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lewis m. grist, proprietor.J A11 Jnbepenbent Jkmilj fjtefosjiapcr: Jfur tjjt ^rontotimr of tjie political, Social, Agricultural anb Commercial Interests of t|e 5out|. terms?$3.00 a tear, in adymce. VOL. 19. YOEKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, MAY 22,1873. aSTO. 21. 1 ? " ?i Jtoi Anginal Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. JOHN'S WIFE. BY E. VICTORIA LOMAX. INTRODUCTION. The young people had all gathered near the fire, and the old-fashioned drawing-room at Montroze resounded with the sound of their happy voices. The prospect of a rainy day in the country?that most to be dreaded of all bores?was before them ; but it seemed to have no terrors. The door opened, and Mrs. Worthinerton. their kind hostess, entered. "Well, girls," she said, "have you decided on your amusement for the day ?" "Not yet, aunt," said Isabel. "We were waiting for a suggestion from you. Do let us have something entirely original." "I was thinking, as our party is so large, that we might arrange some private theat> ricals. How would you like that?" "That would be charming!" exclaimed several voices. "But where are we to get the costumes, k aunt ?" asked Isabel. J "If the gentlemen of the party will assist you, I can put you in the way of obtaiuing a great variety; but, boxes will have to be moved, chests and trunks opened, and several steep flights of steps ascended. Now, do you think you are equal to this, gentlemen ?" "Yes, ma'am," said Tom, the scapegrace of the party; "your mind may be at ease on the labor question, Mrs. Worthington, for here are four young men who can accomplish any amount of work, if the girls are near enough to witness theirsuperhuman efforts." "I suppose, sir, this is a gentle insinuation that you expect the ladies to accompany you," said Isabel; "what do you say to it, girls ? Shall we go?" "Yes!" they all said. "But, tell us first, aunt, how fa* our right of search extends. Are we to appropriate anything and everything in the attic which we think can be made available in the evening exhibition ?" "Yes," replied Mrs. Wortbington; "Here are the keys; you are welcome to all you can find." "Then; ladies and gentlemen," Baid Isabel, with a pompous air, "you may consider yourselves, from this time, as members of the 'Montroze Dramatic Association,' of which your humble servant has constituted herself, unanimously, manager. The members of the aforesaid"*association will now prepare to follow their leader." With a shout of laughter they rushed after Isabel, who, in a few moments, was standing at the door of the attic-room, in which the "property" of the company was supposed to be. The gentlemen were very efficient, and soon had boxes and trunks open, ready for inspection. "What a love of a bonnet!" exclaimed Tom, as he took out an old-fashioned "scoop" and placed it carefully on Isabel's head. "No doubt you flatter yourself, cousin Tom, with the idea that you are making me ridiculous. Now, sir, will you be kind enough to put on this 'love of a wig,' and let us have a little fun at your expense?" "Certainly. Is there anything else I can do for you ?" The burst of merriment that followed, as the party had a full view of Tom, proved that they appreciated his efforts. The search was a perfect success. All styles of dresses were found, and nothing was wanting in the "property" line to make the "Montroze Dramatic Association," a star company. "Are you sure we have everything we need ?" asked Isabel, as they were about leaving the room. "Yes," said Tom, "unless the ladies should wish to procure some ancient jewelry. Let us open that box. I think it has quite an important look, as if it contained something * worth having." "We are perfectly satisfied with what we have," said May, speaking for the rest of the party. "If Isabel and yourself are inclined to 'spring a mine' of jewels, you can remain a while longer; but we are all going down." While May was speaking, Tom was opeuing the box. It was very securely fastened, and before it could be undone, all had left the attic except Isabel and himself. As he succeeded in his efforts, a number of letters and papers fell to the ground. "It is nothing but a writing desk, after all, cousin Tom ; so we have had our trouble for nothing." "I don't know that! Here seems to be a manuscript written in the most approved style. It viay be that the contents of this 'old desk,' of which you speak so contemptuously, will yet cast into the shade forever the 'Montroze Dramatic Association.' I shall retain it in my possession, and when I see that even the superhuman efforts of 'Manager Isabel' have m. failed in enlivening the guests at Montroze, I shall ask permission to read this manuscript." "But what is it, cousin Tom ? Is it really a story ?" "It really is, Miss Isabel; and written in the most approved style?chapters, pages numbered, and possessing all the requirements necessary for a first-class sensational." "And this you say without having read the first word of it." "The title is sufficient?'John's Wife.' What could be more telling than that ? I venture to guess that she poisons her husband, cuts the throats of her eldest and youngest children, and drowns the intermediate one!" "Well let us take it down with lis; perhaps the girls would rather hear the manuscript read to-day, and postpone the theatricals until to-morrow." ^ "I certainly shall," said Tom. As soon as the party, (who had collected in the drawing-room again,) heard of the manuscript, they all begged that it might be commenced then and there. The dresses and wigs and all the other "property" of the company were put aside. Tom was appointed reader. The girls seated themselves comfortably, with work in hand, and thus listened to the story. CHAPTER I. It was a cold, bleak November day. The autumn leaves were whirling in eddying cur rents, or were driven in heaps against the sheltered side of the house, to lie until their bright scarlet and orange hue should fade into the sombre tints of decay. There was nothing cheering in the aspect of the outer world, and I turned with a sigh to joiu those who were I ! drawn to the cheerful, blazing fire. It had been a long day to us?aunt Patsy, Nellie and myself. We had been expecting John and his wife since the morning, and still they did not come. As I drew near the fire, aunt Patsy said? "You may depend upon it, children, some* thing has happened." "I thought.you knew that, aunty," said Nellie : "then there has been an accident?" "No, ma'am, not exactly. The 'something' to which I refer is the fact, that after long and patient waiting on our part, hoping each year that Mattie would act like a sensible woman, now at this late day, there has been a wedding in the family." "I must say, Nellie," said I, "you speak of John's marriage very much as if it were a calamity, instead of a blessing, as I trust in God it may prove. It is well I did not act the part of a sensible woman, if you regard matrimony in this light." "I am very glad to find no accident has occurred," said aunt Patsy with a sigh of relief, and adding: "Nellie, you will have to give up this childish behavior when John's wife comes, aud must learn to be more dignified and having finished this, for her, long speech, the old lady prepared herself for her evening nap. Nellie's remark about my acting as a sensible woman had set me thinking ; and so busy was I with ray past, that I forgot all about the momentous future. We had remained silent some time, when Nellie looked up with an annoyed expression of countenance and said? "I wish John and his wife would come. I am so tired of hearing of her, and imagining how she looks, that when she does come, I am afraid the first impression of her dear sister Nellie will not be an agreeable one." "It will be your own fault if it is not, Nellie," said I; and then taking the fair young face in my hands, I bent over it and whispered : "She has no mother, and for the sake of the one we have lost, darling, we must be kind to her." "It would be impossible for you to be unkind to any one, Mattie; but it is different with me. I cannot bear to think of a stranger coming here and taking your place as mistress of the house; and if I were you, I would not submit to it. It is as much our house as it is John's." "Hush, Nellie! I cannot let you talk in this way?'as much our house.' Why child?but I will not tell you now, for I wish you to wear your brightest and happiest look, when we meet our new sister." "And how do you intend looking,Miss Mattie Leslie ?" "As I always do, which, as aunty says, 'is sorry enough;' but you know I never was much for looks." "You are not pretty, Mattie, that is a fact; but every one loves you just as much as if you were." "And as that is all I care for, it makes little difference to me if my sister Nellie is the beauty of the family. But go up stairs, now, and smooth your hair, and perhaps when you return they will be here." Nellie rose, and throwing her arms around me, said? "JJon t let ner come oeiween you unu me, Mattie; there will be 'war to the knife' if you do." "No danger of that, my darling," said I, returning her embrace. It was a trying position, though I had spoken of it so calmly. John and I were the two elder members of a large family of children, alj of whom had died in infancy. Nellie was our step-sister. Soon after her birth, my mother had met with a .great sorrow, and after pining away gradually, died, leaving Nellie in my charge, with the earnest prayer that her young life might not be blighted by the knowledge of that sorrow which had caused her mother's death. Most faithfully had I fulfilled her wishes; but now when a stranger was to be^ brought into our family circle, I felt that perhaps it was my duty to act differently. Like most persons having a disagreeable task to perform, I put it offfor a "more convenient season," and thus it was that Nellie had not been told. John's marriage had taken us all by surprise ; he was generally so averse to the society of young ladies, that we had come to regard him as a confirmed old bachelor. Having occasion, however, to visit an old friend of my mother's, he there made the acquaintance of Mary Worthiugton. Her home was not happy?her father having married again?and her stepmother and herself not being congenial. Everything seemed to favor John in his suit, and after a short engagement of six weeks, he was married. Both Nellie and myself were prevented from attending the wedding, and we were now to see, for the first time, our new sister. Aunt Patsy was sleeping, and the fire almost burnt out, when I heard voices in the hall. I arose immediately, but had taken Only a few steps, when the door opened. A slight, girlish figure came forward, and before I could speak, a pair of* loving arras were around me, and I heard John's voice, saying? "This is your sister Mattie, darling." Yes?I was her "sister Mattie," and as I pressed my lips to the soft, blooming cheek, I vowed, then and there, to be always kind and loving to John's wife. CHAPTER II. Mary had taken off her wrappings, and I ! was standing by the fire chafing her small, cold hands, when Aunt Patsy awoke. We thought her still sleeping, until she said? "Isthat you, John?" "Yes, aunty," he replied, "and here is your new niece, waiting to speak to you." He led Mary to aunt Patsy's chair. The old lady made her kneel by her side, that she might see her face distinctly. After she had done so, she laid her hand on Mary's head 1 T J anu saiu? "God bless you and yours, child, now and ; forever!" Then perceiving tears rising in | the young bride's eyes, she turned to John j and said? "If she is as good as she is pretty, John, there is no danger of the trouble to the Glenwood house coming through her." "Of course you intend to insinuate, aunty, that my husband is to be the uufortunate stranger who is to fulfill the prophecy," said j Nellie, laughingly. She had entered the room unperceived by I the rest of the company, and had heard aunt Patsy's remark. Mary looked in astonishment from one to the other; but Nellie did not give her much time for conjecture. She put her arm around her and said? "Welcome to Elmwood, ray dear little sister. I do not know whether John has ever mentioned to you that he has a sister Nellie; but such is the case, and it is that insignificant personage who is now addressing you." "He has spoken of you so often, Nellie," replied Mary, "that I feel as if we were old acquaintances. IfMattie and yourself can only spare me some of the love you lavish upon John, I shall have nothing left to wish for." "And what makes you think we love him so very much, Mary ?" asked Nellie. "I can assure you it is all a mistake. At home, he is just as cross and ill as he can be. Oh! child, you don't know what your life is to be, or vou would never have come here as his wife." "I am glad Mary did not not see you before she married me, Nellie, or she might have declined the honor, if this is the best reputation you can give your brother." "I dp not say there is anything dangerous about you, John ; only, if Mary knows what peace and quiet are, and enjoys the same, she had better keep away from you when it is raining at 'plowing time."' "Come, children, you have talked enough nonsense for one evening," said aunt Patsy; "let Mary lie down and rest." "I am not tired," Mary replied ; "and I would like so much to hear that prophecy about the Elmwood house. Will you tell me, Mattie?" "I have almost forgotten it; but aunt Patsy will be delighted to give you all the particulars. John, you need not stand there watching your wife; nothing is going to happen to her, so you can go on your tour of inspection and return. I will take care of her until you come back.""She is in good hands, Mattie; but you know the old story of the 'one pet lamb.' She is my all,now;"and he bent his face, flushed i with happiness, over his young wife and kissed her lovingly. Nellie had given me a glance, while John was speaking, and I saw that she was not yet reconciled to the idea that John should find Konrvinoos in ?nv other love than ours. Marv '"t'f"? J ? had not spoken, and I thought an expression of sadness rested on her face, as John left the room. In order to break the awkward pause that ensued, I said? "Now, aunt Patsy, we are waiting for you to tell us about the Elmwood prophecy." "There is not much to tell, child; and I hope you will not think, from my having remembered it, that I have any faith in it?for I have not. If it is the Lord's will that sin and sorrow are to have their dwelling in this house, they will come, though no stranger ever darken its doors ; but God grant that none of us here may ever live to know that sorrow. It was in your great grandmother's time, Mattie, that it happened. The Elmwood house was not then as it is now. It was filled with visitors, summer and winter, and this was the gayest neighborhood in the country. "My aunt Martha was a great belle. She was a beauty and an heiress, and I am afraid that instead of using her gifts as she should have done, she turned them to a bad account. I have heard she said on one occasion, that she 'hated poverty as she did sin.' This may be true, or it may not; but I do know that she would never allow a poor person to come to her house. Only those who were rich, and could enjoy life as she did, could be her friends. "She was out with a riding party, one day, nnrl in nnsaincr through the town of WeBtville, 1 o o her horse took fright. Before she could control him, he had knocked over a little child? a son of one of the Irish fishermen who lived there. The mother rushed out, and finding her child in a dying condition, thought only of vengeance on the murderess. She caught the horse by the bridle, and shaking her fist at aunt Martha, said?'and is it you, with your proud and scornful face, that is to be riding over and murdering the likes of us! May the Lord deal with you as you have dealt with me. May no children ever lay on your breast, and may you go down to the grave in sorrow and anguish. You're after thinking that poverty can't touch you ; but sin and disgrace can ; and sure it is that the stranger in your doors will bring ruin upon your race. You've slighted them that's at home, to take up with them that's rich, from beyant; but there's none will change places with you from this day. The blood of my child is on you forever. May you never know happiness, and be always remembering the ruin you've been after doing.' "The woman had taken ray aunt by surprise in thus addressing her; and before she could get away, the mother had said all she cared to say. Her prophecy was fulfilled as far as the object of it was concerned. Aunt Martha died childless, and though surrounded by wealth and luxury, in misery. The 'stran ger' who is to bring rum has nevercorae yet; and now, that he lias been such a long time finding us out, I begin to think he has lost his way, and will never come. This is all the story; but I hear John's step, and, Mattie, you had better have tea brought in." CHAPTER III. The following day was the one appointed for Mary to receive the visits and congratulations of our neighbors. The morning was bright and beautiful. All nature seemed to look its loveliest, as if to compensate for the storm and gloom with which it welcomed the young bride the previous evening. I hope my readers will excuse me for devoting a chapter to "country neighbors." The events which occurred that day are so closely con-' nected with the incidents of my story, that I find it quite impossible to write the history of j "John's Wife" without relating them. Mary presented almost a child-like appearance, as John and herself entered the room. There was no sign of embarrassment or false modesty. Her manner was quiet and ladylike, and, but for the flushed cheek and an occasional tremor in her voice, no one would have thought she was going through the fiery ordeal of a bridal reception. It was evident j she was making an agreeable impression, as I j more than once detected a passing glance from one visitor to another, as if to say?"I think we will like her." Both old and young were our guests, and all seemed equally pleased. But this is not telling of our neighbors. Several persons had arrived before Mary made her appearance, and, as a matter of course, the questions were innumerable as to "whether I was not surprised at the marriage?" "Did I like her?" "Was she rich?" Ac. To all of which I replied as courteously as possible, not wishing to commit myself. But I was able to give satisfactory answers; for I had every reason to suppose I would soou love Mary dearly. One of my most "anxious enquirers" was Miss Nancy Turner, the spinster of our neighborhood. I have lived long enough to know that every neighborhood has its spinster; but, nevertheless, I must describe ours. Miss Nancy was tall and angular in appearance, and invariably wore the most corkscrew of curls on each side of her face. These, together with an immense head-dress, gave her the semblance of a high tree, which had been denuded of all its branches, excepting a few bushy boughs at the top. She wore the ? '* -J -CP--L-JI _ ! shortest ot skirts, ana aueuieu a juuiuiuiucm in her style of dress that would have done credit to a school-girl of fifteen. She greatly preferred talking with gentlemen, as she was certain of being appreciated by them. The intellects of the women of the present day were not sufficiently cultivated to enable them to comprehend?as she expressed it?the "ruminations of her mind." Before I proceed, I will say that it is not my intention to speak slightingly of the sisterhood ; but in spite of my admiration for the state of single blessedness, I am obliged to confess that there are some individual cases in which all the disagreeable attributes, usually ascribed to "old maids," seem to be concentrated. Our Miss Nancy Turner was a stri- j king exemplification of that class. After enquiring most particularly as to the appearance and character of the bride, she added? "How do you like the idea of giving up your place as mistress of the house, Mattie?" "I have never thought of it," I replied. "Then you do not intend to. That's right. ! I like to see sisters show some spirit; this thing of giving up all to any baby-faced girl that a brother chooses to bring home is something that I would uot stand. But what did she say when you told her you were still to be considered at the head of affairs ?" I was glad to have an opportunity of replying; for Miss Nancy had spoken loud enough for all who were near to hear, and I felt sure that in a day or two her opinions would be circulated through the neighborhood as mine, and it would be reported that John's wife and mvself were avowed enemies. "You are entirely mistaken, Miss Nancy," said I. "The subject of who is to be mistress here has never been mentioned between us, because I thought it unnecessary. My brother's wife is at the head of this establishment, and as it gives Nellie and myself great pleasure to consider her in that light, we would not have it otherwise." "Oh ! you need not be offended, Mattie; no one minds what I say, you know. I am sorry you are going to put a child to manage what you, with your age and experience, can scarcely do. I suppose you understand your affairs better than I do; but mark my wordi, you will repent of it before long." "Repent of what, Miss Nanfcy ?" "Why of giving up everything, and becoming dependent on your brother and his wife for your support. Poor Nellie ! I wonder how she will stand it." I was now thoroughly annoyed, and took no pains to conceal it, as I replied? "Nellie and myself are both competent to decide what is best for us. There is no prospect of our suffering in the future." "Oh! yes, Mattie, I know you are plenty old enough to know what you ought to do; but then even old people make mistakes, sometimes." I felt very much tempted to say "as is the case with yourself, at preseut;" but I knew any annoyance I might show, would be attributed to her remark about my age. So I turned off without speaking, and felt greatly relieved when I saw John and Mary approaching. T imn Qfnndina hv Miirv. when Mrs. Lewis and her daughter were announced. The door was no sooner opened than Henrietta Lewis darted forward, and, to our great surprise, erabraced Mary in the most affectionate manner, saying? "You dear creature! The idea of your not letting us know you were going to marry Mr. Leslie, after our beiug ao intimate I I am perfectly delighted to see you." Mary was evidently astonished at the warmth of Miss Lewis' manner, and I thought returned her greeting rather coldly. The conversation became general; but I soon saw that Miss Henrietta had something behind the scenes for Mary's benefit. She seemed anxious to have a tete-a-tete with her; but Mary was apparently just as anxious that she should not do so. I suppose she concluded it was unnecessary to attempt to say anything confidentially, as I was sufficiently near to hear every word. Turning to Mary she said? "The last time I saw you, I little thought I should ever meet you in this part of the world." "Why not ?" said Mary ; "I do not underI stand you." "Oh ! you know you were engaged to your cousin Richard, then, and we were all making our arrangements to visit you at his house." There was something in the tone in which this last remark was made, which induced me . . . j A 1.~_ ?1?1,:?? 10 ium lowaru me speuacr. uac nno iwimu^ I at Mary with a sweet smile on her lips; but ! if ever I saw mischief in a woman's eye, I : saw it in hers, then. Mary had as yet made I no reply. Her silence attracted my attention, | and on observing her, I found she was looking sick and faint. I put my hand on hers and said? "I hope you are not annoyed, Henrietta, that your plans should have been disarranged. I should think, when you consider the happiness Mary has conferred on us by coming here, you ought to be willing to make the sacrifice of giving up visiting her at 'cousin Richard's.'" "If she is satisfied, I can assure you I am." "We can scarcely hope that Elmwood will ever be as agreeable to you as Waverly; but my sisters and myself will do all that we can ; to compensate for the pleasure of which you ! have been deprived, by marrying brother John." But let me describe Miss Henrietta Lewis. ' She was emphatically petite. There is 110 | word in the English language which expresses j my idea, or I would use it. The general im-; pressiou regarding her was most favorable, i fthe was considered the belle of the neighbor-! hood?not on account of her beauty; but her j manners were so charming! No one knew I her exact age. I wonder if I will be considered spiteful, if I say she was one of those young ladies who cannot stand a strong light ? Of course, it is on account of her eyes. She is also always biting her lips, for which no reason can be assigned, the effect being to make them red and pouting. She hates picnics and boating parties, but adores twilight, and also moonlight walks. Then she is so amiable! She never says an unkind word of any one?only insinuates what, if she were a man, she would have been "called out" for long ago. I suppose it is useless for me to remark, now, that I did not like Miss Henrietta Lewis. I leave it for my readers to say, when they have finished this story, whether I had cause. I forgot to mention that Miss Nancy Turner, as she took leave of me, said? "She has rather a good face, and I should Tint- Ko an fi-irianr! if oVlo ia lrlnH to vnu. after all." CHAPTER IV. The family had retired,, and I wag going my usual round through the house, to see that doors and windows were properly secured, when, on passing the parlor, I found the fire burning so brightly, that I determined I would sit up a little longer. I was nothing loth to indulge in one of my reveries, unobserved ; for I had much to think over, "and many plans to make for the future. Nellie would be certain to ask me what I was thinking about, if I happened to be near her at the time, and therefore, I gladly availed myself of this opportunity for enjoyment. I wheeled a comfortable chair before the fire and seated myself, placing my open watch near me on the table, in order to have a gentle reminder of the passage of time. My habit is always to think over the disagreeable events first, and reserve those which are pleasant for the last; as it is one of ray theories that a person should go to sleep and wake up as happy as possible. My list was headed with Miss Nancy Turner. The only fear I had, was, that her remarks might be repeated to Mary before she knew rae sufficiently well to feel sure that I could never have said anything unkind. As to the talk of the neighborhood, I could live that down, and let time prove who was right. Having made up my miud to tell Mary, the following morning, of the conversation which had occurred, I was about to turn to some other subject, when I heard the sound of slippered feet eutering the room. Thinking Nellie was there, I said? "Do not wait any longer for me, Nell. Go to bed ; I will soon follow." I received no answer, and on looking over ray shoulder, saw John's wife standing near m^! She had on her dressing gown, and had evidently not retired, as I had supposed. "What is the matter, Mary ?" I asked; "is John sick ?" "No?I thought I heard you moving, and I came down to speak to you." "Let me make you comfortable before you begin. Your hands are as cpld as ice." "No," she replied, "keepyour seat; let me sit on the rug, and rest ray head on your knee, as I have seen Nellie do." "Certainly, if you prefer it." And I passed my hand caressingly over the soft brown hair, and thought how child-like my little sister was in appearance. Several moments elapsed, and still she did not speak. At length I said? "Did you find your duties to-day very fatiguing?" "No; I did not feel tired till after the Lewises left." She clasped ray hand more tightly after saying this, and her voice trembled a little as she added, "I have a favor to ask of you, Mattie. Will you grant it?" "Certainly, Mary, if I can, I will." "Ah! that is why I am afraid; you may think what I am going to ask you to do is wrong." "There is little danger of that. I think I can safely promise to oblige you." I waited for a moment or two, and as she continued silent, I said? "What is it, my little sister?" She put one hand to her face as if to conceal its expression, and said? "I wish you would not tell John what Henrietta Lewis said." "Why not? It can make very little difference to him, now that you are his wife." ?XT? nnJ.nnn Via innnM nnt minfi if lint T -LI U, yvi HUfJJ 11^ TTUUIU IIUV I?iuv* aw | M?.? would rather he did not know that I?" She suddenly ceased speaking, and after listening a moment, she rose hastily, saying : "I hear him coming; say you will not tell him." "Very well, child, if you insist upon it; but I think you are making too serious a matter of a former engagement, or flirtation?which was it?" Before she could reply, John entered the room. "I thought I should find you together," he said. "If I had not known ray little wife was in such good company, I should have come for her sooner." "So you think you can trust her with me, John? I am much obliged to you for the compliment, and shall do my best to keep her out of harm's vzay." "God grant that none may ever come near her, Mattie," said John, solemnly, as he bent over to kiss the flushed face now raised to his. As Mary bade me good-night, she whispered : "Thank you!" and with a bright smile left the room. John and myself sat talking for ! a few minutes, but finding my thoughts were ' preoccupied, he soon retired, saying he would not keep me up longer. When aloue, I tried in vain to imagine why it was that Mary did not wish John to know of her engagement to her cousin Richard. But, in thinking the matter over, I saw no reason why he should be told, except, that Mary was not acting as I should have done ; and with this reflection I dismissed the subject from ray mind. CHAPTER V. Time passed rapidly away, and when I look back to that which elapsed then, it seems almost like a dream. How often one's life glides on, unmarked for years, by any great joy or sorrow, and then, in the short space of a few months, circumstances occur which make us feel that all our past has been a blank, and now we are living! Contrary to my expectations, I wasstill the mistress of Elmwood. Mary positively refused to be regarded as the head of the house, and John seeing her annoyance when the subject was first mentioned, and knowing her utter inexperience in such affairs, urged me to let the matter rest?at least for the present. Thinking it would only be a short time, 1 consented. One of my principal reasons for being reconciled to this arrangement, was, that it destroyed all of Miss Nancy Turner's romantic accounts of the family discord existing among us. As I expected, soon after the day of the reception, she had spread the report, far and wide, that John Leslie's wife and sisters were leading a perfect "cat and dog" life, and as for poor Miss Patsy, she was obliged to take to her bed, to get rid of the quarreling. Of course, there was no truth in this statement. We had all found Mary a most lively and lovable character, and her repugnance to occupy the position that John's wife should ? 1 - !t-1 _ have held in his house, was tne oniy possiDie cause of disagreement between us. After this subject bad been once thoroughly discussed, everything went on smoothly. One morning, about six months after the wedding, while we were seated at the breakfast table, the mail was brought in. There was a letter with a foreign post mark for Mary, which she had no sooner opened, than, with a face beaming with joy, she turned to her husband and said? "Oh! John, he is coming; he may be here this very day!" "Who, my darling ?" "Brother Harry; and he is coming to Elmwood first, instead of going home. You see how much he loves me." I shall never forget the look of exultation which was on her face, as she said this. It was the first time that any of us had ever seen her show deep emotion, and I think even John on?iM.ioo/1 of Kor mariner. But the WHS a JlbUCOUi|mc^u uv uv? excitement was only momentary. She was soon herself again. She told us she had not seen her brother for four years, but he was coming home now to remain. Then turning to Nellie, she added? "I know you will like him, Nell, for he is full of fun and mischief." "Thank you, Mary, for your good opinion. So it is only the wild, rattle-brain young men who are supposed to be congenial with me! It is strange, that after associating as intimately as I have done, with Mattie and yourself for the past six months, I should not have lost some of the hilarity which is a part of my nature. However, if 'brother Harry' likes me as well as I do his little sister, I shall have no further cause of complaint, at not being appreciated by my own family." "Come, Nellie," said I, "don't talk nonsense ; you know you are the pet and darling of us all; so there is no occasion for your trying to work on Mr. Worthington's sympathies. If he likes you, it will not be because he pities you." "I fancy Harry feels as if he knew all of you now," said Mary; "I have written him so much about you." "And who gave you permission to do that, Mrs. Leslie?" said Nellie. "Now, just to punish you for taking such a liberty, I am going to be as cross and snappish as I can be, and if Mr. Harry Worthington does not hate me, before he has been here a week, it is because I cannot make him." She had risen from the table while speaking, I and was unconscious that her words had been heard by a tall, gentlemanly looking man, who had entered the room unnoticed by us. The amused expression of his countenance would alone have betrayed him as "brother Harry," even if we had not heard Mary's joyful exclamation. While the brother and sister were embracing, I glanced at Nellie. Such a look as she gave me! We were introduced to Mr. Worthington, and soon felt at home with him; but I saw that Nellie intended to play the part of a reserved and dignified young lady, evidently trying to do away with any impression of frivolity which might have been made on the mind of the young man, from having overheard her speech. His first words to Nellie were? "'Forewarned is forearmed,' Miss Nellie, and I think I can safely promise that you will be unsuccessful in your efforts to make tuehate you before I have been heje a week." "I regret that you heard my silly remark, Mr. Worthington. I can assure you it gives me great pleasure to welcome any friend of Mary's to my brother's house," replied Nellie, in her most dignified manner. Mr. Worthington seemed to understand at once the rSle she intended to take, and bowing to her, he said? "Thank you; both for my sister and rayself." It was the afternoon of that day, while we were chatting together, that a note was handed me. It was from Henrietta Lewis and contained the following: "Dear Miss Mattie Mother desires me to write and ask that you will all join our family party this evening. I know you are not in the habit of indulging in such frivolities, but you will only meet with old friends; so you must come. Tell darling Mary I will have a pleasant surprise for her in the presence of an old friend. I am not allowed to sav who it is. I write to you, instead of her, for I shall always feel as if you were the mistress ofElmwood. Tell Nellie she must briDg all her beaux. In haste, yours most lovingly, Henrietta Lewis." Are my readers struck with the juvenility of this epistle ? I was when I read it. Any one, not knowing the writer, would suppose she was of Nellie's age, instead of being my senior. However, if it gave her pleasure to try and diminish the number of her years and increase mine, it could do me no harm. But I kept ray thoughts to myself, and only said? "Here is a note from Henrietta Lewis, inviting us there this evening. I will read it to you, and then you can decide on your answer." ** .I? C i. A iviary was me urst iu ejjcaa. "I do not think I can go, Mattie. You know I have not seen Harry for so long, and I have so much to say to him." "I am afraid, Mary, that Harry and yourself both ought to go. Henrietta sends an especial message to you. Have you no curi-. osity to see who it is you are to be surprised by meeting?" Mary's face flushed a little, as she replied? "No, there is no one I could meet at Henrietta Lewis' whose presence would give me pleasure." "Very well, dear, you must do as you think best. I shall be sorry to go without you; but I know if I were in your place, no party in the world could be as pleasant as a nice long chat with a brother." So it was decided that Nellie and John and I were to go, and Mary and Harry to remain at home. I do not know why it was, but there was something about Mary's conduct at this time that made me feel as if we had never really known her. I do not intend to say that she was deceiving us; but there seemed to be some hidden depths of feeling which we had ever reached, ner manner, wueu sue unuu of her brother's arrival, proved that she could be as impulsive as any one, and yet it was the first time we had ever seen her so. After we had known her for six months, I had decided that John's wife was a quiet, lady-like littlo body, doing her duty faithfully as his wife, to himself and his family; and yet I was obliged to confess, I should have been better pleased to have seen less duty and more affection; or, at least, the outward signs of it. I believe she did love us dearly; but her love for John was not what I?but I will not intrude my thoughts and feelings here. If John was satisfied, I ought to be, and he was very happy. [to be continued next week.] f?Mbxrfif fading. PUTTING UP A STOYE-PIPE. Putting up a stove is not so difficult in itself. It is tne pipe that raises four-fifths of the mischief and all the dust. You may take down a stove with all the care in the world, and have your wife put away the pipe in a secure place, and yet that pipe won't come together again as it was before. You find this out when you are standing on a chair with your arms full of pipe ana your mouth full of soot. Your wife is standing on the floor in a position that enables her to see you, the pipe, and the chair, and here she gives utterance to those remarks that are calculated to hasten a man into the extremes of insanity. Her dress is pinned over her waist, and her hands rest on her hips. She has got one of your bats on her head, and your linen coat on her back, and a pair of your rubbers on her feet There is about five cents' worth of pot-black on her nose, and a lot of flour on her chin, and altogether she is a spectacle that would inspire a dead man with distrust And while you are "" (n nirnnmcflnt fhfi Awful COD Up bug 1G gijriug wv vaivuMtv^* trariness of the pipe, and telling that you know some fool has been mixing it, she stands safely on the floor, and bombards you with such domestic mottoes as: "What's the use of swearingso ?" "You know no one has touched that pipe." "You ain't got any more patience than a child." "Do be careful of that chair." And then she goes off, and reappears with an armful of more pipe, and before you are aware of it, she has got that pipe so horribly mixed up that it does seem no two pieces are alike. You join the ends and work them to and fro, and to and fro again, and then you take them apart and look at them. Then you spread one out and jam the other together, and mount them once more. But it is no go. You begin to think the pieces are inspired with life, and ache to kick them through the window. But she doesn't lose her patience. She goes around with that awfully exasperating rigging on, with a length of pipe under each arm, and a long-handled broom in her hands, and says she don't see how it is some people never have any trouble putting up a stove. Then you miss the hammer. You don't see it anywhere. You stare into the pipe, along the mantel, and down on the stove and off to the floor. Your wife watches you, and is finally thoughtful enough to enquire what you are looking after, and on learning, pulls the article from her pocket Then you feel as if you could go out doors and swear a hole through a block of brick buildings, bufsbe merely observes, "Why on earth don't you speak when you want anything, and not stare round like a dummy." When that part of the pipe which goes through the wall is up, she keeps it up with her broom, while you are making the connection, and stares at it with an intensity that is entirely uncalled for. All the while your position is becoming more interesting. The pipe don't go together, of course. The soot shakes down into your eyes and mouth, the sweat rolls down your face and tickles your chin as it drops off, and it seems as if your arms are slowly but surely drawing out of their sockets. Here your wife comes to the rescue Dy inquiring if you are going to be all day doing nothing, and if you think her arms are made of cast iron, and then the broom slips off the pipe, and in her endeavor to recover her hold she jobs you under the chin with the handle, and the pipe comes down on your head with its load of fried soot, and then the chair tilts forward enough tor discharge your feet, and you come down on the wrong end of that chair with a force that would bankrupt a pile driver. You don'l touch that stove again. You leave your wife examining the chair and bemoaning its injuries, and go into the kitchen and wash your skinned and bleeding hands with yellow soap. Then you go down the street after a man to do the business, and your wife goes over to the neighbors with the chair, and tells them about its injuries, and drains the neighborhood dry of its sympathy long before you get home. Banbury (Conn.) New. Language op Animals?Certainly all animals have a mode of expressing their feelings to others of the same species. Wolves arrange attacks, hunting together in packs, and therefore travel with energy for hours to accomplish a design of which each member of the enterprise has a rational understanding. Deer and buffalo act in concert in regard to seeking food or water. Perhaps the government of wild horses, through signB which any horse in a group of hundreds instantly recognizes as aw imperative command of one individual, which prances up and down the line like one in authority, is about as perfect and as mysterious as anything in natural history. Birds and dogs are exceedingly sociable, enjoying the society of their kith and kin as much as most country cousins when they visit their city relatives. Eats and mice, too, and even insects, are supposed to have the faculty of communicating their wishes and opinions to each other. Curious Inmate of a Tooth.?A remark" J-*!-*? j 1? iv. aoie case in aenusiry is uueuuuucu ujr iuc New Brunswick New Jersey Times, of a citizen of that town, who, after the extraction of a tooth with which he had been long tormented, but in which the only part apparently unsound was so minute as not to admit the insertion of a delicate needle, discovered on cracking it with a hammer that it was a mere shell in which lived a nondescript six-legged bug, which ran briskly about the table on being released from its prison. As the gentleman is confident that the animal could not have made its way through the perforation from without, he considers this a clear case of spontaneous generation. HOT The Grass Valley, California Union says that the Indiana are annihilating the fishes in the mountain streams, and this is how they do it: They wait until the season of the year when the streams run but little water, and when the fishes collect in the deepest and widest holes in the stream. They then cut off the water above snch holes, and use soap root rubbed into a lather in the holes. The soap root soon causes all the fish in the hole to float on the surface of the water in a stupefied condition. Not one escapes. Donald McKay, commander of the Warm Spring Indians, is the son of a Scotch settler of the same name by an Indian woman. He is said to be an educated man, and during the war was the colonel of an Indian regiment in the Union service. He now holds a {eraporary commission from the Government as captain.