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lewis m. grist, proprietor. | |nbfjjmbent Jfamilg ^Itfespaptr: Jor tjjc |)romofton of % political, Social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of % Soatj). | TERMS?$3.00 A TEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 19. YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, MABCH 13, 1873. 1STO. 11. JU Original I Written for the Yorkvillo Enquirer. FLORIMOND; OR, Divorce or No Divorce. BY MRS. CLARK WARING. CHAPTER IV. AN EVENT. The howling tones of savage Winter's angry voice no longer swept across the neighboring fields; nor lingered in the marshy meadows ; nor stormed amid the naked branches of the yielding trees; nor sank deep into the mournful heart of the unhappy Florimond. The snow-king was dethroned in the sunny South. In this soft and favored clime, the blithesome world was clad already in the garniture of a ; thousand flowers and the atmosphere musical I with the songs of a thousaud birds. Full of ( new-born life and vivifying joy, the earth re- ' ceived, in sweet content, the abundant blessings of a bounteous Creator. In Mrs. Sum- 1 merville's garden the fountains are flowing, whispering sweet prophecies of the golden ' summer time to the waving verdure and fra- i grant flowers. Some tiny wild blossoms? 1 anemones and lowly violets?have crept in ] from under the forest trees, to hear this deli- { cious tale and quench their thirst in the transparent waters. It was during such a happy season, on a soft April day, when ethereal 5 mildness dwelt in the spirit of the gentle ' south wind, that the eyes of Florimond's innocent babe opened, for the first time, on the 1 scenes of this beauteous earth. It was a tiny, 1 wee specimen of humanity, which, from the ' ' ii.! c i:r_ 1 first, seemed to have out a ieeoie lewure ui me. But if the child's tenure was feeble, the poor mother seemed on the verge of extinction. ^ For several weeks she only did not lose < breath?she barely kept it, with no power to ^ notice the precious gift which had come to her; nor indeed having the consciousness to J feel a single throb of ineffable motherhood ! ' "Life of life, love of love, moan of moan, ! Through all changes, all times, everywhere." I But there did come a day when this tortu- i ring suspense was at least abated, and life, for ( the- time, triumphed. The monster, Death, s knowing his hour would inevitably come, J could afford to wait! A day, we say, did come when the light of reason once more i shone in Florimond's eyes, and she spoke in ] conscious accents. s "Mother," was her first question, "where is 1 ray little babe?" Silently Mrs. Summerville placed the tiny 1 creature in her arras, and then turned away to 1 thank God, and to wipe away the torrent of ( tears running down her withered cheeks.. So 1 near together are joy and tears in this life! 1 The next question Florimond asked, with ^ her baby pressed close to her heart, was, 1 "Has Albert come ?" and Mrs. Summerville, 1 at that critical moment in her grand-child's ? life, would rather have cut the tongue from s her mouth than to be compelled to reply, as truth did compel her to reply? I "No, Florimond, he has not come." Florimond said not a word, but a dark and y gloomy look took the place of that indescri- y bable expression, so full of joy and mysterious a light, which, a few moments before, had, as with a halo of glory, illuminated her radiant, c expressive features. Even after this there were days and nights of anxiety, when only unceasing watchfulness and the tenderest care could keep alive the *' glimmering spark of life. Sometimes, when witnessing this heart-rending struggle of the immortal soul, imprisoned in this frail tene- ( raent of clay, Mrs. Sumraerville would think |; it was a source of regret that death did not at;1 once claim his prey and let this poor, trammeled spirit, who had never found on earth a perfect content?who was always groping and ' aspiring for the unattainable good?wing ' its flight to those calm shores, unwashed by ' earthly storms, where no harsh fate could ever again mar its eternal peace and se- \ renity. 1 But in theorderingof Fate, or rather in the j . ordering of that Providence who knows what is 1 best for us, there came another day when Flori- j mond was able to be lifted from her bed and j placed in an easy chair at the open window, where she could divide her attention between j . the sunshine without, and that tiny morsel of j humanity which reposed on her lap, and | which she never seemed satisfied to have for a j' moment out of her sight. It was on this same ! day, that Mrs. Sumraerville handed Florimond a letter from her husband. With that ! same gloomy look on her face which Albert's name always called up, and which poor Mrs. Summerville was destined never to see replaced by a different one, Florimond broke , the seal and read : "Dearest, Dearest Florimond .-"Are you still liv- j ing: and can you hear my agonized cry forforgiv- 1 ness? My God, Florimond, if you are dead, ore j tnese nnesnave urne w reacu your eves, remui sb will kill mo! Forgive me?oh 1 forgive?forgive! < It was that cruel letter which kept me away from . you. Oh! how could you write me such?such maddening words ? But I do not plead this in ! ' extenuation. I know I should have gone to you anyhow. Dear wife, if I could bare my heart before you, you would see that it is tilled with re- ] morse?remorse for having slighted your tender love; aud because I did not lly to you in spite of j all pride. You will think it strange, perhaps, j Florimond, that I have been so long in writing, ' since your grandmother wrote tho summons to j 1 come instantly, if I wished to see you alive. I j have j nst received that letter. I was away on leave I < of absence. (Again and again forgive me, Florry! J I ' And in the meantime the old camp was broken j ] up and the forces removed to a far distant place. I received positive orders to rejoin my regiment, j 1 I found great difficulty in doing so;" there was < such confusion. I wandered about for some days ; ' before I found their exact whereal>outs. Even after I did, the letter was not handed mo for a 1 ( whole week?and it the bearer of such dreadful news. But there was constant skirmishing, and battles, and the cries of the wounded, and the ' j groans of the dying?so nobody thought about tho letter. My God! if I could only fly to you?could i 1 only kneel at your bedside and imploro you to forgive me all! Alas Jit is impossible?momen- I tousevents are imminent. May tho Almighty j preserve your life to me; but living, or dying, : my Florimond, forgive your poor husband. "Anxiously and fondly, A. C. D." This letter showed evident haste?the wild- j est commotion of mind ; and was even blotted,; in some places, with stains of tears. Enough < to touch a heart of adamant one would think ; and yet shall I chronicle how this tenderhearted woman, who could not behold the sufferings of the meanest brute unmoved?shall ' I tell you how she treated this emanation of a strong man's sorrow, remorse, tenderness ? After reading it carefully through twice, Florimond deliberately tore it in small bits, placiug them all together in a heap, on the marble slab table which stood near her. Then requesting the attendant nurse to hand her the silver match box, which stood on her i bureau, she ignited the bits of paper, watch- 1 s ingthera burn in silence until there was noth- \ ing left but the blackened remains. ! 1 "Will you be kind enough to remove that 1 stuff?" she asked the nurse. Mrs. Summer- j g ville, who had been a silent witness to all this, j \ said not a word. Well, what could she say ? : s She had already exhausted every argument g and uttered more words than are contained j 1 in Webster's unabridged, all to no purpose, j c Now, Florimond could take her own way, letj s the harvest of her deeds be sweet or bitter! 8 It is needless to say, Florimond took no c notice of this letter. Mrs. Summerville, how- 1 ever, wrote to apprise Albert of his wife's f gradual improvement. He replied imrnedi- 1 ately, expressing his thanks to the Almighty t for her preservation and restoration. Before f long there came, too, another letter to Fiori- r mond, which was as follows : 1 "Why have you not written to me, dear Flori- I mond?" I have looked soanxiouslv lor a letter, if .. only a few kind words, Flory! You would, if you knew how I longed for them. If you are not e i*pt able to write, vou might at least, dear wife, | r send me a message through your grandmother's J letters. She writes rne, it is your desire to name h the child?our child?Alberta Florimond. Why flo you insist on Alberta? Why not leave that name for one of our half dozen boys yet to come, s Sod willing? However, we can afford to have an Alberta ana an Albert, too. The eldest son of the e family mwst be arf Albert Dandridge, to preserve t the old custom ; but I agree to Alberta, and thank you for giving the little one my name. I accept a it as an indication of kind thoughts of your distant Albert. (A bitter smile curled Florimond's lips at this point in the letter. Mrs. Snmmerville saw the smile and shuddered). It gives me groat ^ ?omfort to know you are improving, and that the little one, too, seems to be somewhat more tbriv- F ing. I hope she will bearobust hearty girl, when ^ uer father comes home to see her ladyship. "Florimond, I do not think I will have the ucart to write you again, unless you at least send a lie a kind message. Tell me to destroy that inmlting letter, and to blot it out from my memo- 1< -y?if I can. Your affectionate, A. C. D." * Florimond treated this epistle in the same v nanner as she did the other, except that be- j ug able now to move about the room, she a Durntit on the hearth instead of the marble s ;able. v "You have a hard, unforgiving heart," said v uer grandmother, who under such provocation a ;ould not preserve her resolution of total si- e lence. r "My heart is just as he made it," answered v Florimond, "when as a child of seventeen I 0 aecame his wife, my heart was wax to be noulded by his hands. See into what shape j< le has wrought it! Mother, I may as well j nforra you once for all," and Florimond's J ;yes blazed as with the light of a thousand e stars, "I shall never, more live with Albert ^ Dandridge as his wife." 0 "My God, Florimond!" exclaimed Mrs. t, Suramerville, inexpressibly shocked, "I believe you are not in your right mind. Calm your- Q( ielf, ray child, and do not utter such dreadful ihings?which you do not?cannot mean." f( "I do mean every word of it," said Flori- 3 nond emphatically; "nor can you divine all c ny reasons for so doing. In imitation of a n jertain old Roman who- separated from his f( wife, I say to you, look at this shoe which is t] low pinching my foot so horribly. "Is it not j( land some ? Is it not new? Yet none knows ^ vhere it wrings but she that wears it." It is a lot alone that Albert does not love me, but?" r( ind Florimond stopped abruptly, her face t] carlet even to the roots of her hair. f "But what f" exclaimed Mrs. Sumraerville, n ireathlessly. j "But this," said Florimond solemnly, "I ^ vill not live with him. I will not! I have rawed an unalterable vow, and that vow I ihall keep in spite of the whole world." Mrs. Summerville, iu speechless agitation, juitted the room. CHAPTER V. a URS. DANDRIDGE DISCOVERS A NEW INTEREST 1 IN LIFE. a After many long and painful meditations ii 111 this last conversation with her granddaugh- a :er, Mrs. Summerville concluded to say nothng more on the subject. Kuowing that many ? months would probably elapse before the hus- g Dand and wife could meet each other again, y ihe hoped that Time, which changes all things [j ind modifies all human feeling?aye! alike n jur fondest love or bitterest hate?would sof- ^ ten the angry thoughts and change the unholy si Jesigns which now seemed to hold dominion y in Florimond's obdurate heart. Colonel Dan- ^ iridge did not write to his wife again. When 0 it came to a struggle of pride between these ;wo hearts it was, indeed, as when Greek p neets Greek. Mrs. Sumraerville, in accor- a lance with Albert's request, continued to j, svrite to him occasionally to give him some a] nforraation as to his child's progress. The ;hild was evidently one of a most delicate and msceptible organization, but under the supervision of a mother who watched it with unut- b :erable fondness and anxiety, and a grand- h nother equally anxious and devoted, it soon ti began to thrive and grow in strength and t' beauty. These effusive epistles to the father, ? Bmanatiugfrom a grandmother's doating heart, 1 Ool. Dandridge answered punctually, in all c kindness and respect, but always briefly ; and h in none of them did he ever mention his wife's A name. This was another humiliation to Flo- si rimond's self love, uutil finally she would not S] Kak Vinoknnrl'o Iflffnro nnr TrnnnhooI n in inquiry as to his whereabouts and welfare, v The serpent of distrust and alienation once p idraitted into the secret councils of the heart, ti how soon are all the springs of affection dried t< jp?all its blooniiug flowers withered and dead, w But at last these letters, which Florimond s! would not read, ceased suddenly to make their ii appearance. For two months nothing was k beard of Col. Dandridge. Florimond made si ao sign. Ifshe felt any anxiety or experienced h that worstof agonies?the agony of suspense? o she kept it all to herself apd said nothing. One early morn, when Mrs. Summerville was a on her favorite seat in the piazza inhaling the freshness of a newly-awakened world, she saw, t! in the morniug paper, the announcement of ] Col. Dandridge's capture by the enemy, and \ " his having been coffveyed a prisoner of war to i Fort Delaware. The old lady wondered, with- j " in herself, what effect this news would have on b i 1 Florimond. She was sure the picture which i c this fact suggested to the mind?a loathsome j ii prison, confinement, coarse food, uucongenial . f companionship, sickness and disease perhaps, and endless monotony, could not fail to touch \ the refined and quick sensibilities of her grand-11 daughter. No such thing! The old lady sent r the newspaper to Florimond with the an-; 1 nouncement marked in pencil, to draw lier at- j tention to it, and half an hour after, while she I sat in the same seat, occupied in painful j ] thoughts, she heard Florimond's voice singing i r a merry ditty to the little Berta. And when j r she made her appearaince at the breakfast ta- ) ble it was with a brighter face, a more cheer- f fill countenance than Mrs. Sumnierville had p een her wear for months. Mrs. Summerville vas overpowered at the sight?she felt every ?ope of a future reconciliation die within her. ; During the nest few days she observed a still ;reater change in Florimond's demeanor, vhich brought her to the unavoidable conclu- j ion that Mrs. Dandridge wa9 relieved?nay, j ;lad that her husband was languishing in a ! Northern fortress. Day by day she grew more j :heerful, and that intense dejection which had j o long characterized her delicately formed, j pirituelle features, gave place to a look of j ?lm serenity and content. This utter heart- j essness, as it appeared to Mrs. Summerville, i >ut her in quite a state of indignation against j 7^1 ?I.? - ? J O~ ??? /Jaw niknn fko vnnnff ' : lUIUlJUllU. ou, uuc un^, micu 1.11V jv?.g nother was playing with her child in a state, or her, of boisterous merriment, Mrs. Sumnerville remarked to her?"Florimond, I i lave noticed a great change in you since the lews of poor Albert's imprisonment reached is. Can it be possible you have allowed your ; vil passions to get so much the advantage of rour better nature, as absolutely to rejoice in lis misfortune ?" 1 "It is such a satisfaction," said Florimond, ; hutting her ears to the severe tone of her i grandmother's voice; "such a great satisfac- : ion to know he cannot come home now to i nnoy me with his presence, for a long time, I i lope." i "For shame !" exclaimed Mrs. Summer- i ille, deeply incensed ; "and he the man you 1 iromised to love, honor and obey, until death ' lo you part!" "No, he is not the man," said Florimond, i oldly ; "the Albert Dandridge to whom, fol-11 owing the dictates of a first and pure affec- 1 ion, I gave my young heart, my life?and my 1 loney ; whose wordly estate I gladly, proud- t y promised to share, was a man of nobility \ nd worth. A man who was not to be insen- < iblc to my holiest, teuderest affections; who i ran never to slight or neglect me; one who i ras to be a faithful friend, guide and protector, 1 nd who would love and cherish me to the i nd of our lives. Such was the man I mar- ; ied?or such I thought him ; and he, over 1 ;hose prolonged absence I rejoice, he is none 1 f this." ] "Nonsense," said Mrs. Summerville. "He ] \ none of it, because you will not let him be. i le says those letters he wrote you after i lerta's birth, breathed nothing but the kind- i 3t sentiments. That no man could have i written more affectionate words to a woman, j r humbled his pride more than he has done 1 5 you." 1 "Those letters were affectionate, I grant," ^ aid Florimond; "but with only the forced af- 1 ;ction of an awakened remorse?a sort of love 6 )r conscience' sake. I will have none of it I 1 'his affection, neither in quality nor quantity, ? an make adequate atonement for past cold- ( ess. For tyranny o'er word and thought, ( )r neglect, for taking sides against me with ( bose whom, even in Holy Writ, a man is en- ( )ined to leave and cleave to his wife. And 1 o you think this lukewarm affection, which ? s I have said before, has its existence only in 1 jmorse, do you think it can atone to me for ^ be lost empire of my maiden happiness and 1 eedom ? Ah ! the gladness, the joy, the ( lusic of those lost hours, when hope was un- ( immed in my young heart, and Love still a ^ eity? ' " 'Theseare jovous things, forever J Dead, or fled, for 1110! ( On the wind there inoans forever ( One word only, which the river, Murmuring, murmurs to the shore ; And the flocks, with chilly bleat, Evermore that word repeat, And that word is?nevermore!'" Florimond repeated these lines in a tone nd a manner impossible for us to convey, 'heir pathos would have touched any heart, ( nd proved to any hearer that Florimond had 1 iherited from her grandmother that rarest of * 11 gifts, a delicious, irresistible voice. "My dear child," said Mrs. Suramerville, ' your morbid feelings on this subject exag- 1 erate and pervert the truth. The fact is, ' ou have been disappointed in your ideal; ( ut this is no reason why all the kind and oble impulses of your nature should be 1 rarped, why all pure and generous emotions { hould be withered. Even if Albert were 1 our bitterest enemy, it is but a mean nature 6 rhich can rejoice in the misfortunes of an- 1 ther." ? "Ascribe not such sentiments to me," said f 'lorimond, in an agitated voice. "There is nother reason. Whether he love me or not, 1 l any case, better imprisonment than to be \ hot on the battle field, 1 "And shoveled up into a bloody trench, 1 Where, no one knows." t And Floriraond, subdued by emotion and i linded by tears, lost, momentarily, the stony i npenetrability of the last few months. She ( ried in vain to stem the torrent of her agita- t ed feelings, but finding she could not com- i laud herself, precipitately quitted the room. 1 "his evidence of an undercurrent of feeling \ onvinced Mrs. Suramerville there was still ( ope for a better state of things. Florimond ed to the privacy of her own chamber, whence s he did not emerge for hours. Indeed, she 3 pent the greater part of her time there now, 1 nd Mrs. Summerville, remembering her pre- 1 ious social habits?in fact, her seeming de- ? endence on the society of others for enter- i linraent?wondered how Florimond contrived t 3 pass so many long hours alone. One day, I rhen she had been longer invisible than usual, 1 he resolved to solve the mystery. Accord- * jgly, she made her way to Florimond's door, c nocked, and on being admitted, found her t sated in front of a large table, a book before I er, pencil in hand, and a sheet of foolscap ( n which she was writing industriously. j "In Heaven's name what are you doing ?" ' sked Mrs. Summerville. t "Trying to work out a problem in geome- 1 ry," was the answer. f "Geometry 1"ejaculated Mrs. Summerville; ? ...V.r.t nut Dimli o nnfinn in vnnp tipnd 9" VV liUll |^Ub OUUU U UVVIVU 1U J WM. "Well," said Florimond blushing deeply, I am going to educate myself, so that I shall ie competent to conduct the education of my hild. I am a mother now, and my ambition 3 that no one but myself shall ever have the irivilege of teaching my child." "Goodgracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Suramer'ille, "why that is almost an absurd ambiion?you have so much to learn, dear Florinond. You know you are not by any means lighly educated." "Do not reproach me with it," exclaimed riorimond, deeply hurt. "I cannot bear it! j ! am well aware of the fact, and I mean to 1 ' # # I nake amends for it now; and this reminds j ne, grandmother, I've been wanting to ask rou for several days to have Dr. De Witt rom the college here every other day to jive me lessons in Italian, French, drawing and painting, general literature and mathe-1 matics." "Why certainly, my child?as a matter of; course. I am glad to have you resume your j studies. Could I have had my way, you would ! be a school-girl now, instead of a mother, j You have lived too fast. I know how grate- j ful Albert will be to hear in what an improv-1 ing manner you are passing your time, for j he, too, thinks 'ignorance is the curse of' God/" "jHis approbation is nothing to me," said Florimond. "I wish to learn entirely for the 3ake of my child." "Perchance so," said her grandmother; "? 1 - - j ? ??? "DUt uo not enueavui iu jjeiauuuc mc an; , longer that you care nothing for Albert. That j passionate outburst the other day has quite settled my opinion." "I shall yet prove to you, beyoud a doubt, that I do not care that for him," and Florimond snapped her fingers emphatically. The very next day Dr. De Witt began his instructions to Mrs. Dandridge, and continued them without intermission for nearly two years. Florimond was covetous of knowledge, and was enthusiastically bent on gaining information on all subjects. She had, indeed, a passionate earnestness of nature, and an insatiable ambition to succeed in every thing she undertook, all of which rendered her an admirable pupil. Moreover, being fully aware of her deficiencies, she was fully determined to make amends for them. Pupils of her age feel the importance of study, and know how to study?two important requisites, which we never learn in earlier life. Having no household cares, and free from all pecuniary or harassing trials which poorer mortals endure, she had nothing to do but study, and she did nothing but study ; her mind unfolding and developing day by day like some beautiful flower, opening to receive the light of the sun ind the dew of heaven. As regarded her husband, things wentonin thesameold way. She never wrote a line to him during the two years, nor he to her; nor ever did he mention ber nhme in those letters which he sent by lag of truce to Mrs. Summerville. The little Berta was now a lovely, healthy child, who nrattled all the day, and devised all sorts of mischief, and fascinated all hearts with her winning grace and beauty. With her child ind her books, two fruitful sources of interest md contentment, the rapid moments fled on ;olden wings for Florimond. She was almost isddv. onlv?butvou know human happiness iaa always one drawback. However, it were fvell for poor Floriraond that she could enjoy ihis period of her life; for notwithstanding the shadow of alienation now resting over her, .his shadow was so light, compared to other ihadows which will darken her pathway, that >utofthe darkness she will look back to these lays, as days rich in happiness and blessing; lays which, if possible, she would gladly recall. - Hardly so for poor Albert, who languished in confinement, and fretted, his soul lick with anger and revenge toward his enenies, toward his wife, toward all the beauti*ul outside world from which he was debarred, md this hateful inside world of discordant elements, tedious monotony and unspeakable lisgust. He pined for home and its pleasures, for the society of the refined and congenial, for the beauty of woman's face, for the sweetness of woman's voice, and for that richest >f all earth's blessings to one deprived of its enjoyment?Freedom 1 CHAPTER VI. U THE UNWELCOME ARRIVAL. Mi6. Daudridge sat beside an open window >n a sultry afternoon in May, trying to catch i little of the breeze which stirred gently in ,he evergreens without, and dividing her at;ention between the chirpings of a mocking nird, and a disquisition on "the elements and principles of a pure taste in Art," which the earned and scholarly Dr. De Witt was delivering for her special edification. "Having," said the doctor, "by this concise ind yet I hope sufficiently elaborate and discriminating analysis of my own views on this ntricate subject, made you acquainted with some of the materials for our future consideration, I will now revert to the opinions of some philosophers who, for their researches ind profound learning, are worthy of our at;ention. Burke says, "The cause of a wrong ;aste is a defect of judgment. And this may irise from a natural weakness of understand- i ng (in whatever the strength of that faculty , nay consist) or which is much more commonly | ;he case, it may arise from a want of proper and J yell-directed exercise, which alone can make t strong and steady. * * * A rectitude >f judgment in the arts, which may be called i good taste, does, in a great measure, depend lpon sensibility ; because if the mind has no )ent to the pleasures of the imagination, it vill never apply itself sufficiently to works 1 >f that species, to acquire a competent knowl- j idge of them. But though a degree of seniibility is requisite to form a good judgment, ret a good iudgraent does not necessarily arise rora a quick sensibility of pleasure. * * * 'n the morning of our days, when the senses ire unworn and tender, when the whole man s awake in every part, and the gloss of novely fresh upon all the objects that surround us, low lively, at that time, are our sensations, >ut how false and inaccurate the judgments ve form of things! * * * Every trivial j sause of pleasure is apt to affect the man of j oo sanguine a complexion : his appetite is too i ceen to suffer his taste to be delicate. * * | )ne of this character can never be a refined j udge; never what the comic poet calls 'elegans formarum spectator" We have, also, he opinions of Home, Sir J. Reynolds and Payne Knight, who, going still deeper into the ! 'undamental and difficult question as to a itandard of taste in beauty, says?" At this point Florimond rose to her feet, I ind saying hurriedly, "I must beg you to ex- j ;use me for a few moments. Doctor." left the I oo ra. The erudite doctor was rather provoked at seing thus suddenly interrupted in such incresting researches ; but there being no help "or it, he arose from his seat and strolled to ,he window. Looking out, he saw a horsenan, who had apparently just dismounted and j vas now seouring his horse, an animal of fine alood and true mettle, but who bore unmistakible indications of those numerous and bril-' !iant cavalry charges in which he had partici-' pated during the past few years. The gentle-1 nan was now advancing to the house. He was a young man of stately bearing, a little i ibove the average height in the South, and dressed in a suit of Confederate gray. The doctor, greatly impressed by the young man's bearing and prepossessing appearance, j regarded him closely. He had fine dark eyes, of that deep expressive gray which change ; their color with every varying emotion, and which possessed, in an eminent degree, that personal and subtle magnetism which is as irresistible as indescribable. His figure was of fine proportions, and he wore a moustache of a rich nut brown color; his hair was of the i same shade and clustured in short thick waves around his rather large, well-formed head. In the easy and self-assured carriage and ] gracefully poised head, there was the evidence of perfect self-possession, consummate self-reliance, and, we may add, consummate selfconsciousness of power. Indeed, the whole < appearance of this stranger indicated energy ( of character, an unbending will, and the pos- ( session of those positive qualties of inward strength which, if indefinable to the mind of the general observer, is no less potent to command his admiration and respect. But the young man having entered the house (without ringing the bell as the doctor noticed) the lecturer turned away from the window and sought entertainment in a globe of the celestial bodies, which stood on a table near. He became so much interested id this, and in correcting some problems which Florimond had , left lying on the table, he was not cognizant of her unusually long absence. Being so well employed, we will leave him. Mrs. Summerville was sitting alone in the family sitting room when Florimond, putting , her head hastily in at the door asked? "Where is Berta?" "She is asleep in the nursery," said the grandmother; and then asked? , "Has,the doctor gone?" ( But Florimond heard not the question, being by this time half way up the steps lead*n Vioanr\nr\ at Ar ,u6 A few moments after, Mrs. Summerville ; heard a man's step in the entry, but thinking ( it the doctor, on the eve of departure, it ex- , cited no comment in her mind. But the steps ( came nearer, instead of receding, and finally, , after pausing for a moment on the threshold, | entered the room where Mrs. Summerville sat. ( "Good Heavens! if it isn't Albert. How , glad?how rejoiced I am?to welcome you back." "Thank jou," said Albert Dandridge, reciprocating her cordiality, "and I?how glad 1 I am to be back again, and to see you." "You hearty, handsome fellow," said Mrs. 1 Summerville, turning him around admiringly. . "You don't look a bit like that poor, God- j forsaken, despairing individual, you described ^ yourself in that last letter." "You would not say so, if you had seen the ( forlorn object I presented on my first arrival at home." "So you went to your father's first ?" "Well, yes?of course I did. The truth is, I scarcely knew whether to come here at all or not, after the manner in which Floriraond ( has conducted herself toward me. I rather feared being the unwelcome guest." "Never to me," said Mrs. Summerville; ' "but I declare, in ray joy in seeing you I had forgotten all that unfortunate matter. But ' I hope your presence will bring all right. Dear Albert, deal gently with Florimond. 1 I do not think you quite understand her; she ' is made of different stuff from what we thought. You will find her very much changed, and so much improved in every re- 1 spect! I think her beauty has developed with her intellect. I think you will quite fall in love with her again, and give her no farther 1 cause to complain of your indifference. But, Albert, above all, be gentle with her; harsh- ; ness makes her obstinate." "When have I ever been harsh toward her?" demanded the Colonel, striding up and ' down the room in some excitement. It is true, I used to correct her faults and strive to make her more dignified. She was so untu- ! tored and ungoverned, showed every emotion, right or wrong. She used not to take such ' correction unkindly, but here of late she has 1 been the very devil to manage. I suppose , you know she has never written a line these 1 two long, weary years I have worried out existence in imprisoment." "But you must forgive that and meet her ' affectionately after such a long absence, qt else you will never be reconciled." "We never shall be reconciled," said Albert * angrily, "until she huiflbly asks ray pardon ' for her?her unwomanly conduct. My father and mother both say her conduct has been .. _:n j 1 o?A i most Slliy UIIU Iliyiliy icpcuciJaiuic, <iuu tuub she should be made to know her proper place. 1 It will be sometime before I can forgive her ' nonsense and foolishness, even if she is prop- 1 erly penitent." "Aud it will be sometime," rejoined Mrs. * Summerville, with some of Albert's own warmth, before she forgives your having left ' her to languish on a bed of anguish and suffer- 1 ing, while you spent your leave of absence J amid scenes of pleasure. Your conduct has not 1 been guiltless, Sir, by any means I Any man 1 who could treat his wife with neglect at such 1 a time, is no better than a brute." * The angry flush faded from Albert's face, ( and a look of genuine sorrow and regret sue- 1 ceeded it. 1 "I admit I was to blame there. I have 1 told her so and implored her forgiveness?she ' would not grant it me! Oh ! I assure you, ? I have regretted ray course a hundred times, } especially in hours of languor and desponden- ? cy in that wretched spot where my life has 1 stagnated during the last two years; where 1 having nothing else to do but think, and 1 think, I pictured to myself poor Florry's sufferings, and in what a heinous light my de- ? sertion must hare appeared to her. I should I ' h h A ^ A AM/1 AArM^A?f AtTAM I t nave ueeu nere tu ouutuc auu wuhuj ^ ^vcu u I could not mitigate her sufferings." J "You have no conception what she eudur- s ed," said Mrs. Summerville, with tearful eyes. "We thought every breath would be her last. Such scorching fevers, which never cooled ; such pitiful emaciation, and her poor crazed brain eternally groping about in a wilderness j of anguish. Oh ! Albert, if you could have j seen, as I did, the poor, white, pitiful face, and j the hollow, wistful eyes, and the feeble voice ; asking, "Mother, has Albert come?" you! would say nothing more of humble submission J on her part, and royal forgiveness on yours;1 but you would take her, just as she is, with 1 all her faults, wholly to your heart and make ! amends by a lavish expenditure of affection j for a neglect, which, under the circumstances, had all the bitterness of wormwood and gall j, for her." j Albert's features worked with emotion and , he said, in a voice whose unsteadiness showed how deeply he was moved? 1i ? "You are right. After that, forgiveness j must have come hard to her. Poor little t thing, and so young, too ! I shall humble my < pride and ask her once more to forgive me.; ] Bring Flory to me, dear Mrs. Summerville, 1 that I may make my peace with her"?before 3 he added as Mrs. Summerville quitted the f room?"before my mind reverts and dwells j upon that insulting letter and all these better c -1 j:?:?? ' J leenijgs ure uiroiputcu, Mrs. Suramerville sought for Florimond, * her heart swelling with that enviable pleas- * ure which peace-makers ought to be allowed J to enjoy, I suppose,' without censure. She 1 knew, however, she had something else to accomplish before the work of reconciliation was ? completed. She foresaw there would be some i difficulty in persuading Florimond to receive j Albert. Once, however, in his presence, and 1 under the influence of that personal magnet- 1 ism which he so eminently possessed, she thought things would be all right.' First she ^ went to the library and found nobody there, 1 but Dr. De Witt, who was now so much in- 1 terested in the astronomical problems, he had 1 become totally unmindful of even the very ex- < istence of his pupil, Mrs. Albert Dandridge. ' When once made to comprehend the question 6 as to Florimond's whereabouts, which was ( propounded him, he replied, consulting his * watch? 1 "I do not know, madam. Mrs. Dandridge y left the room almost half an hour ago, begging me to excuse her. As my time is now up, I shall leave. Good afternoon, madam." Impatient at the delay, Mrs. Summerville r proceeded up stairs with all haste, her heart ^ and brain both full of the delightful project of uniting these severed hearts. Florimond's . room door was wide open, and the room itself 1 vacant?at least of occupants. "Why, where on earth can she be?" ejacu- * 1 ' .i i a jj 1 latea tne wormy aarae. a auuueu susjmuiuu sntered her mind. She rang for servants and marched every room in the house, tho piazzas j: front and back, the grounds?every available s nook and corner, and Florimond was nowhere t to be found ! ' I Colonel Dandridge, wondering at the delay, c same out to enquire the cause. He met Mrs. ? Summerville in the hall, looking bewildered, c flurried and strangely excited. E "What is the matter ?" he asked. "Has s anything happened ?" * "We cannot find her," gasped, rather than | articulated, Mrs. Summerville. "Cannot find Florimond," said Colonel Dandridge, mildly. "Well, I dare say, she y fias gone out visiting and will return present- c ly." a "Oh! no, no, no," ejaculated poor Mrs. ? Summerville, almost sobbing with grief aud 3onsternation. Silently her eyes met those bright, enquiring eyes of the Colonel, and he ^ as silently read their glance and understood i the import of her fears? y "Oh ! impossible," he answered in words; 13 'she would not leave the child!" c "But where is the child ?" enquired Mrs. 0 Summerville; "has anybody seen Berta ?" fc The child's nurse, who was standing near, v began, in great confusion and with much F whimpering to say, "she had put the baby to 1 sleep?and laid her down?and ran down stairs?just for one minute, and when she got back?the baby?was not there?but she had thought?of course?Mrs. Dandridge had * taken her?up!" etc. ^ Colonel Dandridge turned on his heel and fl repaired again to the sitting room, a gloomy t shadow of disappointment and displeasure on h his countenance. Indeed, there was fairly a 1 hot lava of wrath surging up in his bosom, c but he was too careful an observer of the nice * * s proprieties of life to allow himself any violent . demonstrations before the servants. y As soou as Mrs. Sumraerville had followed f him and closed the door, he turned to her 1 and with an indiguant voice asked? r "And do you suppose that foolish, wicked, j ?irl has ran away from the house, to get rid af me?" "I cannot put any other construction upon E it. She was in the other room with Dr. De r Witt." i: "Perhaps she has eloped with him," said c Albert, angrily. 0 "No, Albert," said Mrs.Summerville, gent- ^ ly,"thank God it is not so bad as that; but I ^ ;hink there is no doubt of her having left the o house to avoid meeting you." t "And where, for God's sake, has she gone ?" 3 "That, I cannot imagine, for she has no ? ntiraate friend except Mary Chapman, and ivith her there has been a coldness lately, in p sousequence of her having told somebody, 0 who brought the word back to Florimond, : that you and your wife were at daggers-points ^ ind did not correspond with each other.1" j "Aye! there it is, madam," exclaimed Al- f] aert, rising up in excessive agitation ; "there n s where her conduct touches me most deeply. * My domestic affairs are now to be in the ^ nouth of the public, and our respective ac- g iious food for the tongue of every gossiping t] fool who has nothing else to ^talk about! My a jfod, madam, where does your granddaughter f< ixpect to end this foolishness ? She will dis- o jrace my honorable, spotless name, and make ^ ne ashamed to show my face in the common ^ valks of men. Can you appreciate the deep g lumiliation it is to me, to be pointed at, with icorn, as the man whose wife will not live q vith him?who ran away from the house to d ivoid meeting him? It is enough to make is be vulgar stare and the foolish talk! Before n light it will be known and discussed all over * his gossiping town. Oh ! what shall I do?" "Go after her and bring her back," suggested Mrs. Sumraerville. p "This fprppstrial trlohe and all that it con- o ,aina will crumble into nothingness first. ^ Sever! She may go to the devil first! "We ? ihall see who will soonest get tired of this sort ] )f life. My dear Mrs. Summerville, I was (\ lever so upset, never so sorely tried, in all ray J ife. To have my wife's unseemly conduct "V ,he talk of all the town?it will kill me with 0 h notification ! It is not that she has ceased ;o love?I could bear that?I can live with- ? rat love?but I cannot bear to be talked v ibout censoriously." ti "I am really sorry for you," said Mrs. Sumnerville, knowing nothing else to say; "sorry j 'or you both. I have remonstrated with Flo- g] imond repeatedly on her obstiuacy, her will- u ulness, her positive wickedness, you see, with t! what effect. My dear Albert, I fear, in your t' itrict ideas of the utter submission and sub- v ection of the wife, you have sometimes lost ^ sight of the true duties of the husband. Mind, [ do not uphold Fiorimond in her conduct? t "ar from it; nor 'do I uphold that tone of se- d verity, that sternness and that coldness and su- f jeriority, which you have always practiced ;oward my granddaughter ever since she be:ame your wife. You have chilled her imjetuous affections and thrown them back upon ler own heart; you have made the poor roung thing miserable with your exactions and 'ormalities and repressions of all feeling. "Good afternoon, madam," said Col. Dan* Iridge, stepping toward the door, his eyes jurning with anger. "Your injustice is a lit,le more than I expected; but I perceive you tre totally blind to the glaring faults of your granddaughter, and now wish to throw all he blame on me." "I am not blind to her faults," said Mrs. Summerville, detaining him; "I know her aulta well, and I execrate her present course; jut I do believe, and will protest with my dy* ng breath, that you are to blame in your node of conduct toward her." Again, I bid you good afternoon, madam. [ shall not trouble you, nor your sweet, chaining, adorable granddaughter either, again, vith my coldness and formalities. She may jo where she pleases, and live where she pleasa, but she will have abundant time to change ler conduct and her principles, too, before I ihall raise a finger to find out her whereabouts, >r bore her with my society. And so saying, Hoi. Dandridge strode out of the room, his lead in the air, and his soul consumed in a rortex of angry passions. [to be continued next week.] Noble Sentiments.?A person by the lame of M. J. Wicks, President of the erploled savings bank of Memphis, challenged iVilliam Rule, Esq., the talented editor of the ?noxville Chronicle, for writing and publishng a letter about Wick's financial managenent. Mr. Rule at once exposed the misera>le fellow in the following blistering words in iia l^onliT "I do not seek a reputation for courage ;ained in that way. If you are more anxious o investigate the matter of cowardice than I im, you are at liberty to make the investiga* ion your own way and until you are satisfied. ! do not propose to leave the country, but will ontinue to pursue my legitimate business, ping whenever and wherever that business alls me. While I do not recognise the soalled 'code of honor,' I wish you to distinctly inderstand that I fully recognize the right of elf defence. I do not court, but on the con* rary, avoid personal difficulties with my felows, but when attacked I shall not hesitate o defend myself as promptly and effectually >s necessity may seem to require. "You ask me to fight a duel. And for rhat ? Because I have made statements con* eraing you, the truth of which I can prove, >nd the falsity of which you do not offer to how. I do not propose to pander to the larbarous prejudices of depraved minds by etting myself up as a target, to give you the opportunity of a so-called vindication of your tonor. I have no respect for any such fool* notions. They may be in accordance with our ideas of honor and courage, but they are tot with mine. Words cannot express my outempt for such folly. It is not proof of ourage, but of cowardice! It is not evidence if manliness, but of a weak concession to a teathenish and brutal custom. It is not the ray to defend a gentleman's honor, but a >ractical confession of his inability to defend t in the manner prescribed by an enlightend, Christian public sentiment and the laws of ivilized people." 4-^.4 How Coffee was Discovered.?Toward he middle of the fifteenth century, a poor ^.rab was traveling in Abysinia, and finding limself weak and weary from fatigue, he topped near a grove. Being in want of fuel o cook his rice, he cut down a tree which lappened to be covered with dried berries, lis meal being cooked and eaten, the traveler '* ? - ? ' ~ UiiMMAfl Uartnoo urnrn U8C0VereU MJUb LlJtww umi-uuiucu nviv ragrant. He collected a number of these, md, on crushing them with a stone, he found heir aroma increased to a great extent. Vhile wondering at this, he accidentallylet all the substance into a can which contained lis scanty supply of water. Lo, what a miacle! The almost putrid liquid was instanty purified ; he brought it to his lips; it was resh and agreeable, and in a moment after he traveler had so far recovered his strength md energy as to be able to resume his jourley, The lucky Arab gathered as many beries as he could, and having arrived at Aden, u Arabia, he informed the Mufti of his disovery. That worthy dive was an inveterate pium smoker, who had been suffering for ears under the influence of the poisonous [rug. He tried an infusion of the roasted perries, and was so delighted at the recovery f bis former vigor, that in gratitude to the ree he called it Canuab, which in Arabic ignifies force. And this is the manner in irhich coffee was discovered. Cows Going Dry.?Many persons cornJain of their cows going dry sometimes four r five months before calving time, just when he butter brings the best price, and the blame i laid on the cows. The fact is, the real lame, is with the owners themselves. In the ''all, when the frosts come and the pastures ail, and when warm feed is needed in the aornings, and a comfortable place at night, hey are allowed to shift for themselves, a ailing off in the milk is the result, and the erdict is that "the cow \^ntsto go dry," and o she is furloughed. NoV, this is the fault of he owner, and the result of negligence. Cows re like humans, the creatures of habit, and allow a course once adopted, especially a bad no with surnrisiniT nertinacitv. and croinz WW, ~ r o r ^ # O w ry is one of them. We have known cows d be milked to the very day of calving, withut detriment, but this is the other extreme, ix weeks is about the right time, and milkag should be kept up until that time, be the uantity great or small. The milk will unergo no change before the last month, and it i safe to milk up to that time. Gentle treatlent, warm slops and feed in the morning, nd a comfortable place to lie down in, will lake them continue to give milk. Cure for Scarlet Fever.?An eminent hysician of Boston robs scarlet fever of many f its terrors by prescribing for the patient 'arm lemonade, with a little mucilage, as ften as desired, and the application of warmth > the stomach. He directs that a sheet hould be wrung out of hot water and laid on rie stomach, renewing it as often as it cools, lothing else but the lemonade is to be given. Vith this treatment he guarantees that not ne in a hundred cases will prove fatal. We ave known cider alone to cure more than one bstinate case. A vegetable acid appears to e the specific. Enough salt in children's ictuals may almost be said to be a prophylacic for eruptive fevers.?Exchange. I?* Gail Hamilton says in the Woman's roumal: "The instinct of domesticity is as trongand deep in woman as in man. She is o more a gregarious, boarding-house animal han is he. The occupations, the interests, hepleasures of home are peculiarly tiers, and whenever a woman dislikes her home and preere a boarding-house, the first thing is for the usband to have great searcbings of heart, nd ask himself: "What sin have I commited ; of what neglect am I guilty; into what ullness have I sunk, that my wife is thus irccd to forego her natural inclinations V "