulated dust and rubbish of ages. Before our eyes uprose a great mound of earth barren and bare. This was Bier Nimrood, the ruins of the Tower of Babel, by which the first builders of the earth had vainly hoped to scale high Heaven. Here, also, it was that Nebuchadnezzar built?for bricks bearing his name have been found b the ruins. At the top of the mound a great mass of brick work pierce* the accumulated soiL With your finger you touch the very bricks?large, square-shaped and massive?that were thoroughly burned, the very mortar, the time new hard as granite, handled more than 4000 years ago by earth's impious people. From the summit of the mound, far away over the plab, we see glistening bright as a star, the gilded dome of a mosque, that caught and reflected the rays of the morning sun. This glittering speck was the tomb of the holy All To pray before this at some period of his life; to kiss the earth around there at some time or other, > to bend his body and count his beads, is the I daily desire of every devout Mahommedan." -4 ? Be Makly.?Never try to keep out of a man's way when you are owing him anything, unless it is a thrashing. It is bad enough in all conscience, to be in debt, but do not make yonr condition worse by growing meaner under its pressure. When you absolutely cannot pay up at the appoiuted time, don't make him think you are sick, don't skulk about in any way-streets to avoid meeting your creditors, don't sneak around the first corner when you catch sight of him before he has seen you. All such conduct is unmanly. No doubt you are averse to standing face to face with a man to whom you are debtor, pay-day past and you are a debtor still?it is mortifying, very, | but it is only one of the natural consequences of borrowing; and as you have incurred the penalty, why meet it like a man. Face your creditor, let him know that you neither forget the debt nor underrate his patience with you. Say frankly that you are very sorry to keep )> him so long out of his money, and that you will pay up as fast and as soon as you can. , Hobsok's Choice."?There are but few who are not familiar with this expression, but we venture that the number is lew indeed jvho understand its derivation, and we therefore copy what the Mobile Register has to say about it: - ' The meaning of this saying is correctly understood as 'this or none.' But we believe its origin is not so widely known. Hobson kept an inn in JLondon; called tne uuu, situated on Bishopgate street He let out. horses to hire, and any person applying for one was obliged to take the animai next to the stable door or go away without one. Hobisoh w? widely known for benevolence, particularly y for kindness to animals. He always put the horse nearest the door which had rested longest, and thus managed to have their hours of rest according to their labor. He would lose a customer before he would break his rule. So the saying went abroad Tlobson's choice,' instead of this or none. If.?If we could only read each other's hearts, we should be kinder to each other. If wo knew the woes and bitterness and physical annoyance of our neighbors, we should make allowances for them which wedonot now. We go about masked, uttering stereotyped sentiments, hiding our heart-pang? and our headaches as carefully as we can; add-. yet we wonder that others do not discover them by intuition. We cover our best feelings from the light?we do not so conceal our resentments ana our dislikes, of which we are prone to be proud. Life is a masquerade at which few unmask, even to their very dearest And though there is need of much maskj ing, would to heaven we dared show our real y; face from birth to death, for then some few, I at least, would truly love each other.?Hearth > and Home. Be Contented.?Bui wer says that "poverty is only an idea in nine cases out of ten. Some men with $10,000 a year suffer more for want of means than others with $500. The reason ' i i .?/ .. rx;_ r is, t&ejncbe'imaii nas ms amncai wants, xiis income is $1000 a year, and he suffers enough . i by being dunned for unpaid debts to kill a sensitive man. A man who earns a dollar a day and does not go in debt is the happier of the two. Very few who have never been rich will believe this, but it is true. There are thousands and thousands with princely incomes who never know a minute's peace, because they live beyond their means. There is really more happiness among the workingmen in the world than among those who are called rich.?Scientific American. *9? The great ocean is in a constant state of evaporation. It gives back what it receives* and sends up its waters in mists to gather into,./ clouds; and so there is rain in the fields, and ^ storm on the mountains, and greenness and beautjr everywhere. But there are many men who do not believe in evaporation. They get all they can and keep all they get, and so are not fertilizers, but stagnant, and miasmatic pools. : * '-i