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VOL. 19. YOBKYILLE, 6. C., THURSDAY, MAY 39, 1873. jSTO. 22.
I f j ? .f ?La J!?nn?inn In toliicli a Via mnv
JU (Original .ffotg.
Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.
JOHN'S WIFE.
BY E. VICTORIA LOMAX.
CHAPTER VI.
As I expected, instead of the "family gathering,"
we found quite a large party when we
arrived at Mrs. Lewis'. Henrietta greeted us
with her usual effusion, but her countenance
changed, I thought, when she found that only
Nellie, John and myself, had accepted her invitation.
"I am too sorry Mary did not come," was
her first remark to me. "Her cousin Richard
is paying us a short visit, aud I know it would
edve them so much pleasure to be together."
o
"Mary remained at home to be with her
brother Harry, who has just arrived after an
absence of several years. I hope Mr. Howard
will come to Elmwood and see her before he
leaves. I will ask John to invite him."
"Oh! you need not do that. I can assure
you Mr. Howard has no idea of leaving this
neighborhood without seeing her. He would
venture to go to Elmwood without an invitation,
sooner than not accomplish his end."
She turned off after making this speech,
and left me in anything but a pleasant frame
of mind. There seemed to be some mystery
connected with this "cousin Richard," that
made even his name disagreeable to me. The
conversation I had had with Mary, on the
night of her reception day, recurred to my
mind, and, for the first time, I began to regard
it as a matter of consequence.
Why she should object to seeing Mr. Howard,
and what the "end" was which he was so
determined to accomplish, were two things I
could not understand; but a large party was
not exactly the place for me to form an opinion
in a matter of this kind, so I determined
to put the subject from me, and wait until I
was in my own little room at home, with no
one to disturb me. I could then put on my
"thinking cap" and pass judgment.
The evening did not pass very pleasantly
to me. I found few of the old friends that
Henrietta spoke of, but I heard some good
music, and saw others enjoy themselves, which
is always a great pleasure; so I did not have
a very disagreeable time after all.
I had noticed a stranger in conversation
with John very often during the evening, and
then I saw him dancing with Nellie. I conjectured
he was "cousin Richard," but I was
not certain of it until late in the evening,
when John introduced him as "Mary'scousinMr.
Howard." To my astonishment, he took
his seat by me, evidently with the intention
of remaining some time; and, from his manner
and conversation, I soon saw that he considered
us in the light of relatives, or pretend
ed he did ; and he was now going to try his
best to make that relationship an agreeable
one,.
In spite of my prejudice against him?for
which I will acknowledge I had not much
cause?my acquaintance made quite an agreeable
impression on me. He seemed to be a
perfect gentleman, and was well educated.
In addition to this, he had that peculiar tact
or talent?which is it ??which made you feel,
while with him, that he could appreciate aud
sympathize with whatever was good and true,
in your own nature. It will, no doubt, appear
strange that I should have formed this opinion
of him on so short an acquaintance; but
my reader must remember that he considered
us, and wished us to consider him, iu the light
of a relation; consequently there was none of
that reserve which is usual between persons
meeting for the first time.
He had spoken of Mary when he was introduced,
but did not mention her name again
during the evening. We discussed music,
books and flowers, with the usual subjects .of
small talk, and still he did not seem to have
any intention or desire of leaving me. I do
not know how it was ; but, unconsciously, the
tone of our conversation changed, and we were
fast drifting from the broad and safe path of
"generalities," to the far more dangerous one
of individual feeling. He was speaking of
C..I nr. r1t>V> I ^?V>5o i A do nf it?and astir] ?
ii iUUUOUl^ Uio 4UVU VI *v MUM
"Do you know Miss Leslie, I think the
truest form of friendship is that existing between
a man and a woman ?"
"What is generally called platonic affection
?" I asked, smiling.
"No," he replied; nothing of the kind.
The words love and affection, are both something
separate from my idea of friendship.
That word embraces everything. I would
sooner trust my life, or ray honor, iu the hands
of a true friend, than in those of a persou I
merely loved."
" 'Merely loved'!" How differently men and
women must feel on this subject. Now, what
you call 'merely loving,' I think embraces
everything that is good and true in our nature.
It is, to me, all that your friendship is to you,
and a great deal more."
I did not think how earnestly I was speaking,
until, on looking up, I saw a smile on his
face. I felt mine crimson as he said?
"I am erlad vou have found it all this."
I recovered myself immediately, and replied?
"We were speaking of ideas, you know;
not experiences."
"But my friendship was not an idea. I
have found it a reality. Do you intend to say
you have not proved the same with your love ?"
"Never mind what I intended to say, Mr.
Howard ; what I do say is, that I think we
are discussing far too grave subjects, considering
our surroundings. Are you fond of
dancing ?"
There was an expression about his eyes, as
I thus abruptly changed the subject, that convinced
me he saw through my little subterfuges,
and looking at me as if he were thinking
"very cleverly done, but I have not finished
with you yet," he answered my question in
his usual manner.
"Yes, I am very fond of it; but not such as
we see in this country. I never saw the 'poetry
of motion' exemplified but once, and that
was in Cuba. I wish you could visit that
country?how you would enjoy its beauties."
Visit Cuba! I wondered if he knew what
he was saying wheu he asked me that question.
Could he possibly have met with?but I would
not think of it; and even if he had, Owen was
not the man to speak to Mr. Howard of me.
** No, it was absurd in me to fancy such a thing
for a moment?they never could have met.
But on looking up?to say something, I did
not know exactly what?I found him regard
' ing me far too earnestly for one who had seen j
J me for the first time that evening. I saw that |
, I had almost betrayed myself, and in order
| to do away with any impression which might
: have been made in his mind, I said iudifferj
ently?
"Yes, I thiuk I would like to visit Cuba.
"Were you there for any length of time?" j
"Several years. If yon care to listen, I
should like very much to tell you of an incident
which occurred while I was there. Perhaps
it may interest you, as you seem to be fond of
the heroic."
"I shall be delighted to hear it," said I,
only too glad that the conversation was relapsing
into generalities. I
"It was in 18?." said Mr. Howard, "that j
I visited Cuba, with a surveying party from j
this country. We had been out nearly a year |
when the yellow fever ravaged that country.
We had a physician with us, and by his advice
we kept as far away from the sea coast
as possible. After seeing us encamped at a
safe distance, he asked Colonel Gray, the superintendent
of the work, to allow him to return
to Havana. The Colonel objected for
some time, but at length gave his consent,
and our doctor left us to go to a city where
death alone reigned, in order to try to help
some suffering fellow-being. Now, what do
you think of such a man as that ?"
"I think everything that is good of him."
"I know you do," he replied. "His name
was Owen Morris." And with these words,
he left me.
Yes, he knew him ; and it was for Owen's
sake that he had spent almost an hour in talking
to me. Owen Morris! how long since I
had heard that name; but I thanked God,
that I heard it now, for the first time for years,
connected with that which proved to me, howgood
and noble he was. But I had no right
to think of him, except as a friend. The
"merely loving" days were over; that is, if
they can be over, for those who have once
1 ?mrvwrv 4-r\ Qonli rv+lmr Tiplfl
ueeu wuui ?c ?YCID iu wwi vtuvo -..j.
those who, in following the path of duty,
trample under foot the love which is the.life J
of their own and another's heart.
CHAPTER VII.
We found Harry and Mary awaiting us
when we returned. The former expressed
great pleasure when he heard Richard Howard
was in the neighborhood ; but Mary said nothing,
though she must have heard John's reraarkthat
hehad invited him to visitElmwood.
I was too much worn out by the events of
i the evening, to indulge in one of my long rev[
eries. I determined I would try to dismiss
everything disagreeable from my mind, and
then, perhaps, after a good night's rest, I should
be better able to think over and decide on my
future conduct toward Mr. Howard. At the
breakfast table, the next morning, Harry
said?
"I think I will ride over and see Dick this
morning. Perhaps I can induce him to return
with me."
"I wish you would," said John. "I do not
know when I have seen a stranger who impressed
me more agreeably."
"And if you have no objection, Harry, I
will ride over with you," said Mary ; and then
turning to me, she added, in rather a confused
nnn r\v* T tliAH *
uiauuu) -L buvuguv
"You kuow I would dislike to offend Henrietta,
and she might not like my remaining
at home last night."
"Ifyou will wait until this afternoon, Mary,
I will go with you," said John; "but this
morning I have some business to attend to."
"I think I had better go with Harry, Joftn ;
it may rain this afternoon."
"Very well; just as you choose. I hope
you will come back with more color in your
cheeks. You look pale this morning."
Mary answered quickly?her cheeks anything
but pale?
"Yes, I know the ride will do me good.
Let us start early, Harry."
"In an hour, if you say so. I will order
j the horses now."
Nellie and I were left alone in the breaki
fast room, and she immediately took advantI
age of that opportunity to ask me what I
thought of Mr. Howard.
"Mentally, morally, or physically, Nellie?"
I asked, smiling.
"Oh ! Miss Mattie, I see you are just trying
to throw dust in your little sister's eyes; but
I you need not think you deceive me. You
know you are on the eve, this moment, of
losing your heart with him. When have you
spent a whole hour with a young gentleman
I before, talking in the most confidential man
ner, too, all the while? You have the premature
symptoms of a case of?I was going to
say, hydrophobia; but I believe that is not
the name it bears in polite society, though,
no doubt, it often deserves it. However, I
will spare your blushes and not ask any further
questions, but proceed immediately to
alter ray white dress."
"There is not the slightest probability of
your ever having to wear it on my account,
Nellie. But seriously, I wish you would tell
; me what you think of our new acquaintance
?"
j In a cousinly, brotherly, or strangerlv light,
Mattie?"
"In any light you please, so that I may find
out your opinion."
"Knowing the influence that ray opinion has
generally had over you in matters of this j
kind, it gives me great pleasure to express it, j
feeling sure I will benefit you."
I "Oh ! Nell, are you never going to be anything
but a child, turning everything into fun
and frolic ?"
"Yes, on the 4th of June, 18?, you may j
expect to see a radical change in the iraportu-1
; uate female who is now addressing you. I3ut |
until then, 'bear with me, my friends, bear :
j with me' now, for my opinion of Mr. Howard. |
I think he is decidedly good looking, has
j charming manners, and is evidently a man of
the world. He has seen more of life in one
year than you aud I will ever see, even if we
! live to be ugly, old women ; which, by the
way, I have not the slightest idea of doing.
i He is very agreeable, and I fancy would prove
a pleasant companion to those who liked him.
This is all the good I know about him. Now j
for the other side of the picture. He is not
true in any respect, except when it suits his
interest to be so; he has some object in view i
in paying this visit to Henrietta, which is not
the fair Henrietta. He is determined to be I
intimate with the family at Elmwood, and ,
from the manner in which he so perfectly succeeded
in throwing dust in the eyes of your
dear brother John, I thiuk we may expect to
I have the pleasure of Mr. Howard's society
very often. And this is ray unbiased opinion '
of the individual in question. You can |
judge for yourself that I dislike him most cordially."
"I am sorry for that, Nellie?not for the
reason you suppose, so you need not smile; !
but as ho is Mary's relative, I regret that he
is disagreeable to any member of our family."
"Oh ! you need not fear on my account. I
shall rather enjoy playing off on him the game
he thinks he is playing off so well on us. I
feel sure there is no love lost between himself
and the Elmwood household."
"Did he speak of Mary to you ?"
"Yes; his conversation was principally about
her, and I think it was the manner in which
he spoke or tier, mat urst iuuuc uc uioub?
him."
"I thought he professed great fondness for
her?"
"Why he is devoted to her. You never
heard such praise as he bestowed upon her,
but at the same time, whenever he spoke of
her marriage with John, it was always as if
we were indebted to him for Mary having become
a member of our family. He advised
] this, and he advised that! Now, it is my private
opinion, that he knew nothing at all of
the matter, and I think I shall tell him so the
very first chance I have."
"Hush ! Nellie. You must not talk in this
way. Neither of us have had time to know
Mr. Howard yet, and perhaps we may both
be mistaken in our ideas about him. He cannot
be altogether bad, for Harry seems fond of
him and I think Mary liked him, too, before
she was married ; so we must try and change
our opinion of him."
"Then you dislike him also?"
"No, I did not say that; but?"
"You meant it, notwithstanding," said Nellie,
as she left the room, smiling.
I sat motionless for some moments ; unpleasant
thoughts crowded so fast upon me,
that I found I would be fit for nothing until
I had arranged, in my own mind, what was
/i an a
utrsi iv uc uuuc/?
I agreed with Nellie in the opinion she had
expressed of Mr. Howard. That he had come
to the neighborhood for some other object than
to see Henrietta Lewis, I felt sure; but what
could that object be? For one instant the
thought flashed through my mind thftt Owen
Morris might have sent him ; but it was dismissed
as quickly as it came. If Richard
Howard knew anything of me and my past,
he knew it Dy accident?not from any direct
information which had been given him. He
evidently knew something, and I fancied his
intention was to obtain an influence over me,
through this means, in order that I might be
of service to him.
He little knew me. I have always contended
that the highest order of love is that which
is capable of the greatest self-sacrifice. I had
only acted up to my belief, and, therefore, had
nothing to be ashamed of. I did not know
then, that in sacrificing my own happiness, I
destroyed another's. Surely, the bitterness I
have endured, has been great enough to expiate
my not wilful sin 1 But I could think
no longer of our suffering, now that the shadow
of coming evil was hovering over our
i L - * J J -i ? J.. r r.n ifutu
uousenoiu, unu uirutuiy J. jcii> i;uiiieu,ao u uuui
sin and sorrow were near.
I could only wait. In some instances suspicion
does more injury than out-spoken reproof
; but in this case I tried to banish it
from my heart, and judge only from facts. I
bowed my head in shame and anguish, as I
thought, that after all, John's wife was the
"stranger" who was to bring ruin and disgrace
on the Elmwood house.
The day wore slowly away. Harry and
Mary did not return until sometime after we
had dined. In the evening, when the family
were assembled again, John asked when Mr.
Howard would be over.
"He is not coming," said Harry.
"Not coming!" exclaimed John. "I certainly
understood him to say he v>'ould pay us j
a visit."
"Yes, I thought so, too; but just before we j
left, he came to me and said he would be
obliged to return home, and requested me to j
present his apologies to yourself and your sisters.
I saw very littleof him, he was so much J
occupied in talking over old times with Mary, i
Perhaps she can enlighten us farther on the i
subject."
As Harry said this, Mary, who was sitting j
! near John, placed her hand on his shoulder, |
| and then rested her head on it. I could not:
j tell whether it was done to conceal her counte-1
! nance while answering the question, or only to i
! draw nearer the loved presence, which is so j
I natural when we feel that evil influences are j
i arouud us. She did Dot reply immediately,
| but when she did, it was only to say, in an indifferent
manner?
"He said he had received letters from Waverly,
which made it necessary for him to re- i
turn."
"Are you tired, darling?" I heard John;
| whisper, a few moments after.
"Yes, so tired," said Mary with a sigh.
Just as a little child would have done,
j "Your ride was too much for you. Anoth- j
er time I will not let you go without me. j
Then I can see that you do not over-fatigue ,
yourself."
"Yes, I am always well and strong when !
vnn nrp with
The fair young face was still resting on '
John's shoulder, and I saw her put her tiny
hand in his. Nothing more was Baid.
I turned away with a feeling of relief, j
There could be uo sin dwelling in a heart.
which was filled with such trusting love as!
that.
CHAPTER VIII.
We found Harry's presence a great addition
to our family circle. Nellie and himself
were constantly joking, and though my mind
was oppressed with sad and anxious thoughts,i
it was impossible not to enjoy their fun.
Miss Nancy Turner was a never-ending
source of amusement. She admired Harry
excessively, and in accordance with her general
rule of conduct, took no pains to conceal
it. On one occasion she expressed surprise
at his not being married, and insisted
upon kuowing the cause.
"I had an unfortunate love affair in early |
youth, Miss Nancy," was his reply.
"I thought it was somethiug of that kind," j
she exclaimed. "The first time I ever saw
you, I said you had a dubious expression of j
| countenance. I can sympathize with you, for
I, too, know what it is to 'let concealment
like a worm, feed on the bud of my damask
cheek,' as Byron says."
"Then it is true, that you have lost your
heart, Miss Nancy ?" said Nellie, gravely.! i
"I heard it some days since, but could not be- i
lieve it." <
"Why, who could have tol^ you, Nellie?
I have never said a word about it to any one." i
"Perhaps not; but we all see how ruuch you
admire Mr. Howard."
"Mr.. Howard I You must be deranged,
child. I cannot bear hira; besides, he is I
courting Henrietta Lewis, now." i
"Then who is it ? tell us. Mr. Wor- :
thington can keep a secret, so you need not
fear his mentioning it."
"If Aedoes not know who it is, Nellie, it is
not my place to tell him." Here she gave a
most bewitching and coquettish glance at1
Harry.
It was imnossible not to smile at her man
Der; and, in order to prevent an outburst of
laughter, I quickly changed the subject.
It was during that afternoon that Nellie
seated herself near me, saying?
"Mattie, what do you think of that love
affair of Mr. Worthington's?"
"I have not thought of it at all, Nellie. I
supposed, of course, that he was joking; but
why do you ask ?"
"Nothing?only?I believe?it is true."
Her hesitating manner made me look at her
in surprise. She colored, on catching my eye,
aud said?
"The fact is, Mattie, he has told me all
about it, and has asked for my advice."
"Well, did you give it?"
"No, for I wished to hear your opinion
first."
"But, perhaps, he will object to my knowing
of it."
"I told him I was going to tell you. He
met with a young lady some time ago, and
after having known her only a few months, he
fancied himself desperately in love with her,
and told her so."
"And what was her answer?"
"She treated the whole matter as a joke,
and would not believe in his sudden devotion."
,
"Then I do not see any occasion for his asking
your advice. It seems to me the matter
is settled."
"No, for he has taken it into his head that
the lady is in love with him. Did you ever
t* ??m oa okaiir/1 9'*
JLiCtVi auj HJIU^ OU UUOU1U i
As Nellie said this, she threw herself on
her knees before me, and buried her face in
my lap.
We were silent for a moment, and then the
truth flashed upon me. I placed my hand,
carressingly, on the fair hair, and said?
"Tell me all about it, darling?"
"Oh ! Mattie, have you guessed it? What
a tell-tale face I must have. I did not intend
you to know it for ever so long. But what
must I do, dearie ?"
She raised her flushed face to mine as she
spoke, and kissing her I said?
"Do what your own heart prompts, Nellie.
I cannot believe that my little sister would
trifle with the affections of any man; particularly,
such a man as Harry Worthington."
"Then you like him ? I think he is rather
pleasant myself; but, Mattie, you know I
never was a believer in 'sudden conversions,'
and Harry has only known me three months."
"But it was not a conversion on his part,
Nellie. He had not to alter or give up an
opinion?he only formed one. I believe if
Harry has told you that he loves you, he does
OA tuitk kio wlifklp kpnrt. jinfl soul, and VOU
ought to decide at once as regards your own
feelings, and not keep hira in suspense."
"Now, Mattie, please don't talk proper to
me. Of course I ought to do ever so many
things that I don't do ; but I am not going
to be hurried into matrimony, just because a
certain gentleman cannot be kept in suspense.
I suppose if I am worth having, 1'in worth
waiting for."
"Oh ! Nellie, don't speak so jestingly of such
a serious subject. You do not realize bow
much depends on your answer."
"Yes, I do, indeed. I know if I say 'no,'
there will probably be two Miss Nancy Turners,
instead of one, iu this neighborhood; I
being the feeble imitator of that illustrious
personage."
"And if you say 'yes,' Nellie ?"
"She hesitated a moment, and then said?
"I suppose I'll end my days as 'old Mrs.
Worthington.'"
As she called the name, her face was covered
with blushes; but she quickly recovered
herself and added?
"I never could make a decent W, in my
life, and I really do not think I can stand being
obliged to make one, whenever I sign my
name in future. But then when I see Miss
Nancy, I?"
"When are you going to give Harry his answer
?" I asked, interrupting her.
"Oh! some time between this and Christmas.
You see I wish to take down his vanity a little.
The idea of his supposing that I am in
love with him!"
"And are you not, Nellie?"
I raised her head as I spoke, and looked
earnestly into her face.
"Must I tell you the truth, Mattie?"
"Yes."
"Well, I think I am."
"But this won't do. There can be no doubt
on such a subject as this. If you only think
so, I advise you to tell Harry at once that
you can not marry him; for if you really loved
him there could not be a moment's doubt on
your mind."
"And may I ask, do you speak from experience
or observation ?"
"From sad experience, my darling. Don't
let your future happiness be marred as mine
has been, for want of the expression of a love
with which your heart is filled. I know you
you love Harry."
She threw her arras around me and burst
into tears. I knew not whether they were for
her or myself; but I caught the whispered 1
words, "yes, I love him," and I was satisfied.
i
CHAPTER IX. ,
Six months have elapsed, and in spite of 1
Nellie's aversion to the letter "W," she is
soon to become Mrs. Worthington. It was a ! 1
great trial to me to give up my darling sister , 1
to any one; but I had no right to be selfish, 1
and though it seemed as if the last ray of 1
sunshine was being taken from my life, I 1
could not murmur, for I knew she would be 1
happy. 1
And for me, it was only to wander a little 1
longer aloue in the twilight, before the dawn j 1
of the never-euding day of eternity. <
Harry and Nellie were to go to their farm, 1
"Clifton," immediately after their marriage. 1
It was situated near his father's, and they in
sistcd that John and Mary should accompany
them. They asked me to join the party ; but,
of course, that was impossible. I was obliged
to remain with aunt Patsy, and on this occasion,
the path of duty was, by far, the most
pleasant to me.
We had a very quiet wedding?only the
immediate friends of the family being present. :
Nellie was not much changed by the responsibilities
of her new position, and she kept the !
same happy smile on her face to the last, i
When she went to take leave of aunt Patsy !
and receive her blessing, the old lady was almost
overcome by her emotion.
"Ah ! child, how I shall miss your bright
sunny face," said she, with the tears stream
ing down her cheeks.
"But, aunty, you know I am not going to
be away all ray life. I am comiDg home every
six months. Harry says that I may."
"And if you don't look out, Harry will say
that you may not. I know all about young
husbands', though I never had either old or
young myself. They don't believe in their
wives going back to their old homes. I shall
never see you again, child."
"I shall think you do not like Harry, if
you speak in this way, aunty. You don't
think he is the stranger who is to bring ruin
and disgrace on the family, do you ?"
"Hush! child ; you must not jest about that.
God forbid that your husband should verify
the old prophecy. He is a fine young man,
and I like him very much; and you may take
my word for it, he's going to make you behave
yourself. But I see he is waiting?so
tell me good-bye."
The house was desolate, and lonely beyond
expression, after they all left. I tried to be
very busy, and in that way keep down troubled
and anxious thoughts. John was only to be
absent a few days, and intended returning for
Mary in a month or two. Her health had
not been good, and we believed the change
would benefit her. I rather enjoyed the idea
of having John all to myself again, and I have
fVinnrrkf uinna if if Vm/1 nnt hpfin fnr
those weeks of quiet interchange of confidence
and sympathy, that he could not have come
to me as he did afterward.
On his return home, he mentioned a large
dinner which had been given the bride by Mr.
Richard Howard.
"Mary did not seem to care about going at
first," he said ; "but I was very glad afterwards
that she did go. You have no idea,
Mattie, how lovely she looked that day."
"I can well imagine it, John. I have always
thought her very pretty; but was she
looking stronger and better when you left ?"
"Yes ; that is, she had more color, though
I didn't think she was quite as bright and
cheerful as she was at home."
"You know it is the first time she has been
separated from you since her marriage. Perhaps
it was that thought which made her appear
more quiet."
"It may have been. I wish she was with
us again."
In my heart, I echoed that sentiment most
fervently, but I said nothing. It was not
want of trust in Mary, so far as her affection
for John was concerned. I knew that she
loved him devotedly now, but it was plain
that Richard Howard had acquired some
mysterious influence over her, and that he intended
to use that influence to the detriment
of Mary's happiness, was equally evident.
I was seated one evening, reading aloud, to
aunt Patsy, when a servant announced Miss
Nancy Turner. I put down my book with a
sigh, for I knew before that interview was
over, I was to hear all the gossip of the neighborhood,
embellished by the not very amiable
remarks of this talkative spinster. However,
with the fervent hope thatshe would leave the
household of Elmwood alone, and confine
herself to her particular friends, I proceeded
to meet my visitor. Her first words were?
"Well, Mattie, I suppose yours will be the
next wedding at Elmwood. But, pray child,
don't have it a secret one; every one is talking
about the sly way in which you good
people manage such things."
"I am sorry 'every ODe' has not a more
profitablesubject of conversation, Miss Nancy.
I can assure you it is a matter of perfect indifference
to us what is said about the weddings
in this family. We generally arrange
them to suit ourselves, and, so far, I flatter
myself, have succeeded admirably."
"I'm glad you are satisfied. 'None so blind
as those who won't see,' you know; but I
should think John's wife might tell a different
story."
I could not help smiling when I heard this.
It seemed so absurd that John and Mary
should not be happy?loving each other, as I
knew they did. Before I could say anything,
Miss Nancy having observed the expression of
my countenance, said?
"You would not smile in that way, JVlattie,
if you had heard all that /have heard about
her."
"As it would be impossible for any one to
make me believe that Mary is not happy as
John's wife, I prefer not hearing anything
more." I then added, by way of changing
the subject, "Have you seen Henrietta Lewis
lately?"
"Yes, I have just come from there?in fact, J
it was Henrietta who told me all I have
heard."
The idea occurred to me, if the information
came from that source, perhapfl it would be
best for me to hear it. After knowing Miss |
Nan/in'a aiiMirtritv there seemed a crreater i
" ........ J, 0
probability of putting an end to the gossip. 11
said?
"What is it you have heard, Miss Nancy?
It seems to annoy you so much, that it will
afford me pleasure to convince you it is false."
"I don't see how you can do that, Mattie,
for Heurietta says she saw Mary herself, that
day, and it was very evident that she and her
cousin Richard were still very much in love
with ea h other. You know they were en-1
gaged to be married when she married John.
But let me go on with my story." (in more
senses than one I thought.) "You see, as
3oou as Mary heard that her cousin was staying
at Henrietta's, she went directly over
there. She took her brother with her, in order
that he might talk to the ladies of the
family, while she had Mr. Howard all to herself.
They went out on the lawn together soon
after she got there, and there they sat under
one of the trees until dinner. Henrietta says
she could see they were both very much excited,
and when Mary came in, she was as white
as a ghost, and looked as if she was going to
cry every minute; and Mr. Howard was as
angry as he could be. Mr. Worthington did
not seem to notice what was going on, and
Henrietta says she does feel so sorry for him?
she knows it will distress him so much, wnen
he finds it out."
Miss Nancy having paused for breath?I
don't think any other consideration would
have stopped her?I took advantage of it to
say? *
"What a talent for romance Henrietta has!
The idea of making a love story out of the
meeting of two old friends, just because they
were talking together for an hour or two! It
was scarcely worth repeating, Miss Nanoy; |
but as it has given us a proof of Henrietta's
and your friendship, I am very glad to have
heard it. You seldom meet with old friends,
who are as ready to believe evil of those for
whom they profess friendship ; and I can assure
you it will never be forgotten. Will you
be kind enough to inform Henrietta that, perhaps,
it would be as well for her, in the future,
to confine herself to facts, and not draw on
her imagination in order to slander her
friends."
"Oh! you need not get so angry about it,
Mattie. We both meant it for kindness. I
came right to you as soon as I heard it, so that
you might tell me the truth. I am very glad
to hear it is not so. I shall certainly tell
Henrietta all you have said," and with these
words, she left the room.
[to be continued next week.]
Ipmllwwint* finding.
| BURR AND MADAME JUMEL.
A New York letter says: Most of your
readers have noticed the "Madame Jumel
case" which has been in litigation so long in
the United States Courts. But many of them
may not be aware that this Madame Jumel
I ? n* A ornn Mnrr Sho
WHS at UUC blIUO bug ITHV VI ?#? ? -jmv
became his wife in s very extraordinary way.
After his return from Europe in his old age,
a disgraced and dreaded man, Madame Jumel,
then perhaps fifty years of age, called at the
office on Nassau street in great style for those
days, with her carriage and liveried servants,
to consult him, as the best authority in New
York, concerning her real estate, which was
very extensive. Burr treated her with courtesy,
of which he was a perfect master, and
plied to bis utmost his arts of compliment and
flattery, through which he had snared so many
victims. Madame Jumel, according to the
customs of the times, had been very superficially
educated, and was the more easily
duped by such a man as Burr. She was accompanied
by her nephew, in whose interest
Burr at once manifested the most lively concern.
The two were flattered aDd fascinated.
After a few weeks Burr, though then
nearly or quite eighty years of age, made a
proposal of marriage to the wealthy widow.
He was refused. He manifested none of the
mortifications of a jilted swain, but went on
with his suit as if nothing had happened.
Madame Jumel was astonished and bewildered
at such love making. At last he drove up
to her door one fine morning, bringing a clergyman
with him and declared that he bad
come to be married. Madame was directed
to prepare herself without any unnecessary
delay at the toilet, and, fairly overborne by
mingled courtesies and commands, she at last
stood up by the side of her ancient beau and
spoke the fatal words, while every door and
window was crowded with the faces of the
wondering household servants. Burr thus
became master of an immense amount of
property, with a lady thrown in. They started
at once on a wedding trip to Hartford,
Connecticut Madame was the owner of several
shares in a bridge, which was then regarded
a wonderful investment. The stock was
in great demand. Burr persuaded her to sell
it, and when the proceeds were brought to her
she said, with true wifely submission : "Give
it to my husband!" The tradition is that
Burr stuffed the bulky package of bills into
his pocket and sewed them in, or got his wife
to. On his return to New York he coolly deposited
the money to his own account in the
bank, and soon after invested it in the locali
ty of his early dreams of treason and conquest?the
Southwest. Of course the money
was never heard of again. He disposed of
large sums subsequently in the same manner,
till at last Madame Jumel, to save the remainder
of her fortune, was compelled to sue for a
divorce on the ground of infidelity.
narrow-gauge* railroads.
The great favor narrow-gauge railroads
have met with in all parts of the country is
a proof of their adaptability to present requirements.
More particularly have they
been approved in the West, and at no distant
day will be built for all local purposes. We
copy from the St. Louis Globe, the following
statement which will show what has been
done in narrow-gauges: '
St. Louis county railway, constructing, 52
miles in length. < .
Cairo and St. Louis, 150 miles in length,
and forty miles of iron laid.
Kansas Central, 400miles in length; 70 in
operation.
Big Sandy Valley, Kentucky; 156 miles
in length. Work commenced.
Denver and Rio Grande; length, 800 miles.
TCnw in nnpratinn 1 00 miles.
Bell's Gap, Pa., 17 miles built; 60 miles
graded.
Pittsburg and Castle Shannon, completed.
Ceredo, West Virginia; 30 miles in length;
12 miles finished.
Galeua and South Wisconsin, partly under
contract.
Iowa Eastern, 180 miles. Work progressI
ing.
Louisville and Westport, Kentucky; work
I progressing. Length, 25 miles.
Mississippi City and Memphis, 25 miles
finished. Length, 300 miles ; work progressing.
North and South Georgia, will soon have
finished 65 miles.
Painesvilleand Youngstown,Ohio. Length,
42 miles; 20 miles now in operation.
tv, i \T_ii oc ;i
L tan iNortnern; lu iimes iu upuituuu.
Utah Southern, 400 miles in length; 35
miles completed.
Utah, Idaho and Montana, 50 miles under j
contract.
A narrow-gauge road is talked of from San
Jos6 to Alvison.
Peachbottom, Penn; 50 miles; in course of
construction.
Norfolk and Western Virginia, surveyed
and progressing; length, 360 miles.
Besides the above, says QrojuWs Western
World, are a number of short lines, finished or
progressing, in different parts of the country.
In Canada, the Toronto, Bruce and Grey has
proven very successful. At the South, a
large number of miles is projected, which will
connect with the Cairo and St. Louis. A line
of three-feet gauge is also projected from St.
Louis to the Atlantic seaboard, and the eastern
end of the line is being vigorously pushed
forward; and the St. Louis and Western
Railway is rapidly assuming shape, and will
form a link in the chain of roads from the
Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean. This statement
does not include any of the narrowgauge
projects on the southern coast, some of
which will, without doubt, be speedily commenced
and energetically pushed.
A Jeai.ou8 Husband Cured with Liquorice-Water.?There
is a man in this
city who is so affectionately fond of his wife
that he is jealous if a man looks within forty
live uegreeaui me uiuv<uuu iu j
happen to be. The other day a gentleman
spoke to her, and he immediately threatened
suicide. His wife was dispatched for a bottle
of poison, which she had put up at the druggist's,
consisting of a little water, colored with
liquorice, in a bottle with a glaring poison
label outside. When he threatened to take
some of it, and actually poured it into a wineglass,
she screamed for help aod ran into another
room, where she could watch him
through the key hole, and saw him coolly open
the window and throw it out She then
rushed back apparently frantic with grief and
implored him not to do the rash deed. He
; merely pointed at the glass, and lying down
on the floor, began to kicjc out his legs like a
jumping jack, She told him she was determined
to share his fate, and swallowed the
rest of the liquorice-water, whereupon he be
"? ? 4-Ua nalKnrc
came reaiiy inguteuou, uunug tuc uw6uW,w,
confessed that he only Cammed, and said that
if she only survived he never would trouble
her again. Then she explained the ruse, and
he was so mortified he tried to buy up the
silence of the neighbors, but the story was too
good to keep. He is thoroughly cured.
TiiusviUorira.) Harold.
THE BORROWING NUISANCE.
A correspondent of the Northwestern Farmer,
whose righteous indignation has been aroused
by those intolerable pests, unscrupulous borrowers,
writes to that paper as follows:
"My neighbor wanted to borrow my shovel?
would return it in the evening. Evening
came, but no shdv^l!; The next evening it
was quietly returned to its accustomed hook
in the wood house, the blade covered over one-half
its surface with a coating of dry mortar.
I pride myself on my clean and bright
shovels and hoes. Half an hour's work with
an old knife blade, and the use of a sheet of
sand paper, restored it
"Another time he was building a pig pen.
The posts were too long, and his saw very dull.
Of course he borrowed mine, and''be sawed
off a nail with it?the posts had been used before.
He sent his little boy to return the saw
with the message: 'Pa would 'a sent it and
got it filed, but he knowed you alius filed your
own saw, and it wouldn't take but a few minutes
to sharp it again.'
"Another neighbor 'borrowed' the privilege
of getting water at my well. The well is
deep, and we draw with a windlass. It is
hard for ray wife to draw up a bucketful, for
she is feeble, and to save her, I usually fill
the bucket before going away to my business.
As the well is in an out kitchen, I leave the
filled bucket hanging in the curb. My neighbor
sneaks in, empties' the bucket, and is
mean enough to go away without refilling it.
Wife and I conclude it is better to suffers
wrong than have a difficulty with anear neighbor,
and so, for the sake of peace, we submit
to this wear and tear of soul and body. When
the same person borrows flour, for the best
article a poor one is returned. Eggs, matches,
'a drawin' o' tea,' are never returned.
"T mirrVit innrOQdo tn orrAftf-. lanorth a TfiOOfd
vy ? - ----0 ?
of these examples, but my object is only to
illustrate the position taken that the habitual
borrower's code is a lax one,. This may be
partially accounted for by. th? fact that, the
independent, self-reliant portion: of the community
seldom borrow, and the practice is
mostly left to people of the opposite kind.
"Among honest men, borrowing may be
( made a convenience, and mutually beneficial.
Yet, I think, the question is worth considering,
whether it does pot demoralize a manweaken
his self-reliance. We get to relying
90 our neighbors more and. more, for the things
we ourselves ought to procure. On the whole,
my advice is to borrow only in case of great
need, when you cannot get along without doing
so."
? -?
What an Engineer Did with a Man
who Disarranged a Railroad Track.?
The following story may be a true one; more
like it is false, but it is given as it was detailed,
and it may be that some one still living
may remember the circumstances and write
the tale. Some years ago there was a wellknown
engineer, whose name is not given, for
good and sufficient reasons, who ran a passenger
train on one of the most popular and most
traveled roads that run out of Indianapolis.
At a certain place on the road, every night
for about a week, as the passenger train run
by this engineer cAme thundering along, it
was certain to be thrown from the track by
obstructions placed there. Several of these
mishaps to the train caused, loss of life, and
the company was becoming considerably
alarmed, and the ability of the engineer was
being seriously questioned. One night, as
the unfortunate train was "hearing the fatal
spot, the engineer, who had'been sitting glum
and silent at the throttle, turned to his fireman
and said: 'If this train jumps the track
at that place to-night, you follow me; don't
stop for anything, but keep close after me.
Somebody has been throwing this train off the
track, and I'm {*oing to catch him."
When the tram arrived at the usual nlace
it struck a misplaced rail and "was banked.
The engineer, closely followed by the fireman,
jumped from the engine and ran into a cornfield
and started up a man who lay concealed
there. Upon bringing the culprit back the
enraged passengers wanted to lynch him, but
the engineer, a stern, cold, determined man,
prevented them, saying that they would take
charge of him, and through the intercession
of the conductor, the trembling wretch was
left in charge of the engineer.- The train was
righted, and was soon speeding on its way.
The prisoner, who had confessed his fiendishness,
had been seated on the engine, and the
fireman placed beside him as a guard. When
the train was on a smooth piece of track,
bowling along at a speed of twenty-five miles
an hour, the engineer beckoned the fireman to
stand out of the way. The fireman stepped
aside, and the engineer picked up a round
piece of wood and struck him such a blow
upon the head that it stunned him. He then
caught the quivering form of the poor wretch,
and opening the furnace doors, threw his body
into the hot, seething hell of flame. The
doors were shut, the train rolled on, and never,
until upon his death-bed the engineer confessed
the act, was it ascertained what had
' been the fate of the fiend who had been in the
habit of throwing the train off the track?Indianapolis
Sentinel.
A Dinner Excuse.?Apologies for poor
dinners are generally out of place. But when
a lady has a forgetful husband, who, without
warning, brings borne a dozen guests to sit
down to a plain, family dinner for three or
four, it is not in human nature to keep perfect
silence. What to say and how to say it form
the problem. Mrs. Tucker, the wife of Judge
Tucker, solved this problem many years ago.
She was celebrated for her beauty, wit, ease
and grace of manner. Her temper and tact
were put to the proof one court day, when
the judge brought with him the accustomed
half score or more of lawyers, for whom not
the slightest preparation had been made, the
judge having quite forgotten to remind his
wife that it was court week, and she herself,
strange to tell, having overlooked the fact.
The dinner was served with elegance, and
Mrs. Tucker made herself very charming.
Upon arising to leave the guests to their wine,
she said: "Gentlemen, you have dined to-day
with Judge Tucker; promise me now that
you will dine to-morrow with me." This was
all her apology, whereupon the gentlemen
swore that such a wife was beyond price. The
judge then explained the situation, and next
day there was a noble banquet. Moral: Never
worry a guest with apologies.