University of South Carolina Libraries
lewis imt. grist, proprietor.! ^it Jnirtpfiibctit Jamiln Itttospaper: Jto % llromotion of t|e ^Political, Social, ^gricnltaral ani? Commercial Interests of tjje jJontji. j TERMS?$3.00 A TEAR, IN ADVANCE. "VOL. 24. YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, APRIL 18, 1878. NO. 16. f dfrtfd f0ftrg. SEED TIME AND HARVEST. Sowing the seed in the seed time, j Farmers and farmer's wives Sowing, and reaping, and sowing, All through our busy lives; Sowing, and what is the harvest ? Such as the seed we sow; Ne'er from the seed of the thistle, Will aught but the thistle grow. Therefore the wisest farmer, Chooses his seed with care, That, with the wheat in the harvest, He never shall reap the tare. And so may we all remember Whatever each day we sew. We shall reap in the coining harvest The fruit, be it joy or woe. Then from the store-house ample j Lot us cautiously cull the seed, Retaining the grains most precious, Rejecting the worthless weed. We shall sow the seed of kindness Broadcast as we journey home, And with patience awaiting the harvest We know will surely come. On the mellow heart of childhood We must sow with especial care, For all the seeds of error j Will a fruitful harvest bear, The plants first and firmest rooted I Will fashion the life we know. Then prayerfully ask for guidance To choose the seeds we sow. And so when is past the seed-time Our earthly sowing done, We wait the last dread summons That cometh to every one; O! then may the dear Lord gather All of each household band Safe over the silent river, Into the Better Land. Jto ?ngittal j Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. MARY EUSTACE; OR, TRUST BETRAYED. r-HAPTRR IX. During the second year of the war, Miss AndersoD, not deeming her present location a safe one, broke up her school and retreated to a secluded spot in one of the more rural districts, resolving not to return to the city until all fear of invasion from the enemy was past. ? Adelia St. Maur, who bad remained at school all this time, rather than return home, taking a "classical course." which she paid for by teaching English and music iu the higher grades, was thus thrown out of her refuge, and being a young lady not easily daunted in the execution of any scheme, determined, at once, to carry out her long cherished plan of paying a visit to Mosslands. She therefore sat down and indited an epistle to her "dearest Mary," dwelling touchingly on their past companionship and their long and close friendship, and expressing an ardent desire to renew the sweet associations of by-gone days ; adding, that if her dearest Mary would not be shocked at the proposition, she would make her a brief visit before going to her own quiet borne. Now, Mary knew that she was at perfect liberty to entertain any friend she chose, during the absence of the master of the house. And though it had never occurred to her to invite Adelia, she could not do otherwise than write now and express her pleasure at the prospect of seeing her. To this letter she received a prompt reply, naraiug a day for Miss St. Maur's ar< rival, which was fixed at such an early date that she would barely have time to make ths suitable preparations for her reception. The letter happened to be brought to her when she was breakfasting with Maurice and Mrs Blanding, the latter being now sufficiently recovered from her iudisposition to come down stairs. She had not yet thought of mentioning, to the former, the fact that she was expecting Adelia, and Mrs. Blanding, who had been told, had, for a wonder, not spoken of it either. Wheu, therefore, Mary exclaimed, "Why, Adelia St. Maur will be here to morrow!" Maurice gave a very perceptible start, and exclaimed, "IFAo did you say ?" "A friend of mine," said Mary. "Miss St. Maur, who has written to say she will pay us a visit. We were schoolmates at Miss Anderson's, and were very intimate. I thought I had mentioned to you that I wat expecting her." Maurice beut over his plate, with rather an odd expression on his face, and for some minutes was too much engrossed with his toast and egg to make any farther remark. Mary, ^ not noticing his pre occupation, weuton calmly reading her letter, which was as lengthy as Adelia's effusions usually were. Mrs. Blanding, of course, never noticed anything. "Is Miss St. Maur coming to stay for auy length of time?' asked Maurice, after awhile. "I don't know," replied Mary. "She hasu't specified any particular time. Have you never met her?" "Why?yes?if she is the same person that I think she is, I have met her quite often, formerly. Has she dark hair and eyes ?" "Very dark, and she is considered quite pretty. You cannot possibly have forgotten her, if you ever knew her." "I don't know about that," said Maurice, * ? i t who had now quite regained nis usual noncna- | lance. "One meets with such numbers ofj pretty people at various times, that it is scarce- j ly possible to carry all their faces iu one's memory." "Ou the following day, Mary went, in the j carriage, to meet her friend at the nearest j railroad statiou. Adelia met her with all her j wonted enthusiasm, aud Mary's greeting, though less gushing, was affectionate and cor-1 dial, for she entertained a very kindly feeling for her former schoolmate, and was pleased to see her again. Duriug the drive home, Adelia asked her ! who was staying atMosslands besides herself, j now that Colonel Dacre was away. "Maurice Cleveland! Is he there?" she j exclaimed, as Mary mentioned his name. "Yes?he told me he used to kuow you j once," said Mary. "Did he tell you that? Oh! Mary," and Miss St. Maur pressed her hand so fervently that Mary looked at her in surprise. "Have you any special recollection connected with him ?" she asked. "My dear, he was in love with me once," i replied Adelia, in a low tone. "Frantically in love?and I liked him too?liked him ab , surdly, in fact." Here she cast down her eyes and sighed gently. "But marrying was out of the question. We were both poor?and there were other obstacles, too ; and so the affair blew over, and for a long time I never saw him?did not knov^, in fact, what had become of him. Has he riot been in the army ?" "Yes, and was badly wounded and had to come home. He wa9 brought to Mosslands? he is Colonel Dacre's cousin, you know, and has always been quite at home there?and is j to remain now altogether ; or, at least, until | he is well." "And is he getting well?" "Oh ! he is well enough to sit up all the j time now, and expects soon to walk about again ; but it is likely that the effects of his | wound will last a long time. The doctor does! not think he will be fit to return to the army, i for, even after he recovers, he will not be able I to stand any unusual fatigue." "And does he look dreadfully ill, Mary ?" "He did at first, but he looks pretty much J as usual now?only thin. But Delie, you sur- j prised me very much by what you told me ! just now. How is it I never heard of that love affair?" "Wkn rlorlinrr mil hud left flchool. VOU ""Ji , know; and, of course, there wa9 never an engagement, or anything of that sort. But he cared a great deal forme?poor fellow! It seems so odd to meet him again ! What did he say, Mary, when he heard I was coming?" | "He seemed surprised," said Mary. I "And startled, I suppose. Did he tell you ! that he had known me formerly?" "Yes," said Mary, a little hesitatingly; for ; it occurred to her Maurice had certainly not ; spoken in a way to lead to the supposition that he had ever felt any special weakness in regard to her friend. "Of course, he did not hint at our?at anything outside of mere acquiantanceship ? Ah ! no, men never do, you know, Well, we i8hallmeet now, simply as friends?all else was over long ago. It is best so, I suppose ! Dearest Mary, remember, all that I have said ' is in the most sacred confidence between us two. j Never would I breathe a word of it into any ear but yours." Mary, of course, assured her that she would keep her secret inviolate ; and the rest of the ! drive passed in the exchange of school-day ! reminiscences, and Adelia's account of all that bad happened since she had parted from Mary, nearly three years ago. "What a charming old place!" was MisB St. Maur's comment, as they approached the house. "Do you expect to live here always, Mary, or have you formed aDy other plan for the future?" "I have formed no other plan," said Mary, who was not miuded yet to take Adelia into her confidence in regard to her engagement. "You must be quite attached to the place by this time. Still, I should think you would find it a little dreary, occasionally, when you I are all alone." "Not at all. I am perfectly happy and satisfied here." "Fortunate girl! You always had the knack of beiug happy and satisfied under all circumstances," said Adelia. "I should like to know this guardian of yours. I am so sorry he is away." The carriage now stopped at the door. Mrs. Blanding came out to welcome the guest and Mary ushered her into the library, to rest a little before going up-stairs. Maurice was not to be seen at present. He had preferred, for reasons of his own, to be out of the j way at the time of Adelia's arrival. They met at dinner, however, with great composure and self-possession on both sides. Maurice was in his pleasantest vein, and talked >> A T n so well that he kept tnem an euieriaiucu. xu the evening, some newspapers were sent them, containing accounts of a battle receutly fought, and various other items of war-news, which were of sufficient interest to engross them all. The regiraeut to which Colonel Dacre belonged had been engaged in a skirmish, but had suffered no loss. Another engagement was imminent, however, which would, in all probability, prove more serious in its results. Mary had that morning received a letter frera the Colonel, written in his usual cheerful style. He had said nothing of impending danger; but then he was always careful to write in a way not to excite apprehension. It happened, the next afternoon, that Mary was iu her own room auswering her guardian's letter, and Mrs. Blauding in hers, engaged with some of her own affairs, when Adelia came into the library, where Maurice, as usual, was occupyiug the post of honor. She gave a little start, as though surprised to meet him there; hesitated a moment, as if con- j sidering whether or not she should remain ;J then sat down on a low chair uear him. "How dull it must be for you, sitting still [ all the time," she plaintively remarked. "Yes?coufouudedly dull," assented Maurice, with not quite his usual polish of man- j ner. "You read a great deal, I suppose, to amuse ! * * 1 1 * * - I 1. yourself," she coutinuea, gianciug at a uuua j he had io his hand. "Yes, I read and talk. Miss Eustace is kind enough to bestow a good deal of her | company on roe." "Yes, naturally, as she compassionates your forlorn condition. Dear Mary is always so sweetly thoughtful aud unselfish?don't you find her so!" She is a most charming girl," said Maurice. Adelia said nothing, but presently sighed deeply. At last, rousing herself from what! appeared to be a fit of rousing, she continued, in a remarkably gentle voice? "How long it seems since yon and I met i last! Do you remember those days when we used so frequently to see each other, Mau? Mr. Cleveland, I mean ?" "We did meet pretty often at oue time, I recollect," rejoiued Maurice. "That dear old garden ! Do you reraein- ! ber the oleander tree by the brick wall?that; pink oleander? And the violet bed? We have got many a bunch of violets from there,1 you and I. But I don't think you do remem- j ber them at all. You look as if you had for-! gotten all about it." "Oh ! no, I haven't forgotten," said Maurice. "Haven't you ? You were there often enough, I am sure. Those were silly, senti mental days; were they not? Well, as one i grows older, oue learns wisdom, or ought to, J at least. And yet, wisdom does not always ' bring happiness." "I can't tell much about that," said Mau-' | rice. "I am not wise enough to judge." "You were always wise, Maurice; far, far wiser than I," said Adelia, with another deep sigh. She did not correct herself this time 1 in calliug him by his name. It seemed as though it had slipped from her, unconsciously to herself. "I think, myself, I've always been a great fool," said Maurice. "At least, I've done quantities of foolish things in my time ; more so, perhaps, than most people." It was extremely difficult, with this young man in so impracticable a mood, for Adelia to pursue the conversation in the same vein as that in which she had commenced it. Nev-1 ertheless, she would not change her tactics jet. "You will scarcelj believe me," she went on, "when I give you an instance of my folly. Do you remember a certain June evening? a moonlight evening it was?that you asked me to walk with you, and I met yon in the square, and we talked there so long? Miss Anderson had gone to her brother's to tea. Well, while we were sitting on one of the benches, you suddenly espied a little blue flower?a simple little wild thing?growing near by, and stooped down to gather it?and then gave it to me. Of course, you don't recollect ? ?" "At this moment," Maurice acknowledged, "I cannot say that I do." "Perhaps," said Adelia,"it would also have escaped my memory, but for one circumstance. See; this is the proof of the folly I spoke ofand she drew from some secret receptable a small paper, which being unfolded, displayed to view a faded blossom, carefully preserved. Maurice's vanity was touched, in spite of himself. "Have you kept it all these years ?" he asked, in a different tone. "You romantic girl!" "Romantic! Yes, foolishly romantic, am I not ? You gave me credit, I dare say, for having more sense." "I said nothing about that," said Maurice, as he folded up the paper again and returned it to her. "All I can say is, you have been very kind to think about me at all." "I wish I could believe," said Adelia in a low tone, "that you had bestowed as much thought on me." "At all events," said Maurice, "whatever my short comings may have been, we are friends now, are we not?" But an approaching footstep prevented a reply on her part; and worthy Mrs. Blanding entering the room?to Adelia's intense vexation?put an end to the conversation, which Maurice felt was taking rather a dangerous turn. CHAPTER X. It soon became apparent to every one, thnt Adelia had no idea of returning home, (or rather of leaving Mosslands) for Borne time to come. She seemed quite to have established herself as one of the household there, and before the lapse of many days, she was as much at home as though she had been there for years. She was anxious to re establish her former relations with Maurice. Not that she was in love with him now ; but her vanity and selflove had been deeply wounded by his long neglect and palpable indifference. Her object now was to bring bim once more tinder her sway, subjugate him entirely, and then, having brought him to her feet, punish bim by turning him into ridicule, and by proving to him that she had been seeking her own amusement alone. It was more difficult, however, for her to carry out this programme than she had foreseen. There was one obstacle she wotted not of, which made her efforts futile; and this was Maurice's admiration for Mary, which bad begun to assume a very positive form indeed. It was, in truth, merging into a warmer sentiment, which bis sense of honor was not keen enough to induce him to control. So strongly, though gradually, did all other feelings become subservient to it, that, at last, it became the one engrossing aim of his life to destroy the link between his cousin and Mary, and win the affection of the latter for himself. He tried to compromise the matter with his conscience?for he had a small remnant of that article left?by assuring himself that no real mischief would be done by breaking off' that most unsuitable match. He did not believe that Mary was a particle in love with the Colonel. She had merely accepted him because circumstances had brought them together, and because her heart had never otherwise been touched. As to the Colonel, it was a shame that a middle-aged, world worn man, like him, should wear so fresh and fair a blossom upon his breast, instead of leaving it to be culled by a younger hand. Maurice's vanity was profound enough to imbue him with the belief, not only that he himself would be a fur more eligible parti for the youthful heiress, but that it needed but suitable opportunity, and sufficient perseverance on his part, to impress her with the same conviction. Such being his present aim, Adelia's coquettish arts were almost entirely lout on him ; though he occasionally amused himself in his idle hours by a small flirtation, which always encouraged her in the belief that he was fast yieldiug to the influence of her attractions. In the meantime, Mary remained alike unconscious of Maurice's unprincipled scheme and Adelia's unavailing efforts to recover lost ground. She was kept continually anxious by the reports which reached them from the ,0 kuHlo.fioMa ond whpnever Colonel vai IUUO UUUbiV~uvit>w} V...M .. ...... . ? Dacre's letters to her were delayed?as they now often were?beyond the usual time, she was prone to fear that some injury had befallen him. The deeper and more womanly sen timents of her nature were being called into play by the circumstances of the times in which she lived, and perhaps nothing else would have concentrated her thoughts so entirely upon her lover, as his absence from her and the constant apprehension she was. under of his raeetiug with injury, or perhaps a yet more melancholy fate. Maurice well knew that too open and daring an advance, on his part, would simply startle aud anger her, and end, probably, in the defeat of his hopes. And it was by the most cautious and politic means that he strove to obtain the object of his ardent desires. He manifested the deepest interest and sympathy in all that occupied her thoughts or excited her fears; never intruded himself upon her uotice in her hours of abstraction or melancholy, wheu she seemed disinclined for conversation ; but exerted himself at all other times for her entertainment, and showed her, 1 1' - * t* .? i!._ I_ _ I by many delicate maras or aiieniior, mai ma thoughts were entirely centered upon her, and that her happiuess and comfort were most prominent in his consideration. His manner to her was now invariably gentle, kindly, and protecting. He had laid aside the tone of badinage, with which he had formerly often addressed her, and which he now reserved for Adelia alone. Insensibly, Mary's liking and esteem for him rose, while, at the same time, her confidence in him increased ; and though not usually prone to express her feelings 1 openly to any one, she learned, by degrees, to j look to hiin for sympathy and adviee, and to speak freely of what was in her heart. The < very position in which Colonel Dacre bad es- I tablished him, entitled him, in some degree, to her confidence, though she never would ( have accorded it to fadm so frankly as she j now did, had not personal liking and regard i influenced her to do so. Mauxice triumphed \ in the success, thus far, of his plans, and doubted not that a still completer triumph t would be his in time. < Thus the weeks and months wore on; while \ still the tide of war swept over the land, each i Hav hrinmnir news of some fresh \ictorv or } J o O - m a defeat, and of the loss of many a gallant life, cheerfully yielded up io the defence of right and truth. Letters still came from Colonel Dacre, but they were few and far between. Post-offices and railroads were destroyed, and means of oommunication cut off in various directions, and those at home w<ir% obliged to content themselves with but scanty information from the seat of war, except such as came from official quarters. One evening, Maurice and Mary were sitting on the little porch where the latter kept her geraniums, which surrounded them now with a mass of bloom. It was Spring time. The Winter months, more than usually long and dreary, had at length given place to budding verdure and balmy airs, and nature seemed to put on anew the garb of hope. "It is such a long time since we have heard from Virginia," Mary said, after a somewhat lengthy silence, during which her fingers and i !1 1 ? 1 a her thoughts bad been equally Dusuy em- < ployed. The former, with some work for the soldiers, which now claimed the industry and skill of all feminine fingers in the land ; the latter with the events transpiring at a distance, which were full of such import to anxious hearts. "Yes," said Maurice, "an unusually long time has passed since the Colonel last wrote. He is a good deal occupied, I suppose, and has not much time to think of home." "I did not know that soldiers had much to do, except officers," said Mary, unless fighting was going on." (For the Col nel, though retaining his old rank in name among those who knew him, had gone in the army as a private, preferring active service without special honors, to waiting for the chance of obtaining a command at a later period.) "I rather think that he has written, but his letters have failed to reach us." "Perhaps so," assented Maurice. "How I wish this weary war was over," said Mary, sighing. "But I fear it will be a a long time before we have peace again." "I fancy your wish is echoed by every one," said Maurice, "though most particularly by those who have some special interest at | stake?like the Colonel, for instance. It will be a happy day for hi in when he can return to claim the guerdon in store for him. To a poor fellow like raei who has nothing to look forward to, it doesn't very much matter whether we ever have peace or not." "I should think it would matter to every one," said Mary. "As far as I am concerned," said Maurice, lowering his tone, "I am tempted sometimes to wish that the war would go on for ever." "Why ?" asked Mary in surprise. "Because, while it lasts, I am likely to continue in the enjoyment of an inestimable privilege, which I will be deprived of as soon at it ends," he replied. "And what privilege is that ?" she asked, little guessing his real meaning; for she sup- i posed that he alluded, jestingly, to his en joyment of idleness, and of his temporary authority in his cousin's house. "The privilege of being near you," he instantly rejoined, in a tone which she could r not mistake; aud before, startled and astonished, she could collect herself sufficiently to reply, he took her hand, and in a tide i of passionate eloquence, poured forth his love for her, and all the pent up feelings which had so long agitated his heart. "Mr. Cleveland," said Mary, releasing her hand and speaking in an indignant and reproachful tone, "such language is unfit for . you to utter, or me to listen to. It is im proper?it is shameful! If I had dreamed j that your sentiments, were such as you now ? express, I should certainly never hare given you the opportunity of offering me this in- . .ult." , "Insult!" repeated Maurice. j "Yes. It is an insult for yoa to speak such c words to me, in ray position. And it is treachery to the one who placed you here, and t trusted to your care, everything that is of c most value to him. How can you look him j. in the face again after betraying his confi- s dence so basely ?" Maurice flushed a deep red. "You use j pleasant and complimentary language," he r bitterly replied. "If I have erred, it is ^ through weakness, and a weakness which you, j above all, might pardon. "If my love for j. you is so great that it overpowers all other ^ considerations, it is no fault of mine." \ "Honor should be stronger than every other ( feeling," retorted Mary ; "and a man should c sooner die than suffer a dishonorable impulse to overpower his sense of right. Let me pass,, ] Mr. Cleveland; I do not wish to prolong this t useless conversation farther." ( She had risen and would have entered the house, but he placed himself directly in her way. ( "You shall not go," he passionately ex- ,j claimed, "without at least giving me a hearing a and suffering me to justify myself for the j base, and treacherous, and iusulting conduct, j of which, according to you, I am guilty." r "It is impossible for you to justify it," re- i joined Mary, "and most unmanly in you to r force me to listen to what is hateful to me." J "Am I hateful to you ?" he asked. 8 "Your language is, and you cannot suppose y Viof mv roimr-H fnr von will remain unshaken. I r V..-* .l.J J--- , v when you, yourself, try to destroy it," she replied. ^ "To destroy it! When I would give all the t world, if I had it, to increase it a thousand- \ fold?to change it into love ? Oh 1 Mary, to a win your love, there is no sacrifice I would t not make. If you knew ray feelings?if you r could read my heart?you would not look so a coldly at me ; you would have some pity for i my sufferings! But you are cruel; you are 1 like a stone, when I thought you soft and a kind. And you will waste your affection, i you will throw your youth and beauty and a sweetness away on one who cannot value thera, a while I, who would die to win a tenth of the 1: ore you accord to him, cauuot even gain a I jentle or forgiving word from your lips." I "Do not apeak of him," said Mary, with amotion. "He is far too noble and good to 1 >e lightly mentioned." 1 "You are infatuated," he rejoined, "and i :annot distinguish gold from dross. You re- < ect a true and earnest love as worthless, and < iccept, willingly, the offering of a worn-out I vorld-hardened heart, which?" 1 "Hush," interrupted Mary, who was now < xembling, her fair face all in a glow with ex- I sitement and anger, such as it had never I vorn before. "I will not hear you utter one i nainuation against him. He is as far above i fou in principle, in all high and noble quali- < ;ies, as the stars are above the earth, and ev- < sry syllable you speak in slander of him is a I [>eraonal insult to me." I "You are very fond of that word insult," i replied Maurice. "As to slander, have I said i cne word against the character of this Chev- i ilier Bayard, aanaptur et tana reproche, that ; pou should turn so fiercely upon me? I aim- i ply said that a heart made callous by contact with the world, by disappointment, by i blighted love, could not be fairly given in exchange for a heart pure and fresh, and un;ainted, like yours." "What do you mean by blighted love?' isked Mary, startled into the inquiry by the i jnexpectedness of this accusation. 1 "What 1 Have you never heard that story i >f his youth?how he pined, in vain, for one i >f whom he was passionately fond, even all through his miserable, disappointing wedded ife; how she died in a foreign land, and how i ier memory has never ceased to be unspeakibly dear to him ? Look at the picture that langs over the cabinet by the fireplace, and i isk him, when you see him again, to tell you < ts history. Then look in your own heart, and i ind out whether you are willing to fill the I cost of a latter-day comforter; a substitute i ... i ... H or the lost love ne has never iorgouen. < "If all this is true," said Mary, who had ; ecovered her former dignity while she spoke, < 'it is no taint upon his character; no cause of 'eproach, or of any change in my regard. It inly serves to lower you in my opinion, that ' rou should try to farther your own cause by ' endeavoring to lower my opinion of him. 1 Vfust I ask you again to make room for me to 1 lass, or will you rudely persist in keeping me >ut here against ray expressed desire?" ' "Go, then," said Maurice, with an outburst ' >f anger which he could not control, as he ' noved aside to let her go past. "Since you rnve nothing but scorn and reproach to offer ' ne, it is certainly useless for me to attempt to letain you longer ; but the day may yet come * vhen you will look back on your conduct to 1 ne with regret, and wish that you had desided differently." 1 To this Mary deigned no reply ; but with a ' ofty carriage, quite foreign to her, entered he house aud sought her own room, up-stairs. 1 she did not perceive, as she passed through ' he library, that Adelia was sitting within the 1 jurtained recess, in a position to hear, through 1 he raised sash of one of the narrow windows, svery word that had been uttered by Maurice 1 ind by herself. Adelia had heard, and the malignant look 1 vith which she followed Mary, as she crossed ' he apartment, seemed to indicate that the -evelation, thus made to her, of the existence 1 >f a state of affairs she had out before dreamid of, was one which caused her anything but Measure or satisfaction. CHAPTER XL Mary, when she found herself alone, paced ier apartment in a tumult of feeling almost mpossible to be described. She felt as if a itaff, on which she had leaned, had suddenly riven way beneath her ; as if the whole bulwark of her defence had been destroyed. The utter unexpectedness of Maurice's decla ation, the discovery of his unworthy betrayil of confidence, combined with the sense of oneliness and helplessness she now felt, all perplexed and unnerved her to an unusual dejree. Then, in spite of herself, her thoughts would recur to what she had been told of her guardian's early and still preserved attachnent, though its object no longer exised, save in memory. Many women will Lccept a man's love, knowing that he has oved before, and feel no pain in the know]idge, if frank confession has been made to hem on the subject; but it is humiliating o make a discovery of such a fact through he agency of a third person, when it has >een hitherto kept secret by the one most loncerned. "He might have told me?he might have aken me into his confidence," she said aloud, >nce or twice, almost in anger. Then she chid lerselffor being so ready to give credeuce to what might be an idle tale. "He would tell me anything he though of, f only to turn me against Colonel Dacre, and nake me listen favorably to him. He is base, >ase, to act in such a way ! If I had not been eft under his protection, it would have been >ad enough; but to take advantage of the 'ery position I am placed in, to oblige me to isten to him, is too unmanly, too mean! )h! I wish, I wish Colonel Dacre would lorao home. I feel forlorn here, now." Alas! at that moment her guardian was ying helpless and at the point of death, hough she knew it not, on a far off field, where a bloody battle had just been fought, md won by the enemy's troops. It was bard for Mary to preserve her out yard composure when the family circle as- t embled in the evening around the tea table, ( ind to act as if nothing unusual had taken 4 dace; but the force of conventionality is i ;reat, aud under its restraining influence t leither of the actors in the little drama, nor t t? secret auditress, betrayed any conscious- j < ies9 of what was in the thoughts of each, i daurice, indeed, was more silent than usual, { ind retired at an early hour. But othervise, there was nc difference made in their s irdinary habits. ? It was impossible, however, for matters to t ;o on, after what had occurred, precisely as j a hey had formerly done. Mary was now j _-.-i.A-i ? J i j :J: _i. ; t vaicmui aiiu uu IICI guaiu, avuiuiug, us uiuun is possible, all intercourse with Maurice, 1 hough she tried, whenever she was neccessa- ? ily thrown into contact with him, to speak f md act as usual. Adelia was even more vig- c lant. She watched, with lynx-eyes, every ] ook, every movement that passed before her, ind saw, with anger, that Maurice was as 1 nfatuated as ever. She read in his glances i it Mary, when he thought himself unnoticed, j md in his abstracted and moody air, that [ lis feelings were unchanged, and she believed 1 ;hat he only waited for another opportunity ;o repeat his former overtures. Her penetration was not at fault Maurice aad by no means abandoned his object; but was resolved to push his efforts for its attainment, as often as he could find a chance of loing so. In order to secure this chance, howjver, he was careful not to betray to Mary, that he cherished any such idea, but rather led her to imagine, from his manner, that he juite accepted the present situation as unalterable. Meantime, his passion for her and bis resolution to win her at all hazards, rlniltr TTio WOO nnfl nf jblgugtll^u^u u ui (jt aaio ti uu vwv va huvww seemingly careless natures that will not brook opposition, but grow more resolute in their designs, and more persistent in their efforts, the more they are withstood. Meeting her, therefore, alone one day, when he knew that no one was within hearing, he asked her, suddenly and without preamble, whether she had reconsidered the determination she had expressed to him on the occasion of their former interview ? "Re-considered 1 There was nothing to reconsider," she coldly replied. "I had hoped, Mr. Cleveland, that this disagreeable subject was forever laid at rest. I certainly meant to leave no room for doubt." Maurice bad resolved, in tbis interview, to adopt a different course from his first; and to try, by extreme patience and gentleness, to soften her feelings and win from her something like a calm hearing. It was, therefore, in quite an bumble tone that he now rejoined, "You certainly answered me in a manner to leave no doubt of your sincerity; and perhaps a hope less fervent than mine, would have been crushed out; but, Mary, I have too much at stake to be easily daunted, and I can only pray you to forgive me if you find my perseverance offensive. First of all, I en treat you to lay aside that cold, distant manner which wounds me more deeply than I can express. Is ray love for you a crime, that you should inflict such a severe punishment an me?" "Without beiog a crime in itself, it is wrong under the circumstances, and cannot fail to displease me," she returned. "We bave been over this ground already. Why force me to repeat all that I said to yon before? Supposing the case were different?" "Supposing the case were different," he eagerly interrupted, "you would be willing to listen to me ? Is that what you were about to say?" "It certainly was not," said Mary, "for nothing could be farther from my thoughts." "Do you mean to say that, under any circumstances, it would be impossible for you to return my love ?" "I do not mean to say anything about it, except that I consider the question entirely beyond the pale of discussion." "You speak as severely as if you were already a married woman ; whereas hundreds ofengagements are daily broken, and nothing is thought of it. Were there any law against a lady changing h ermhi d~ and^wtrtrdhnawtirg"" from a contract of this sort, I should not, from the first, have presumed to intrude my feelings upon your notice, no matter how keen the pain I felt. But I think, as the case stands, you are unreasonably severe." "I cannot help it," said Mary. "My ideas on the subject are, and must always continue, different from yours. I am sorry this cause of estrangement has risen between us, for I tell you, frankly, that I had learned to I - ? L 1 T 4 1L.1 use you very uiuuu, auu x regret iuai jruu have acted ia such a way as to destroy my confidence in you." "Isyour confidence in me destroyed?" asked Maurice, in a melancholy tone. "For the present it is, and there is only ane way by which you can regain it," she answered. "And that way, I know, too well, is the one way which it is utterly impossible for me to follow. No, Mary, I may incur your increased displeasure, but I cannot, evea yet, abandon hope. It is my fate to love you, and [ shall never cease, while I have an opportunity, to strive to win a return to that love." "Then," said Mary, an indignant blush rising to her face, "all that I can say is, that it is best for all intercourse between us to cease. I certainly will not lay myself open to persecution, and as you warn me of your indention, I shall profit by the warning and shape my conduct accordingly." "You mistake me," said Maurice. "I do not forget that I am a gentleman, and I should not, I hope, be guilty of such ungentlemanly aehaviour as to persecute you, as you express t, with unwelcome attentions. No; ray meanng was that I should endeavor, by proofs of ny love, to soften your heart, which you have steeled against me, and trust to time to aid ne in convincing you that I am not so unvorthy of your regard as you now think." "Why take such useless trouble?" returned Mary. "I am willing, if you desire it, that ?? al*4*ai1/l Ko fpionrlo a a wo nroro hofnro Knf ITC OliVUlU WW mwuuuj MW ??w ?iv?v t/v.ww j [ tell you, once again, as I have already told pou, that it is totally impossible for any )ther tie but that of friendship to exist be;ween us. As Colonel Dacre's near relative, ind one who has always possessed his confiience and esteem, I would rather remain on jood terras with you than not. I do not detire any quarrel with you, and am willing to brget the past, provided you do not again emind me of it. Will that satisfy you ?" "No, by Heaven, it will not," cried Mau ice, breaking out into his former impetuosity >f manner, nothwithstanding his resolution ;o the contrary ; but immediately softening lown again, he added in a penitent tone, 'Forgive me, Mary, I did not mean to speak n that way ; but it almost drives me frantic ,o hear you speak of friendship and good erms, and so forth, and look at me with that somposed, self-possessed air, when I am just n a fever of longing, and hoping, and des>air! I can't listen to you aud be calm." Mary looked anything but composed and lelf-posseased, as she turned from him with in impatint gesture, half inclined to believe hat he must be out of his right mind, to per list willfully in sucn conduct. , "All this is absolute folly," she exclaimed, 'and I will not, cannot, let it go on farther. 1 Mr. Cleveland, if you have the slighest regard for my good opinion?if you do not in act wish rae to hate you?you will, at once, Irop this subject for good and all; otherwise ! shall never speak to you again." "Cruel girl!" rejoined Maurice. But she 1 lad already escaped from the room, and he vas left to overcome his ohagrin and disap- . lointment as well as he could. The latter was j iroportionately great, since his vanity had i ed him to put much faith in the issue of this i second attempt; and he still believed?so great is the power of self-esteem?that but for Mary's promise to Colonel Dacre, which she considered too sacred to be broken, she would have been quite willing to listen favorably to his plea. Mary was more troubled and perplexed, by this interview, than she had been before. She felt that unless Maurice ceased his ungenerous importunities, it would be impossible for the intercourse between them to continue; yet how was she to end it? There was but one way in which this could be effectually done, and that would be by one or the other of them leaving the house, tie bad been placed in charge of Colonel Dacre's affairs, and, therefore, she could not expect him to go; and as for herself, how could she, in these unsettled times, seek another home ? Or how could she account to her guardian for taking so singular a step, without betraying Maurice, which she did not wish to do ? She was entirely at loss to know how to act, and there was no one to whom she could turn for advice. She finally resolved to wait a little longer, and see whether her tormentor would now leave her in peace, or whether, notwithstanding all she had said to him, he would still persist in his endeavors to coerce her will. To add to her uncomfortable feelings, the unusual length of time which had marked the absence of all tidings from Colonel Dacre, filled her with constantly increasing anxiety. She could hear nothing of him, or gather any idea, from newspaper accounts, of the probability of his fate. Maurice seemed to give no thought to this. His attention was entirely absorbed by the one object of most interest to him. Mary found, under her door one evening, a letter from him, which at first she was inclined to return without reading; but deeming it expedient, on second thought, to find out what be had to say for himself, she opened it and perused the closely written page, which only served to provoke her vexation afresh. It was a recapitulation of all his former arguments and entreaties, worded in the most extravagant and passionate terms, and ending with a renewal of his assurance that nothing could ever shake his attachment or destroy bis hope, while yet the slightest opening for hope remained, and this would be, he declared, as long as she continued unfetterd by the marriage tie. "There is no help for it," she exclaimed, in despair, as she threw the letter down. "I must go away from this place. It will be hard enough to accomplish it, but it must be done. Anything is better than to submit to such persecution. I will write to Mr. Clive, this very night, and tell him to expect me, on a visit, as I am called, by some business, to town, and when I am there I can decide on my next move. Yes, I will go to him. It will be the best step I can possibly take." Mr. Clive was a banker?a respectable and influential man?who had known her father well, and frequently transacted his business. He was, alsb7^oncerhed in some way in the management of her property, and she knew him sufficiently well to feel sure that he was about the most reliable person she could apply to in time of need. [to be continued.] The Man Who Never Smiles.?Governor Rice is asked to pardon one O'Donnell, of Millbury, from Charlestown, and a gentleman who recently visited the State Prison, thus tells his story: "Gentlemen," said the Warden. "I want to brine vou to one of the most remarkable cases that we have in prison. We call him 'the man who never smiles,' and I wish, before he comes in, to tell yon his story. He seems to be a man of more than ordinary ability; one of the better class of substantial, frugal Irish citizens, who owned a small place in one of our small manufacturing villages, where he resided with bis family of grown up sons and daughters,all permanently employed and in comfortable circumstances. The old man had a fine garden, on which he bestowed bis leisure hours, in a part of-which was a fine lot of cabbage. It seems that the beys in the neighborhood had made it a habit of trespassing on the old man's garden, until he determined on getting rid of them by firing his gun to frighten them away. One night, bearing some one in his garden, he took down his gun, and, getting behind the hedge, fired into the garden, as he claims, without aim or seeing any one to aim at But the report of the gun alarmed the neighbors, who, on rushing into the garden, found the lifeless body of a young girl shot through the heart. The old man, when told what he had done, was struck dumb. He was arrested and sentenced to imprisonment for life. He has now been here for ten years, and his face has become as marble. There is no hope; nothing but the sad remembrance of that dreadful night. In Ireland they have a superstition among the young girls that whoever, on Hallowe'en, shall place a cabbage over the door, will marry the first young man that enters the door afterwards. And this, it was proved, was the errand of the young girl in the old man's garden. But instead of a wedding, she found a grave."?Springfield Republican. The Matrimonial Lottery.?A young stranger called on Dr. McC one evening, while he was a pastor in New York city, to engage his services in the performance of a nuptial ceremony. "I wish to make a bargain with you, doctor," said the young man. "I think the girl I am to marry will make a first-rate wife. If you will wait a year for your fee, and she turns out as I think she will, I'll then give you 850." They agreed, the young couple were married, and the incident passed from the doctor's mind. At the end of a year, at the same time in the evening, the young man called again. The doctor did not recognize him at first. "Do vou not remember the bargain we made when you married me a year ago ?" "Oh! yes," replied the doctor." "Well," said the young man, "she is twice as good as I thought she was. There's $100 for you." Exactly the opposite of this is the following: A clergyman in one of the Hudson River towns, united a German couple in marriage. When the knot was tied, the bridegroom said, "Domine, I've got no monish, but I'll send you von leetle pig." It was done, and the circumstance was forgotten by the clergyman. Two years afterward he met the German in another town, for the first time since the marriage ceremony was performed. "Domine," said the German, "you remembers you married me, and I gave you von leetle pig?" "Yes." "Veil, if you'll unmarry me, I'll give yon two leetle pigs." In washing woolen bed-clothing use water neither hot nor cold, and rinse in water of the same temperature. If rinsed in cold water from a washing of warm or hot water, the articles will shrink.