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lewis m. grist, proprietor. J |ni)fj)cnhni Jfamiln ?1 ettrspaprr: /or the promotion of (lie political, Social, ^gricnltaral an& Commtrtial Interests of tfjo South. TERMS?$3.00 A TEAK, IN ADVANCE. "VOL. 25. YORKVILLE, S. C., TH.XJRSDA.Y, MARCH 6, 1879. NO. 10. LOVE'S SEASON. Love bailed a little maid, Romping through the meadow; Heedless in the sun she played, Scornful ot the shadow. "Come with me," whispered he; "Listen, sweet, to love and reason." "By-and-by," she mocked reply; Love's not in season." Years went?years came, Light mixed with shadow ; Love met the maid again Dreaming through the meadow. "Not so coy," urged the boy, "List in time to love and reason." "By-and-by," she mused reply ; "Love's still in season." Years went?years came, Light changed to shadow; Love saw the maid again Waiting in the meadow. "Pass no more, my dream is o'er, "I can listen now to reason?" 'Keep thee coy," whispered the boy; "Love's quite out of season." Jto Original Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. THE BARSTOWS. BY VICTOR VERNON. CHAPTER III. DR. FRANKLIN'8 NARRATIVE CONCLUDED? A DESERTED WIFE. I remained in the parlor with Fanny, who, having ceased to weep, now stood pale, silent and motionless, her eyes 6xed upon the door through which Ralph had made his exit into j the next room. After a few moments he returned. I know ! not whether he had beeu holding any conversation with his mother-in-law on the subject, but he directly invited me to remain at Hoilywell until after my brother's funeral should j be over, as I was the most suitable person to superintend all the necessary arrangements. I was a little surprised at this last remark,! and replied that I should have thought Mrs. j Tracy would prefer having him assist her in j 11 1 ?- knf ko oo irl fkat cKa ail sucn arrangements, uu> ?io o?.?? v.? left thera altogether to him, and that he would be much obliged to me if I would consent to share the responsibility. Of course, it was impossible for me to refuse. So I ordered my horse put up in the stable (the poor beast had been patiently waiting outside the gate all this time) and then proceeded to give my attention to those affairs in which Ralph desired to consult tne. There was not much to be done, after all. Only the directions for the funeral to be given, and some business papers to be glanced over. There was no v?'ll. The little property Philip left would revert to his widow, except the plantation and its belongings?his only really valuable posessions?which fell into the hands of his brother Charles, his father's second son, who was a city lawyer with a large family and a very small income. "This will be a Godsend to Charles," I re. marked ; "but it seems hard for poor Philip's wife and daughter to be left out in the cold." "And I, unfortunately, can do so little for them," rejoined Ralph. "I suppose you are aware that I have lately lost, by an unlucky speculation, nearly all that I possessed." "You amaze me!" I exclaimed. "I have heard nothing of it until now." "It wasou business connected with this that I left home," he pursued. "I trusted to get to town in time to save myself, but was too late." "Poor Fanny!" I involuntarily remarked, under ray breath. Ralph gave rae a curious glance. "You thiuk she will feel this misfortune deeply ?" he said, in an enquiring tone. "Far be it from me to consider her mercenary," was my quick reply. "But when a misfortune like this follows so rapidly upon others?" "You allude to her father's death," he interrupted. "Yes, it is hard upon her. Well, she knows nothing of it yet, nor shall I trouble her at present with the news. There is enough else to occupy her mind." "There is, iudeed," I could not forbear saying. "I fear she has much, much to trouble her." I saw a dark flush rise to Ralph's brow. "I do not understand you," he coldly rejoined. "Has my wife been confiding to you any of her secrets, of which I am kept in ignorance ?" "She has confided no secret to me," was my answer. "But I think you must be aware?" tilfl f ftn mrat V>arm X UIICV&UU U1JOV1I* M * V?W UIVWV *U or good by finishing what I was on the point of saying? It was not probable that I could do much good. I might anger him and only injure ray cause. It cost me an effort to refrain from speaking my mind. But I did, and took great credit to myself for my forbearance." "You were about to say?" my companion suggested. "Nothing at all of any consequence," said I. "I had merely noticed that Fanny seemed pre occupied and sad, and thought, of course, you must know the cause." Does not her father's death account sufficiently for it ?" he asked. "I mean previous to that event," I replied. "Fanny is not of cheerful disposition naturally," remarked Ralph. "She is morbid and * subject to fits of depression. I, who have known her all her life, am accustomed to these moods. Naturally, they impress a person who has seen less of her, more strongly. But let us waive this discussion for the present. I would like to have you look with me through the contents of Mr. Tracy's desk." Was he sincere in what he said, or was this careless way of treating the subject merely a blind, to disarm me of any suspicion he might suppose I entertained ? At all events. I did not feel justified in expressing any farther opinion; and turned my attention in silence to the work of investigation he had proposed. Poor Philip! I thought, as I glanced through letters and memoranda, and unpaid bills; what evidences were hereof a heedless, mis-spent life! The bills did not amount to much; a couple of hundred dollars would cover all; but the useless trifles for which they had chiefly been incurred seemed to indicate the thriftless character of the man against whose name they stood. As I touched, unaware, a secret spring, a drawer flew out. It contained a small morocco case, which I opened. Within it lay a miniature, a likeness of some person unknown to me. The face was a woman's, young and beautiful. I involuntarily uttered an expression of admiration, which caused Ralph, who was examining an account, to look up. "Do you recognize this ?" I asked, as I held the miniature towards him. He examined it, and shook his head. "It is very handsome; perhaps an old flame of my father-in-law's. I am told he was gay in his youth." "Perhaps Mrs. Tracy knows something of it," said I. "Then it's odd it should have been kept in a secret drawer," he rejoined. I thought little of the matter, and laying 1 1 ? *?* U ?v*tr Annnno_ tne picture asiae, proueeueu wn,u mj tion of looking through papers. The task was soon completed. There was nothing more of any consequence, and having replaced in the desk, the drawer and other contents just as I had found them, I turned the key, took it out of the lock, and, at Ralph's suggestion, bestowed it in one of the recesses of an escritoire appropriated to Mrs. Tracy's own use. I shall not transcribe the details of the next two days. Suffice it to say that my brother's funeral duly took place, his remains being interred in the cemetery belonging to the parish church, where most of his family were buried. I wrote a letter to my second half-brother, Charles Tracy (who had not been able to come up yet from town) informing him of the order in which everything had been done, and requesting to know definitely how soon he might be expected, with his family, to take possession of Hollywell. This I did on account of Fanny and her mother, not wishing them to be needlessly hurried in their departure. I learned, by return of mail, that the new owners would not arrive for a month or six weeks yet, so there was time sufficient for the present residents to arrange their plans and accomplish their move. Mrs. Tracy decided upon going to her relatives in town. Ralph seemed unable to come to any conclusion respecting his future life. He spoke of Fanny going, as a matter of course, with her mother; but at this the latter demurred?did not know whether there would be room to accommodate more than herself, and so forth. Overhearing the discussion, I immediately proposed to take Fan?" n.ifk mo oithor with or without ujr 1IU11IV nivn 1UV) V1VUV4 v. ....... Ralph, as it suited him, and have her stay there as long as she fouud it desirable to do so. "Ralph is so unaccountably undecided," said Mrs. Tracy. "I cannot imagine why he does not make some plan. It is unreasonable of him to expect me to take care of Fanny now. He is her husband ; let him provide for her." "Mother," said Ralph, angrily, "you tempt me to answer you in a way which I might be sorry for. Can I help the failure of my business prospects ? You know I must cast about for something uew. I cannot get settled, all at once, as you can. Let Fanny accept her uncle's offer; it will be well for her to have a comfortable home with him, until I can make one for her. Knowing that she is provided for, I can look around at leisure until I am suited." "Please yourselves," said Mre. Tracy. "All I can say is, that I am unable to assist you. Your father has left me utterly destitute, or very nearly so; and your own imprudence appears to have placed you in the same plight." "This discussion is really a paintui one," said I, with warmth, "and most inopportune at such a time. Pray let it be considered settled that Fanny remains with me until Ralph's home is ready for her; that is to say, provided she does not object." Poor Fanny, who had sat mute pending the controversy, now suddenly rose from her seat, and bursting into tears, exclaimed in a stifled voice, "I will go with you, uncle Perry!" and ran out of the room. The upshot of it all was, that Fanny came with me, at the close of the month, to my place, Brierwood. Mrs. Tracy went to town, and so did Ralph ; but whether he was a fixture there, or how he employed himself, was more than I could tell. He came up once in six weeks to see his wife, and stayed two days. When I questioned him in regard to his prospects, he answered, vaguely, that he had been able to settle nothing yet. I did not wish to appear too much concerned on the subject, for fear of exciting the suspicion that I was impatient to get rid of Fanny ; though, Heaven knows, I was only too happy to afford her the shelter of my home, and the benefit of my protection. I compassionated her forlorn situation, and my heart ached to see her daily droop more and more, while her face grew thin and wau, and it seemed difficult for her to smile. I could, with pleasure, have chastised the scoundrel (for I was now fully disposed to consider him such) who was inflicting pain upon her tender, trusting heart; but I refraiued from even speaking severely to him, believing that for Fanny's sake it was my best policy to keep on friendly terms. The Charles Tracys were settled at Hollywell, and were quite inclined to be sociable. Indeed, Mrs. Charles went so far as to invite Fanny to go over and spend as long a time as she felt inclined in her old home, ana though the invitation was not accepted, she did not slacken in her civility. She was a bustling sort of woman, very housewifely and industrious, and a little too disposed to show her elation at the improvement in her worldly circumstances. She had a houseful of daughters, and one son, a conceited prig who was studying his father's profession, and expected to be a shining light at the bar. I did not fancy the family, myself; not that I had any quarrel with Charles, for I had always made it a point to keep on good terms with my stepfather's children. I could see that Fanny did not find her cousins congenial company; but in her depressed frame of mind no sort of company was acceptable to her. Her greatest comfort seemed to be in solitude. One day Mrs. Charles and her two oldest girls came to Brierwood to pay an afternoon visit. After some general conversation, the former turned to Fanny and inquired if she had heard from Ralph lately. "I got a letter from him a few days ago," was her reply. "And when does he speak of coming up, my dear?" asked her aunt. "He does not say anything particularly about it," replied Fanny, coloring painfully. "What is he doing in town, Cousin Fanny ?" asked Pauline, the elder of the two girls. "He has no business, as yet," answered Fanny. "It seems time for him to settle down to something, doesn't it?" said her aunt. "For my part, I think young men ought to have steady habits." "It does seem so funny," giggled Pauline, i (who was next to a fool) "to have you stay | ing up here at Uncle Perry's and him in 1 town all the time. Ma and I were saying?" "Pauline!" interrupted her mother rather j hastily, "recollect you have nothing to do j with Ralph Barstow's affairs. Of course he j is the best judge of his own business." And I only wish you was a better judge of : yours, I ejeculated mentally, as I glanced at j poor Fanny's flushed and distressed face, j which she vainly tried to keep from betraying her agitation. Inwardly consigning our visitors and their silly chatter to a place the reverse of agreeable, I exerted myself to ; turn the conversation into a safer channel; i on/i ?ftop seemed an interminable ! time, they finally took their leave, without J anything -more of an unpleasant nature I having been said. When they were gone, Fanny left the room, and I found her, some time later, crying quietly in a window of the library, where she had taken refuge, I suppose, thinking she would be safe from discovery. "My dear girl, what is the matter?" I asked, ! cheerfully. I a.ways tried to divert her thoughts, and ignore, as far as possible, the real cause of her sadness. "Oh ! Uncle Perry," she murmured, as she hid her face in her hands, "did you hear what aunt June and Pauline said to-day about Ralph ?" "Yes, my dear, I heard what they said ; but what of it ?" was my rejoinder. "Well, I suppose everybody else thinks and speaks just as they do. And it's not strange that they should," she continued, excitedly, looking up with a glittering light in her eyes. "Just consider how he has acted?leaving me a week after our marriage, and never coming near me since, but a day or two at a time. Of course, it's plain to every one that he does not care for me?that he would rather be absent from me than not. I wish to Heaven he were free!" "My dear," I exclaimed, shocked; for I had never heard her speak in this strain before. "Yes, I do," she continued, with a vehemence quite foreign to her usual manner. "This bond is a terrible one to him. I have long ceased to hope that anything but wretch edness can be the result of our union. Fool that I was, I once thought that he loved me, but the illusion is fatally dispelled !" "Fanny," said I, seriously, "you are unduly excited, and say more than you mean. Drop this painful subject. Think no more of what foolish, gossiping people may say. Everything, 1 trust, will come out all right in time." "You say so to try and comfort me, but you do not really think so," she drearily answered. "How cau a thing ever come out right which is radically, fatally wrong? Uucle Perry, I did Ralph an irreparable injury in becoming his wife. If I had known what I know now, I would gladly have died, sooner than marry him." "You do him an injury!" I exclaimed. "Poor child!" "Yes; what greater one could I do him, than force him to accept me against his will? But I will try and find a remedy?yes, and you will help me, dear uncle. You will make arrangements with a lawyer to get a divorce, and then he will be free, free from his hated bonds. And I will live with you here, if you will let me, and be your house-keeper, or anything else you please." Aud, without giviug me a chance to make any reply, she hastily left the room. Poor girl! I had no idea that matters were as hopeless as this. I had known, indeed, that she felt Ralph's neglect keenly; but not that her conviction of his indifference was so strong. But the worst was yet to come. I was sitting in my library one cold, dreary afternoon, when a messenger returned from the post-office with a batch of letters, two of ? 1- - ?? T nnttf Ktf fUn /-I I motion uforo frnm >YLI 1UII| ao ? oan, uj nu? ui&vwiw**} ?v?v ?#? Mrs. Tracy; one addressed to her daughter and one to me. I opened the letter immediately, anxious for news which could in any way concern Fanny's welfare. The first line thrilled me with a sickening fear. "I wish you to prepare my unfortunate child for a blow which will, doubtless, be a heavy one to her, and which I myself have not the courage to announce to her." And then she went on to state that Ralph had gone, she knew not where, and intended to return no more?had written to her saying that it would be useless to try to track him ; that life in his present condition was a burden heavier than he could bear ; and feeling that Fanny would be the happier, under the circumstances, for a severance of the tie between them, he had resolved to break it by one bold stroke, and set them both at liberty, to seek happiness by different roads. "TraitorI villain!" I exclaimed aloud. "Unfortunate girl, your fate is indeed as sad as it is undeserved!" "What have you heard ? Tell me. I can bear it all," said Fanny's voice, in hollow tones, beside him. She had entered unperceived; and little by little she gathered from me the story of Ralph's perfidy and flight. "He might have waited," she muttered below her breath; "he might have waited a little, little while. I should soon have set him ' free." The next moment she fell heavily to the ground, in a sjvoon. A long, weary illness succeeded, during which her unnatural mother (devoid of natural feeling she certainly was) was obliged, for very shame, to come and minister at her beside. But she found it an irksome occupation ; and as soon as Fanny was convalescent, she took her departure, "to recruit her strength by traveling with her cousin's family, who were going on a Western tour." From that day to this, I have not laid eyes upon her, nor do I desire to. Fanny lives with me, and is like my own child. Most unfortunately for her (as I think) she has a son, who was born some six or seven months after we heard of his father's disappearance. The poor boy is to be pitied, with the heritage of such a name as he is doomed to bear. But with strange incongruity of feeling, she has called him after her husband?Ralph?and he actually appears to be the solace of her life! I bring my record to a close, at least for the present, having transcribed upon these pages all that there is of interest to relate, concerning poor Fanny's history. Perhaps, at some future time, a change may occur in the unbroken routine of our present uneventful life, which may furnish a foundation for some additional notes. CHAPTER IV. lucy's narrative?among the alps. March 16th, 18?. I must find time to continue ray diary; so much has happened, ho much that is wonderful, since I wrote last! j Only three months since these pages were j closed, and what an entire revolution has j taken place in ray hitherto uneventful life! My greatest sorrow, and greatest joy, have j followed each other in quick succession ; fio | quick, that the latter seems to have swallowed j up the former, or at least shut it out of sight, j and I almost reproach myself at times for ray I seeming forgetfulness. But how can I help being happy ? He who I once began to fes.r had ceased to love me, has given me the strongest proof of his devotion. We now bolong to each other, and such marks of his afnn, Viaonprl nnnn mp. thflt. I live in an I ICUUUU U1 \J 11VI*|/VVI J w? ? ? atmosphere of bouiidlesa joy and content And then, I know, my dear father would have rejoiced to see me thus. His great grief in dying was leaving me unprotected, uncared for; and the end was so sudden, so unlooked for, that he had no time to lay any plans, make any provision for ray future. How j thankful I am now that I did not go to my unknown aunts ! Though, even there, I think Ralph would have sought and found me out. But let me write a little more coherently, and set down clearly all that has taken place. While we were at Woodburn, my dear father, whose indisposition had, up to that timo, given me no cause for alarm, grew suddenly ill. I was thunderstruck, on entering his room one morning, to find him in a high fever [ and delirium, quite unable to recognize me. The physician of the place, whom the landlady of our little hotel immediately sent for, did not come for hours; and such hours as those, may I never live through again ! At last he arrived, but only to tell me that there was little hope of ray father's recovery. He did all he could, however, and at length papa seemed better ; but when the Cever left him, ho wa3 feeble as a child, and his mind seemed as helpless as his body. He talked in a rambling way of the days at New Haven, of his church and congregation there, and sometimes of Ralph ; asked where he (Ralph) was, and why we had not seen him for so long. We had not, indeed, seen or heard of him for months, and my heart often sank with the fear thait something had happened to him, or he had forgotten us. By nightfall papa grew worse again. All through the night I watched him, doing what I could for his relief. He now be gan to speak of the likelihood of dying, and of ray being left in a strange place alone; and I, what could I say to comfort him ? My own heart smote me with the dread that his hours were numbered ; and soon, too soon, my foreboding was realized. Before the sun rose upon another day, I was an orphan, and desolate indeed. Papa had said something, during his more collected moments, of my writing or sending to my aunts Margrove, ray nearest living relatives next to him. But I dreaded, inexpressibly forcing myself upon their notice. They had always pointedly neglected me, not having approved of my mother's marriage., and I felt that I would rather go out as a governess, or even sew,; for my living, than ask for their bounty. Those two dreadful days that followed, can I ever forget them ? As I write, the picture of my loneliness, my desolation rises up vividly before me. I see myself sitting by the bed on which lay the remains of my precious father, utterly crushed and incapable of framing a thought or a plan for the future. The world truly seemed a dark one to me then, and I felt that I would gladly die. Up to the time of the funeral, I did not seem to be so much alone; but when that was over, and the cold earth hid my father's face forever from my view, I felt that every human tie was severed, and that I had nowhere to turn for refuge. The landlady was very, veiy kind. If she had been a near relative she could not have done more for me. But she was only a stranger, after all; and human sympathy, even the sympathy of those near and dear to us, is of little avail in an hour of' such sorrow as mine. I thought I would remain at Woodburn, at any rate for a few days, until I could decide upon some plan. I felt that I must have some leisure to collect my thoughts. On the evening of the day after the funeral, as I sat alone in my little bedroom, brooding in a dull, stupid way over my trouble?for I was almost too dazed to think?Mrs. Newton, the landlady, knocked at my door. "A friend, Miss, wishes to see you," she said. "A friend !" I echoed, amazed ; for I had nn nmnointonnM in tVlA nlflnA ,u,,uvu ? ? r?? you tell who it is ?" "No, Miss, except that it's a gentleman, and a mighty nice-looking one, too?it's one of your home folks, I guess." My heart told me that it was Ralph, and I was not mistaken. As I entered the parlor, and he came forward and took my hands in his, a mixture of emotions overpowered me; and I burst into an uncontrollable fit of weeping. He led me to a seat, and soothed me with every expression of tenderness. Indeed, it was then, for the first time, that I realized how dear I was to him. "My poor child," he said, "I am shocked beyond measure to hear of your loss, and to find what a forlorn situation you are placed in. I wish to Heaven I had reached this place sooner! What are you going to do next ?" "Indeed," said I, "that is impossible for me to say." "Have you no plans ?" he asked in surprise. "Not yet," was my answer. "The truth is, I have been too bewildered to think. I suppose I must write to my aunt, if I can't find employment here." "Employment? Good heavens!" excitedly cried Ralph. He jumped up and walked about the room, looking more excited and agitated than I had ever seen hira before. "You don't mean to say," he continued, coming back to my side, "that you are left without resources." I felt sorry and ashamed to let him know how poor I was; but by degrees I confided the whole truth to him?I couldn't keep it, with his eyes searching my face, and his hand clasping mine. I never could resist hira when he wanted to make me do or say anything. So he knew it all; and then, in a great burst of tenderness, he caught me to his heart, and said I must let him take care of me and protect me always. It seemed wrong to think of such things at that time; and besides, I feared that he had been led to say those words to me, simply by the confession he had drawn from me of my poverty and helplessness. But when I said this to him he would not let me finish, he held me close and told me I was his very own. I just felt that Ralph must know best, and must have his way in this, as in everything else. It did seem strange and sudden, though, when he spoke of our being married at once, without any delay, and coming abroad to live. I hesitated, and asked for a little time; but he was very urgent, said I must not make him wait. In fact he was unaccountably anxious to have it over at once, and finally got me to consent to be married the very next morning. To this day I have never been able to discover the cause of this haste. He said, then, that business which called him abroad was too pressiug to be neglected an hour longer than he could help; but I do believe his impatience just arose from his anxiety to have me belong to him, and nothing else! At all events, we were married at eight o'clock in the morning. The landlady gave me away, and there was but one other wit-! ness?a deaf old man who waited at the bar. It was a very hasty, informal affair. The clergyman was a stranger who happened to be in the hotel, and it seemed to me that nobody knew our names, even. I am sure I did not sign mine, and I did not see Ralph sign his. When I asked him about it afterwards, he said it was all right and complete ; a little informality was of no consequence. We took the next steamer from New York, and after landing at Liverpool, crossed over j to the Continent and came directly here. This is a wild, lonely, lovely place. The inhabitants of this little valley where we have j made our home, are of the most primitive sort; but amid their simplicity and ignorance is a degree of native refinement one would hardly look for, and their extreme hospitality and kindness have won our hearts. Mine, rather; for Ralph goes nowhere, except to hunt chamois, alone, upon the mountains, and mixes with no one. He says I am all in all to him, and he desires no other society than mine. I tell him that he excludes himself thus, only because these people are uncongenial to him?too rough and coarse to suit his i --. L..X A? re u Lieu maw; , uui in is ne ucmco, it ?? j of the most polished sort, he says, he would not wish for their company. It is enough for him to have rae to converse with, and to feel that I am wholly his. I think the bracing air of this region suits bis health particularly well. I have never seen him looking stronger, handsomer than now. What a perfect face his is! I think it would be hard to find more regular features, or a nobler and more expressive brow. March 20th. I made the acquaintance yesterday of a new comer. A lady making a tour with an invalid daughter, for the benefit of the latter's health. As there is no hotel here, or any suitable accommodation for an invalid, I proposed to Ralph, this morning, that we should invite them to stay at our little cottage as long as they should remain, so that we might do what we could for their comfort, and at least give them palatable fare. Rut to my surprise, he refused, so decidedly and unhesitatingly, that I immediately feared he was displeased. "I did not know," said I, "that you would have any objection. I believe they will only be here a short time, and their stay could not inconvenience us much." "My dear Lucy," he replied, "I wish you to understand distinctly, that I want to have as little to do with strangers as possible. We are very happy together, you and I; but if an outside element should come in, who knows but that our harmony might be disturbed V "Oh! Ralph," I could not help saying, "how could it he possible that the presence of any one in the house, for a few days, should mar the harmony between us ? I think you must onlv be iesting when you say so." "No, I am not jesting," he answered ; and indeed his face confirmed his word. He looked grave, almost stern. "I dare say these people, to whom you have taken such a fancy, are good people enough in their way?but I would rather not have anything to do with them. You know perfectly well, that since we have been married, I have cared for no society but yours." "And yet," said I, "you were formerly very lively and fond of company, were you not ?" "I may have been; but it was different then. I had not one supreme object of interest to love and live for. Perhaps, however," he continued, looking anxiously at me, "you suffer from the loneliness of our life here? The want of gay society depresses you ?" "You know, Ralph, I have never been accustomed to gay society," was my answer, "or indeed to much society of any sort. And if you are satisfied here, I am. I never find it lonely or dull; your affection leaves me nothto sigh for." "That is well," he replied. Then pressing me to his heart, he cried with sudden fervor, "Oh I Lucy, my dearest wife! if you value you own happiness, and the peace we have hitherto enjoyed, do not seek or strive for a change?let us continue to enjoy, our tranquil seclusion, unruffled by intercourse with the world. Believe me, it would only bring us disturbance and unrest." ?ftdr flTld JL1C 1C1 U U1C IWUi JiUUiWUiMW*^ 11 i I the subject has not been renewed by either of us since. But I cannot help thinking over our conversation, and wondering at the exceeding earnestness which Ralph displayed, iu regard to what appeared to me a very simple question. Of course I would not displease him for the world. I love him too dearly for that, and what would life be worth to me if he were angry with me ? So I shall not say another word about Mrs. Holcombe and her daughter staying with us; though I am really sorry for the poor girl, and would like so much to help her if I' could. Well, perhaps I can carry her some little delicacies from time to time. I don't suppose Ralph will object to ray doing that March 21st. Ralph says he does not care to have me visit the Holcombes. I can't understand it at all. To day I had a little cup of jelly, which I had taken great pains in making, all ready to carry for the sick girl, and was just putting on my hat when he came into the room, and asked ine where I was going. T-i ? r +QVo "10 Faulty Dii&uui a, x to^iibu, w this jelly for Miss Holcorabe. 8ee how Dice it looks. Don't you think she will enjoy it?" "You are a benevolent little woman," said Ralph. "What makes you take such an interest in these people ?" "I can't help feeling an interest in people who are sick and away from home. If the girl were quite well and strong, I suppose I should not think about her," was my answer. "Well, I dare say she will like the jelly," said Ralph. "But I would rather that you let Rosel carry it." Rosel is our maid of all work, and this is our washing day, so that it was not easy to spare her, and I told him so. j "I should think she might get off* for an i hour," was his rejoinder. "If not, let it wait until she is through with her work." "That won't be until evening," said I, "and ray jelly won't be fresh ? Why may I not carry it ? I will not even go in, if you forbid it; though I confess I should like to pay them some little attention." I coaxed him awhile, while he listened in silence. At last he said, "Little woman, you have more perseverance that I gave you cred* it for; or shall I call it by a harder name ?" "You mean obstinacy, I suppose," said I. "But, Ralph, I think it is you who are trying to vex me. I never knew you to be so unreasonable before. Besides, you have not forbidden my visiting the Holcombes; you only objected to inviting them here." "I object to the visiting also," he replied. "I wish, Lucy, these people had never come here." "So do I," said I, (rather impatiently, I am afraid,) "for their coming here has been the cause of my finding out that you?" "Go on," he said, as I stopped. "Well, that you are just a little bit of a tyrant" I was sorry the instant the wcrds were out of ray mouth; he looked so troubled, so distressed. "Oh ! Ralph," I cried, throwing myself into his arms, "forgive me, pray do! I did not mean what I said." "I hope you did not, Lucy," he answered, in a low tone, "for I think tyrants are detestable, and I should be very sorry to have you consider me one. God know3 I don't want to deprive you of any reasonable gratification? you have few pleasures out here?but what I enjoin upon you is not from caprice, but for 'very good reasons, which I cannot now explain. Only trust me, and yield unquestion? * * 11 mi i it if ingly to my wisnes, ana aji win oe wen. It seems, then, that this entire confidence is to be all on ray side, while he withholds his from me, so far as he may think proper! However, it will not be my fault if we quarrel; so I let him pet me as much as he liked, and said no more. The result of the matter was, that Rosel carried the jelly; but my satisfaction in the gift was gone. March 25th. A cup of jelly seems a small affair to write so much about; but it has led to farther results than I expected. This morning, directly after breakfast, who should come to our cottage but Mrs. Holcombe, empty cup in hand. "I have brought this back to you, Mrs. Barstow," she said, as I invited her into the parlor, "and must tell you how grateful Maud and I are for your kind remembrance. She is only sorry that she could not come to thank you in person; but she will do so when you call on her, as I hope you will very soon." "Thank you," said I, embarrassed, "I should like to do so very much indeed. I hope she is better ?" "Very much better," said Mrs. Holcombe. "Indeed, the climate here suits her so well that I think we shall remain some time longer than we anticipated. Notwithstanding the discomforts we necessarily submit to in our present abode?and they are numerous?my poor girl seems to feel better and brighter than she has done for months." I felt myself blushing involuntarily at this speech. I felt so sorry, so self-reproachful, at not being able to offer them what I had wished to do! Our house is only a little box of a place, it is true; but we have one nice spare room, and could accommodate them without any trouble at all. I know what kind of people Franz Birkhof and his wife are?honest and well-meaning, but rough like the rest of them here, and the food at their table is plain and coarse. Indeed, except lor tne excellent milk, and the fine honey which they have in abundance, I don't see how an invalid can find anything palatable there. They have never had any boarders, at least since we have known them, bat people of a common sort. Mrs. Holcombe stayed a considerable time. She is a most agreeable person, and seems to be exceedingly well informed. Ishould think Ralph would be delighted with her, if they could once meet each other. But so averse does he seem to the idea of mixing with people, that I have not even said a word to him of her visit. The truth is, I am afraid of starting an unpleasant discussion again. Yet 1 hate this feeling of reserve, or a concealment of the most trifling sort between us. I had hoped that our married life would be one of entire confidence and sympathy; that we would have no differences,- nor dissenting thoughts. Under different circumstances, I would be dfiliVht^d to look forward to these Deople 0---_ A A spending a long time here. But as the case stands, I felt rather sorry than otherwise to hear that they intended to prolong their stay. Anything in the world is better than to have Ralph uncomfortable or displeased. [to be continued.] A Remarkably Reticent Man.?-A correspondent of the Cincinnati Enquirer mentions the death of Hayes Hinman, aged sixtysix years, who recently died near Utica, New York. Although possessing the faculty of speech, he had not uttered two consecutive words for fifty years. When sixteen years old, hearing his father swear at a member of the family, he made a vow that he would never speak again. This vow was kept for seven years. He then met with an accident, which bruised the fingers of his left hand, the pain drawing from him the exclamation, "Oh!" On but one other occasion was he heard to speak. This time the word "See" was called forth by a snake that crawled over a sleeping child. A column might be filled by a recital of Hinman's eccentricities. Some of his devices to avoid conversation were crafty in the extreme. He was a close student, and he has left a voluminous diary during his fifty years of silence. He leaves a fortune of $24,000 to a nephew, with the admonition, "Keep your mouth shut." Notwithstanding his silence, he was a great favorite in the neighborhood in which he lived. A Deaf Mute Boy's Definition.?A gentleman once asked a deaf and dumb boy, "What is truth ?" He replied by taking a piece of chalk and drawing on the blackboard a straight line between two points. Then he asked him, "What is a lie?" The boy rubbed out the straight line and drew a crooked line between the same points. Remember this. + ? It is good that we be sometimes contradicted, and that men thiuk ill or inadequately of us; and this although we do and intend well. garaea mmseii aa a unvuegcu uuniauwu. j_io began to cat apone day before the girls, whereupon, in the twinkling of an eye, the handsome giantess bowed him across her knee and spanked him with her ruler. The boys laughed, the girls tittered, and that was the end of that yonng man's pranks. l&*The three whom Christ raised from the dead were?an only son, an only daughter and an only brother. 1 . .L UtaceltottM fading. A CLEVER THIEF. Two young men, according to a Paris paper, were, a few afternoons ago, seated in front of a caf<? on the Boulevards, when one of them, named Lucien W., informed his friend that he had just come into possession of 5,000 francs, adding that the 5,000 francs, in bank notes, were safely locked up in a drawer in his room, and he should not then trouble himself with business. He had a sum of 50 francs in his pocket, with which he proposed that he and his friend should go to Asnieres and enjoy themselves with boating, dining, a ball, etc., and not return until, two o'clock in the morning. At a table close to them watt a well-dressed man, who, althongh apparently absorbed in syisi oa! iaoa a LUC pCi UOAl KJk lilo juuiuaij uiu uvi/ avov u ttviu of the conversation. He was an accomplished thief, named E., alia* "the Aspic/' who had but recently returned from a tour in the provinces, which he had found it necessary to make in order to withdraw himself from the observation of the police. The bait of 5,000 francs was too tempting for him to resist, and he immediately resolved to have possession of it. Having noticed that Licien W. had placed his hat on a stool at a short distance from him, the Aspic adroitly substituted his own for it, and after paying for what he had taken, walked out He knew that the 5,000 francs were deposited in a drawer in the young man's room, and the address of that room he hoped to find by means of thc> name at the bottom of the hat Seeing the hatter's address, he went to his shop and told him that he had, on leaving a restaurant taken a hat which did not belong to him, and which he was anxious to return to the owner, if the hatter happened to know the address of bis customer. The information was readily obtained, and in a very short lime after, the thief paid his visit to the apartment of Lucien W., and gained possession of the money. About an hour afterward the young man came to the hatter's also, and was informed of what had occurred, but, not thinking of any danger for his money, he merely bought a straw hat, and, with his friend, proceeded cn his trip to Asnieres. On hi) return home at night he discovered his loss. Information was immediately lodged with the police, and, from the description of the man given by the hatter, he was, on the following day, arrested while on a party of pleasure, which he had also devised with some friends, to the riverside. In his pockets were found the 5,000 francs, minus 400 francs, which he had expended. Examination op a London School Board.?An English writer has been sharply criticising the management of the London public schools, known as the "Board Schools," and produces the following as specimens of the written examinations of some of the scholars: "Where is Turkey ?" "Turkev is the caDital of Norfolk." "Where is Turin ?" "Tureen is the cappital of Chiner, the peepul there lives in burds nests and has long tails." "Where is Gibraltar ?" "Gibberalter is the principal town of Rooshia." "What do von know of the patriarch Abraham ?" "He was the father of Lot, and ad tew wives?wun was called Hishmale and t'other Haygur. He kept wun at home, and turned the t'other into the desert, where she became a pillow of salt in the day time and a pillow of fire at nite." "What do you know of Joseph ?" "Hee wore a koat of many garments. Hee were chief b"tier to Faro and told his dreams. Hee married Potiffers dorter, and he led the Gypshuns out of bondage to Kana, in Galilee, ana then fell on his sword and died in site of the promise land." "Give me the names of the books of the Old Testament" "Devonshire, Exeter, Littikus, Numbers, Jupiter, Stronomy, Judgment, Ruth, etc." Another boy, giving his impressions in regard to Moses, wrote as follows: "He was an Egypshun. He lives in a bark maid of bull-rushers, and he kep a golden carf, and worshipt brazen snakes, and ne het nuthin but kwales and manner for forty year. He was kort by the air of his ed while riding under the bow of a tree, and he wan killed by his son Abslon, as he was a-hanging from the bow. His end was pease!" J6T The indications are that the "Chinese Immigration Question" will be an issue in the next Presidential campaign, as it is generally conceded that the bill was passed in compliance with the demand of the people of California, who are desirous of putting a stop to the large influx of Chinese into that State. TKa lenrfinor Rannblicans in Congress ODDOsed the bill and will attempt to make political capital out of its passage. In an address recently delivered at Syracuse, New York, before the Young Men's Christian Association of that city, Hon. Stewart L. Woodford, a Republican politician, arraigned Congress in unmeasured terms for an alleged violation of the laws of God and man. He said there was no fear of the Christian cross being overthrown by the Chinese pagoda, or our glorious Christianity disproved by the false philosophy of Confucius. No act of Congress or law of State or nation could alter thelaws of change. Water will ever seek its level, and mail will ever go where he can put his labor to best account. The address was received with every demonstration of approval. The Empress' Sentinel.?One day, said the prince, I was walking with the Emperor of Russia in the summer garden of St Petersburg, when, coming upon a sentinel in the centre of a lawn, I took the libertv of inquiring why the man was placed there. The Empeior did not know. The Adjutant did not know. The sentinel did not know, except that he had been ordered there. The Adjutant was then dispatched to ask the officer of the watch, whose reply tallied with the sentinel's?"Ordered." Curiosity awakened, military records were searched without yielding ?a ? ?? A + loof on a1 A uuy uauaiauburjr ouiunuu. at iwu ?u uiu serving man was routed out, who remembered bearing his father relate that the Empress Catherine II., one hundred years ago, had found a snowdrop on that particular spot, and given orders to protect it from being plucked. No other device could be thought of than guarding it by a sentinel. The order once issued was left in force for a century.?Z)r. Butch'a Diary of Converaaiion with Bismarck. A Powerful Teacher.?On one of the islands off the coast of Maine is a gigantic schoolmistress, seven feet high, weighing three hundred pounds, strong in proportion and very handsome. Once she was sent to reduce to order a school of savage young men, who thrashed their teachers and turned them out Her advent was enough to make them meek as lambs, all save one young man of twentyone, handsome and curly-haired, and who ret !' :_n J -i tt?