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LEWIS M. GRIST, Proprietor, j % |}ltbcjpi)Cnt Jftttttlj fjttfospjjtr: $DX f|t ^rOllttlfitlt flf % |)oMtaI, Sotial, ^grifllltliral Sllb CfllTOlttrtM Inkrtsts of fj)I Soilfj). ] TERMS--$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. fyOL. 30. YOBKYILLE, 8. C., THURSDAY, JTJME 26, 1884. NO. 36. lit* ftarg Idle*. A Story With Two Ends. BY R. K. LINCOLN. Miss Flutters at home ? Miss Flutters was at home, John said, in the drawing-room. Mr. Flutters had left word he should be home soon, but had not yet returned from his club. That didn't matter; Miss Flutters would do as well as her papa. John looked doubtful. He had old-fasnioned notions, and approved of chaperones, and the street door was held partly open. What was to be done ? Between the hall and the drawing-room there wasagreatgulf fixed; the resolute old hangeron resembled adamant. Itrepresent ed that to an engaged man etiquette sngncly unbends; but this John could not be brought to see, and the return of Mr. Flutters would probably have found me still hovering on his door-mat, had I not unexpectedly found an advocate. Slowly across the darkened hall came a % little figure in a white pinafore, with bright curls falling round a sober little face, and grave astonished eyes, wondering at the unwonted sounds that were breaking the stillness of the twilight hour. "Conn/," I said with a new hope, born of the little figure before me, "mayn't I come in?" "John, what is this?" said my small defender. "Why don't you let Mr. Stevens Come in ? Open the door directly." "Beg pardon, Miss Conny," said the old man, giving way before authority, "but Mr. Stevens wants to see your papa, and your papa isn't in ." At this unanswerable argument, Conny looked puzzled. "Why domt you go away, then?" she added, frowning a little; for my behavior seemed to her unreasonable, and Conny had begun to read "Mill's Logic," and was no countenancer of folly. Music wasnearci irom tnearawmg-ruum? that drawing-room from which I was excluded?and I became desperate. The minutes were slipping by; precious minutes when sjient in the drawing-room; and she who might have saved me had gone over to the opposition, and sided with the butler; "Conny," I said, speaking sensibly, as an appeal to her understanding, and looking wretched as an appeal to her heart; "I dont wan't to see your papa until he comes in, but I'm tired and cold; mayn't I come in and rest, and warm myself a little at your drawing room fire?" "There's a fire in the dining-room," said Conny, shrewdly guessing now that John was protecting the drawing-room, and not feeling quite sure herself, as to the proprieties ; "won' that do?" "Well, no, Conny," I said; "I don't think . it will, it's so cold and draughty; it made me dreadfully ill the last time. I couldn't bend my back for a week." Conny's pity began to show itself in her eyes; she looked at John for instruction, readv to crive in. if her ally were so inclin- j ed: but tKat worthy was quite unmoved. "It's all nonsense, Miss Conny," he said, with a grim smile; "the dining room ain't draughty a bit. Mr. Stevens can go in there if he likes; there is a beautiful fire, and I'll let him know when your papa comes in." In fine, John was not to be done?could by no means be got over; so I accepted the compromise, and walked dismally in, followed by Conny; who evidently considering herself in the light of my jailer, proceeded to lay herself out to a considerable amount for my benefit. She shut the door firmly, poked the fire into a bright blaze, satisfied herself that the atmosphere was that of a bake-house, and sat down on the hearth-rug at my feet, prepared for conversation. But I wouldn't speak, and soon the pain in ray back caused sundry groans, dismal enough to awake pity in Conny's soft little heart. 1 "What is it?" she said after she had borne it as long as she could in silence. "Your back ? Isn't the fire warm enough ?" Warm enough! I should think it was. Conny must have been a salamander to have mentioned the subject without a blush. "It isn't the fire, Conny," I groaned, "it's rli.niu.Vit nairopminr? vnn ran't hpln it. 111U UlAUgilU ^ uvt Vi unuuj jvv? v\??? ? >. I must bear it as well as I can till your papa comes in." "I can't understand," Conny said, with some impatience at this limit of her knowledge; "the door's fast closed," and she shook it as proof. "It's the chinks, Conny," I groaned in an agony; "oh, this is very bad!" Conny took a resolution. Propriety was one thing, but illness, sudden death, was another. "Come upstairs," she said with a little sigh and a long-drawn breath; and upstairs I limped with some difficulty. "Madeleine," said Conny, with a little quiver in her voice, "Mr. Stevens has got a stiff back, through sitting in draughts." "Very well, Conny dear," saia her sister; "I'll take care of Mr. Stevens; you run and play with your dolls, or read "Mill's Logic" if you prefer it. Would you believe," she said, turning to me, "that that child reads logic at her age ? Of course she can't understand ten words of it, but papa will have it. She's to do as she likes. I - think it's a mistake myself, it makes her so quiet and solemn, always poring over books sne can't understand. Not like a child." Jtsuti couian'tspeaK against uonuy, wnuse warm little heart was even now working under her pinafore for imaginary woes, so I took a safe refuge in silence. "Can I do anything?" asked Conny, reluctant to go, feeling as if in some inexplicable way she was the sole supporter of life in my frame, that with her absence I should droop and fall; "shall I run and fetch some sal volatile, or some steel wine?" Conny's sister took sal volatile; but Conny herself took steel wine, and believed in its efficacy. "No, no, Conny," said her sister, with a fuller faith in her own powers of healing as compared with steel wine; "Mr. Stevens is all right now; he will do very well till papa comes in." "I'll come and tell you the very minute he does," declared Conny at the door ; and having administered this consolatiou, she departed, hopping on one foot solemnly down stairs. Delicious and rare combination of circumstances, for if I had a bone to pick with Madeleine?a bone that could by no possibility have been picked before Conny, whose well-balanced mind thought lightly of sentiment, regarded all love-making as beneath her notice, and brought Mill to hear upon every occasion. This was the bone: Madeleine, the queen of coquettes, en gH^eu IU 1UC) WiW a icaicu, cuwuia^uig another man of the name of Prior ; a man from our club, well-dressed, good-looking, if not intellectual-looking, of gentlemanly manners, but inordinately conceited, and a confirmed flirt. Then; was a pleasant character to have around the house ! A house, too, where the father tfas easily pleased, easily satisfied, fond of society, and ready to have any number of gentlemanly fools about him ; where the lady of the house was a mere girl, attractive, charming, fascinating, intensely lovable, but a coquette; where the youngest daughter alone absorbed the sense. "Madeleine," I said, gracefully blurting at once into the subject the moment we were left alone ; "I fiud you have got to know Prior during my absence from town." No jealousy I flattered myself in my tone; no discontent that it should be so. "Yes," said Madeleine, taking up a pinafore of Conny's and setting down to work like a staid little woman to whom coquetry was unknown. "You won't think me a bore, Madeleine, or that I wish in any way to interfere with your choice of friends?but don't you find. Prior an insufferable coxcomb ?" "No," said Madeleine, intensely interest ed in the formation of button-holes; "I don't ty know that I do. Is he not generally liked fu then ? Papa thinks him so very agreeable." pi "Since you ask me, Madeleine," I said, tl< "and, mind, it is a thing I should never h( have mentioned of my own accord, I may in tell you that, so far from being generally in liked, to know that he was intimate at a is house would be quite enough to prevent h( many men from visiting at it." ej "Fancy !" said Madeleine, holding up the in pinafore to be admired. th "I among them," I went on. in "No ?" said Madeleine, quite unmoved by tu the assertion. bi It was becoming evident that my chal- si< lenge would not be accepted, and that Mad- so eleine declined to show fight. So, as after war the next best thing is lii peace: "Perhaps he does not come here sc often, after all," I said ; "I should think, sh indeed, you would not allow yourself to be co bored by him frequently." ar "0, I don't know," said Madeleine ; "I in think I am very often bored, one way and in another; it doesn't so much matter by whom, you know." pr Whereby it will be seen, not only that m Madeleine's views were liberal in the extreme, but that she understood to a nicety nj the art of evading delicate questions, and pi driving her lovers to desperation. "1 Jack Stevens was the most easy-going st< fellow in existence, but it was possible to ra drive him too far. Miss Flutters was rely- sh ing too much on his sweetness of temper. He had reached his limit. The lion within h( his British breast was beginning to require ti< attention. sc I put a direct question to her, and waited pc for an answer. m "Madeleine," I said, "how often has Mr. Prior been here during my absence?" st< "I haven't an idea," said Madeleine, slip- lii ping at once into feminine resources and fo accusing her memory. "Conny may recollect, perhaps; but it doesn't matter, does C< if on v, " J Another feminine resource. Madeleine to abandoned her pedestal of indifference when M she saw I was really angry, and descended to coaxing. "What can it matter? You're not going ni to pretend you're jealous of Mr. Prior, co Jack ?" m The "Jack" did it. I was her devoted slave, not in the least jealous, and full of it wonder at my own suspicions. m "Well, now," said Madeleine, when the pinafore had been duly admired and small pieces of my heart had been sewed on to it h( in the Greek pattern with braid and we had ty both approved of the effect, "I will be candid with you; you shall npver say I don't tell you everything. Mr. Prior has been pi here a good deal." el Madeleine's candor always gave me palpi- it tations of the heart; I never knew what er was coming next. However, I gulfed or down the first edition, with the conviction w that it would disagree with me when I came to digest it, happily smiling. - th "You won't make me jealous now, Mad- pi eleine," I said, kissing her; and the pinafore fell from her lap. d? "Clumsy!"said Madeleine, pouting. "You pc won't Jet me work, Poor Con! I'm ashamed of you, Jack. You don't behave half as w: I well as Mr. Prior; he never does such v( I fV?innra " I br I ViX?U6iJ. t - That is to say, reduced to English, Mr. (C Prior was not in the habit of ki&sing Miss nc Flutters. sh I should never have imagined he was, or myself, but Madeleine was so terribly sug?;estive that I began to feel uneasy, and the ion within me gavearoar. Madeleine,if I imagined such a thing possible, I should dc at once resign all claim over you, without ni waiting to speak to Mr. Flutters on the subject, or wish good-by to your sister." "I "That's just what I say," said Madeleine, ed quietly; so you needn't flare up so, or I snail not be able to be as candid as I wish. w< Mr. Prior has not only been here a good many times already, but he is coming to he dinner"?here Madeleine coughed a little? tii "to night. It's very unfortunate for me, as w well as for you, for of course I don't want br him here the very first night of your re- ar turn; but he asked himself, and papa a i couldn't very well refuse him then?could ar he?" though I frowned at him to make pc him say 'No' till I thought my forehead fa would never come straight again and Conny sh was speechless from surprise." sa "It is unfortunate," I said in as gruff a voice as I could manage, with the little m jeweled hands pressing me so closely, and he the blue eyes glancing?I suppose by acci- dc dent?at the engagement ring. Ei "Yes, isn't it?" said Madeleine, eagerly; th and then added, trying to take me by storm, and trusting too much to the soften- he ing circumstances: "That's not the worst th eiiner. lur. rriui umtics iuvc w uic, <*uu j. v? can't tell what to do to make him leave off. sil Pie will do it, no matter what I do. He Cc will to-night. You'll see." nc To be told, after a few week's absence, that the girl to whom I was engaged was di being made love to by the man I most dis- til liked in the whole world; and then he would sa doit! kr "Now you're not angry with me?" said ve Madeleine, passing over Mr. Prior's offence, pi and taking care of number one in a lady- he like way, "because it's not been my fault." fir "No, I'm not angry with you Madeleine," to I said; but of course there must be a stop br puttoit. Leave him to me. He'll not make love to you to-night, I fancy." w This was said with a sneer so very effective that Madeleine was beginning to look ar frightened, when the door opened a very be little way, and Conny looked in. ot "Papa's not come she said, "but the nurs- lo ery tea is. Come Madeleine. Perhaps Mr. Stevens will come too," she added politely, suddenly seeing me in the light of an ob- Cc stacle to the nursery tea, which was necessary to remove before she could obtain her lu sister. "Tea will do him good. It's so refreshing, nurse says." in "I should like nothing better, Conny dear, and I can carry you up stairs on my back, if you like." m Conny's eyes sparkled at this proposal, w; i on/1 hor nhoolrc rrrpur hrio'ht- bf "That would be nice," she said and pre- fq pared to mount; then stopped suddenly co short. "Your back," she said; "it'll hurt as your back." m I assured her that it would not, and car- m ried her up, when the queen of the nursery k< dismounted, placed her horse (myself) in a gc low chair by the fire, and her sister in an- fif other, and proceeded to distribute bread and butter, and tea in mugs. pi "You can't have the prettiest mug of all, w I'm sorry to say." Conny informed me, th when she had satisfied herself I could lo want nothing more, "because I broke it w last week. I'm not generally clumsy, you vi know, but I did do that, and it had roses on it, and green leaves." wi I expressed my conviction that it must have been very attractive, professing my- P( self at the same time full of admiration of M fJ-.Q mnrr T TOoa ncitiop iinfl flnnnv's SPnse of I ' | hospitality was satisfied, "Could you tell me astory?" she inquired, w gliding down from her high chair, when all lil the bread and butter was eaten up, and her sister had refused to cut her any more; "or I don't you feel well enough ?" "I'll tell you what, Con," said her sister, di I decisively, "you'll get no story until I you're dressed for dessert. Go and have \\ your hair brushed, your hands washed, and th I your frock changed, and then you may di come and sit with Mr. Stephens while I to dress for dinner." w So Conny ran off, and I was left with sli Madeleine,' with the warm glow of the nur- fr< sery fire throwing red lights on her brown di hair, and brightning her sweet face into new beauty. At such a moment who could so have believed she was a coquette, before whose beauty young and old fell alike, fri ; fondly believing the while they had "made gc | an impression?" Long I satthus, drinking ar J in long draughts of happiness, building nc castles of colossal height, all to be inhabited so by one enchantress whose wickedness took tii the form of beauty, whereby she entangled of the hearts of men, wooing them to love her so by her gentleness, driving them to madness 7 the laugh in her eyes. But this beauti1 witch had said that she loved me, had omised to come and live in my fine cas3S, and inhabit my high towers, and from jnceforth the sole responsibility of controllg her rested with me and my restrainghand. And I was noways afraid. Love a strong subduer; now, sitting beside me, ir hands clasped in mine, and her blue res watching my castles fade and die out the fire. Prior was as far from her oughts as from those of little Conny, who, white frock and colored ribbons, had rerned from her ablutions as fresh and as ight as a daisy, and was now standing bede me, watching our quiet happiness with me impatience and a little scorn. "Poor Con," said Madeleine, rousing a ;tle, and blushing a little under the child's rutiny, "how stupid we are, ar'nt we? I ould have gone to sleep if you had not me in. I think it must be the tea; that id the fire combiued. How are you gog to amuse Mr. Stevens while I am dressg for dinner?" *'I shall show him things," said Conny omptly. And Madeleine left me to amuseent. "Now for the story," I said, drawing uon7, two puzzles and a toy pump up to a ace on my knee, and stroking her curls. What's it to be about? I can tell you a Dry about anything you like," I declared shly and Conny instantly put me to open ame. "Then tell me," she said, holding on by ;r pump, and settling herself into a posion of perfect ease, with a delighted coniousness that it would be beyond my >wers, "tell me the story Madeleine tells ethe nights you don't come here." I was completely taken aback. Some ory of Madeleine ? Madeleine, whojie brilmt imagination could keep Conny quiet r an hour together? "You would never guess, I see," said >nny, "what it is, and, if you don't guess, >u can't of course, tell it. Shall I tell it you instead? I know it now as well as adeliue, I think." "You have heard it very often, then?" "Very often," assented Conny; "every ght when you don't come here, Madeleine imes and sits in that low chair, ana. takes e on her lap. She turns up her pretty ay silk, you'know, for fear I should crease , and I sit on her petticoat, and she tells e the story." "Always the same one?" "Always the same," said Conny, shaking *r curls; "but I don't get tired it's so pret , and the end is different sometimes." "The end is different, Conny ?" "There are two ends!" said Conny, exaining; "one is very pretty indeed. Madeine likes that one best. I think she tells oftenest, but somtimes she tells the other id, and then she is so quiet and grave, and ice when I kissed her, her face was all et." "I'm afraid it will be too sad, Conny; I ink I'll hear the other end first. Begin, ease." "Well, don't wriggle," said Conny, evi?ntlv be^inninff from the usual starting )int, and the story was commenced. "Once upon a time," said Conny, "there as a young lady who had two lovers, one ;ry good and one very bad. They were >th very fond of her, and very polite." onny's notion of love-making was politeiss carried to its extreme limit.) "And e liked them both, one in her heart, and le in her manner." Here Conny gave a little gasp. "Do you like it?" she asked. "Excessively," I assured her; "but I >n't understand, Conny, 'and one in her anner.' Thatwas rather odd, wasn' i it?" "I thought so," said Conny, doubtfully; rut Madeleine said, 'No, it often happen[.' And I suppose she knows." "Probably," I agreed; and the story ent on. "The good one, the one she liked in her ?art, you know, had to go away for a long me, where he couldn't see her at all. And hile he was gone the bad one came in and ought her books?story-books, I suppose? id gave her a paint box and a dog with a 2olIar, and went out for rides with her, id took her at night to hear music. Very ilite, wasn't it ?" Conny looked up in my ce, and didn't understand the expression - axr HI * A. it ^ e saw tnere. "xou uorit iik? ii?,-- sue id, "I shall leave off." "I do like it, Conny; it's ray back that akesme look so. Go on, dear. I want to sar the end. What did the young lady >? Take the things he brought her? njoy the rides and the music? Throw e absent one over?" "I don't understand you," said Connv in ,>r most sensible manner. "How cou ld she row him over when he was away; and hat should she throw him over? Very ly!" Having expressed her opinion, mny went quickly on, that she might >t be blamed for having given it. "Well! He talked and talked (the bad one d,) and said such nice things, that somemes he didn't seem bad at all, Madeleine id; though he always was really, you low. And she could not help liking him ;ry much, and thinking it would be very easant to have all his beautiful thiDgs for ;r own, and go and live with him in his le house. Did I tell you he wanted her go and live with him ?" asked Conny, eaking off. "The end, Conny; did she say she ould ?" "Why, no," said Conny, at once sensibly, id with impatience ; "that wouldn't have ;en ending happily, would it, when the her one was good ?" He was the best felw in the world. Madeleine said." "Goodness is not always appreciated," There was bitterness in my tone, and inny lifted the pump in reproof. "Always," she said, "when things end ippily." She had no intention of moralizing, but lagined she was stating a fact. "Well, Conny?" "Well, she thought all this, till she reembered the other one, and how fond he as of her, and how polite he had always sen, though he had not nearly suchbeauti1 things as the bad one had, which, of urse, prevented him from being so polite ; could have been wished. When she reembered this, she told the bad one he ight live in his fine house himself, and }ep all his beautiful things" (here Conny >t considerably excited; she spoke with tshing eyes, and hands that gesticulated, ;aling me blows with her puzzles and imp), "that she didn't want them and ouldn't live with him, becaused she loved e good one better than she had ever, ever, ved him. And so do I," said Conny, inding up rather abrubtly, and siding with rtue. "Isn't it pretty ?" The pull up was so very sudden that I i as not prepared with an eulogium. "Don't you like it?" asked Conny, clisapjinted at my silence. "It's so pretty when adeleine tells it, and much longer. I think annil if wlfh m\r wnrrlc " '*Like it ? It's perfectly charming. I as thinking it over, Con, dear. I should | je to hear the other end now." "I always say, 'If you're not tired'" said )nny, suggesting. I repeated the formula and was Indulged roctly. "The other end is pretty but very sad. i Then the good one came back he found < at the beautiful young lady?Madeleine | dn't say that she was beautiful, but I like think that she was?had?gone?so?far ith?the?bad?one" (the words came very i 3wly here; Conny was evidently speaking < 3in memory)?"that?there?was?no? awing back." < "What happened then ?" I asked; for the i ft voice broke off suddenly. "I don't know," said Connv, looking ightened. "I'm afraid she forgot the >od one, and went to live in the big house ! nong all the fine things, and that they did )t make her happy, for Madeleine cries < ?at least she does sometimes?and some- : mes she only kisses me, and sings, till I go < fto sleep in her arms, such pretty, sad ngs." There were 110 red flashes from the fire now ; the room was fast filling with shadows. "Isn't that sad?" whispered Conny, clinging to me a little, not likingthe silence, and secretly afraid of the dark. "Very sad." "It doesn't do to mind it, though," she said, trying to combine consolation with sense, "because it's only a story, and not really true, you know, I don't suppose there ever was a beautiful young lady with one bad and one good : and, you know, there were two ends, and I mean to believe the happy one. Won't you ?" "Dinner, Jack !" said a beautiful young lady in a gray silk dress; and I rose at the sound of her voice. The dinner was perfection; all my favorite dishes had been thought of. Never had I seen Prior to such advantage. He monopolized Mr. Flutters, and rarely approached the si Ik dress. Madeleine and I had it all to ourselves. Ana, cnarming as sne aiways was, she was more than ever so on this evening ; happy, I suppose, in the consciousness of her singular beauty, set off to so much advantage by the gray gown, the falling lace of which sk^ed her white shoulders and pretty wnnd arms uncovered. "Papa," said Madeleine, when dinner was half over, taking a rose from a vase and fastening it into her belt, and looking at it a moment; "isn't Splutters late ?" Splutters was the family's only boy, so called by a facetious uncle. "Is Master Tom in, John?" "Just in sir," said the butler, grinning a little; but he's all over green paint. He must have knocked up against something, I think. I was to tell you, miss ; and he'll come into dessert with Miss Constance." "Dessert!" said Prior. "I know very little of Tom, if dessert will do for him." And Madeleine piled up a plate with solids for Splutters. Presently the door of the room opened with a rush, and the hope of the house walked in, followed by the second Miss Flutters, without her pinafore. Conny pushed a chair between me and hpr sister : Snlutters nlanted himself beside me, and stared at Prior. "Late again, Splutters," said his father. "Take your elbows off the table, sir, and don't stare." "Cold !" observed Splutters discontentedly, making digs at the solids with his fork. "Cold greens and lukewarm pie! Who's goin? to eat that, I wonder ?" "I'm glad it is cold," returned his father. "If you can't come in, in time for dinner, you don't deserve to get any. No, Mat leine, he shan't have it warmed ;" for Madeleine was looking piteous, and commencing an order to the butler. "It'll not hurt him, Miss Flutters," said Prior. "I've often gone without a dinner myself before this ; it'll do him no harm." "O, won't it ?" burst out Splutters, delighted to have some one to pitch into. "How do you know ? Who are you, I should like to know, putting in your oar? You think yourself very grand, I dare say. Nobody else does." "If you're going to be impertinent, Splutters, leave the room," said Mr. Flutters. "He's so precious cheeky" Splutters exclaimed, "coming bothering here every day, and ordering me about! I've had about enougn oi mm. vvnai aoesne mean uy it: Madeleine don't wan't his books, nor him neither. Stevens is worth three of him." "Be quiet, Tom, this minute," flashed Madeleine, turning as red as the rose in her belt. "Tom's a very naughty boy, isn't he, pet ?" asked Mr. Flutters of his youngest daughter, who had listened to this edifying scene with praiseworthy attention, and had brought her whole intellect to bear upon it. "Very," returned Conny. "I don't like Mr. Prior myself, but Splutters shouldn't talk so." And Conny swept herself and her sister out of the room. All this was damping. We were so very dull that Prior, who was easily bored, preferred the society of the ladies, and absconded to the drawing room, whither I should certainly have followed him had not Mr. Flutters (who had as much tact as could have been expected from the father of such a boy as Tom) been so very anxious to know the exact point to which stupidity could carry me on the subject of "Reform," that, without positive incivility, I found it imEossible to leave him. when, however, it ad been clearly proved what a fool I was, there seemed nothing further for which to remain, and I left my future father-in-law to discuss the affairs of the nation with his son. The evening passed quietly enough, enlivened by snatches of song from Madeleine, who seemed too restless to go steadily through anything, but made the room sweet with beginnings and ends. Tea was placed on the table, and I completely swamped myself in that liquid, Madeleine holding the uncomfortable theory that the more domestic a man was the more tea he would necessarily take into his system ; So Prior and I ran a race for reputation, and Prior won by a cup. nrr tntr oai/1 fViof Viorr> nf 41* J ?T WJ . VJU1V* 4,4.44,4, MV4V ? length, admiring his hands in lavender kids, and then generously offering them all around. I assured him I was not; so, looking surprised, he took his departure. "Mr. Stevens," said Madeleine, in a low chair, quiet and grave, like the hero of Conny's story, when she had made up her mind, it would be very pleasant to have beautiful things for her own ; "J have made a mistake." I thought the assertion so very likely to be correct that I made no attempt at contradiction. "While you have been away," said Madeleine, telling a story I had heard before, "Mr. Prior made love to me, as I told you. I tried at first to prevent him, and, indeed, he knew I was engaged to you, but he went on all the same. He brought me all the last new novels, and?" '/And gave you a paint-box, and a dog with collar, and took you at night to hear music ?" Tl)e worcjs were Madeleine's, aqd she recognized them atonce for her own. "You know all!" she said. And there was silence between us. "Can you forgive me ?" she said at length, nestling up to my arms, and laying her bright head down on "T'm en enrrir Tonlr I T pfln't. J V'V/UH/i J. 1U WV UVAX J } uuviv a V1VM v think what made me do so, for I knew all along he could never make me happy, for I love you?" "Better than you could ever, ever, ever love him!" I said. "Conny told me so. O, Madeleine, darling, this is much the prettier ending of the two !" Madeleine seemed to think so also. She 3mlled through her tears, and looked up at me from under her eyelashes. "I'm so sorry," she said again. I instantly said I was sorry too (thatbeing the correct thing to say under the circumstances.) "Oh! my eye, what a game it is!" said Splutters, with his usual tact, bursting into the room at break-neck speed. "There's been such a jolly row ! The governor's been pitching into Prior about coming here, and Prior says he's left forever !" Ain't it fun ? It's an awful sell, though," said Splutters, suddenly, with a face that had lengthened considerably. "Prior was going to have given me silk-worms." "Talking of pets," I said, carelesslv, trying to attract Splutters into friendship, but scrupulously addressing Madeleine; "I am quite overrun with them, you know. I nave so many dormice I don't know what to do with them; and as to my guinea-pig?but him, of course, I must get rid of." "Give it us," said Tom, speaking in the plural, but by no means intending that Madeleine should share in the gift; and Splutters and I were friends forever. So happily the weeks went on to the eve of my wedding day. It was getting dusk, and I was sitting by the fire in the dear old drawing-room, holding Madeleine's little hand in mine, and gazing at the sweet face that was so soon to belong to my wife; when to-morrow's little bridesmaid appear ed at the door, in a white frock, and with long white mists floating backward from her pretty curls. "How very nice, Conny," I said, for she stood quite still to receive compliments; "very pretty indeed, dear." I rather wished she would go away, for I was enjoying a last tete-a-tete with Miss Flutters, and telling myself that to-morrow I should lose that young lady forever, and how would that feel? But Conny had caught sight of her sister, down on the hearth-rug, and sprang to her with a little cry of pain that made me feel a wicked brute, and completely upset poor Madeleine. "Hush, hush, darling," she said; "don't cry so, Conny. I shall soon be back, and then you're coming to stay with me, you know, and papa, and Splutters, and all." But Conny had lost all her sense. She gave herself a little shake, and the frock and the mists were much injured. "Conny,"* I said, taking her from her sister's arms, white as the veil that now hung limp around her, wet with her tears, no longer an emblem of to-morrow's joy; "listen to me. You shall keep Madeleine. I'll not take her from you." "O, hush, Jack," said Madeleine. "Poor little Conny!" But Conny herself looked up. "Really?" she asked; "not a story?" "You shall keep her," I said, "if you say so." After this there was a pause, during which I gave vent to some very affecting sighs. "What will you do?" asked Conny, at length, laying a caressing cheek against mine, and covering me up with her vail. "I ? 0,1 shall go away, Conny; the beautiful young lady won't come to me." "Was that you ?" asked Conny, in great surprise; "were you the good one, and was Madeline the beautiful young lady? Oh!" "How shall the story end, Conny?" Conny looked up with a flash of her old quickness, but the dear head went down again on my shoulder. "Shall I finish it. Conny ? said her sister, softly; and Conny's grasp tightened round my neck. "Say 'Yes,'" she whispered. So I said "Yes,'' and Madeleine finished the story. OVER A COFFIN-LID. "She?was?a?good?wife?to?me. A good wife, God bless her!" Tho nrnrrla urprp snnken in t.romhlino' ar cents over a coffin-li5. The woman asleep there had borne the heat and burden of life's long day, and no one had ever heard her murmur; her hand was quick to reach out in a helping grasp to those who fell by the wayside, and her feet were swift on errands of mercy; the heart of her husband had trusted in her; he had left her to long hoursof solitude, while he amused himself in scenes in which she had no part. When boon companions deserted him, when fickle affection selfishly departed, when pleasure palled, he went home and found her waiting for him. "Come from your long, long roving, On life's sea so bleak and rough, Come to me, tender and loving And I shall be blest enough." That had been her love-song?always on her lips or in her heart. Children had been born to them. She had reared them almost alone?they were gone! Her hand had led them to the uttermost edge of the morning that has no noon. Then she had comforted him, and sent him out strong and whole hearted while she stayed at home and?cried. What can a woman do but cry ??and trust? Well, she is at rest now. But she could not die until he had promised to "bear up," not to fret, but to remember how happy they had been. They? Yes, it is even so. For she was blest in giving, and he in receiving. It was an equal partnership after j all! ' 'She?was?a?good?wi fe?to?me." Oh! man! man! Why not have told her so, when her ears were not dulled by death? Why wait to say these words over a coffin wherein lies a wasted, weary, gravhaired woman, whose eyes haveso long held that pathetic story of loss and suffering and patient yearning, which so many women's eyes reveal?to those who read. Why not have made the wilderness in her heart blossom like the rose with the prodigality of your love? Now you would give worlds? were they yours to give?to see the tears of joy your words would have once caused, bejeweling the closed windows of her soul. It is too late. We have careful thoughts for the stranger, And smiles for the sometime guestBut oft to our own The bitter tone, Though wo love our own the best. Dttroit Free Press. Daily Service.?Each has his calling, in which he is placed to serve God and his fellowman; each has there his real sphere of Christian growth. And it is, I maintain, the sacred truth of our religion, without which we lose its whole living power, that there is no intrinsic division between the holy and the secular vocation. It tells the tradesman that he is to follow it as "his Father's business;" the professional man, that to curb diseases, or expound the law, or give himself to any toil, is a ministry of unrisi. mere tire peculiar uuues which our religion asks?duties of worship, of prayer, of abstinence and discipline, to be recognized by each. There are seasons of retirement from the busy world, for nearer communion with God. But the aim and only end of them all is our refreshing for the activities of daily life. It is no part of our piety to retreat from the temptations or prefer other ways of life, like the weak monarch who gave up his throne for monk's gown, or the poor monk of Morrone, who, when the pontifical chair needed a stern reformer, fled back to his cell and was justly lashed by Dante for his^granrifiuto." There are those who may choose a recluse religion. I will not blame them, if God has placed them there. But I will insist that the purest, noblest, manliest, most symmetrical Christian character is that we gain in the walk of active life; and the graces that are its fruitage, are the real ones of a household virtuo, of honor and truth and social kindness in the interchange of men, of unselfish duty in the calling, private or public, wherein we serve our noly Master.?Rev. E. A. Washburn, D. />., in Christian Union. The First Steam Whistle.?The first kind of whistle that steam was applied to was an adaptation of the common toy whistle. It did not work well, and was devoid of any leading capability for ear-piercing noise. The cup whistle was invented by one William Stephens, a workman in the Dowlais iron works, in Wales about sixty years ago. Mr. Stephens seemed to have no idea wnat noise ins invention was destined to make in the world, for it was not patented, nor was its worth proclaimed beyond the borders of the Welsh hills. A workman belonging to Sharp & Roberts, engineers and machine builders, of Manchester, England, having gone to Wales to do some work, was struck with the novelty of the cup whistle, and made a rough sketch of it, which he carried to Manchester. Mr. Sharp, who was a very sagacious mechanic, and afterwards did the principal business of introducing the Giffaru injector, saw that the steam whistle might be useful on railways, which were then in their infancy, so he commenced making it.?American Machinist. j?"* Although our language contains about 125,000 words, Shakspeare made 15,000 answer his purpose, and Milton was able to get along witn 8,000. The Old Testament contains only 6,000 words. A child does not employ more than 100 words, and few practiced speakers require more than 10,000. According to Max Muller, a well educated person who reads his Bible and Shakspere and all the best literature seldom uses more than 4,000 words in conversation. A writer needs a more copious vocabulary than a speaker. These points show that a scholarly mastery of the English language, sufficient for all the purposes of forcible speaking and writing, is a difficult achievement. JWistfllaufous Reading, a Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. BODY AND SOUL. BY .MRS. M. W. STRATTON. The chamber was darkened, the shutters c were closed. All "the pride, pomp and cir- ^ cumstance," which attend any important j episode in a rich man's life, or gild the story j of a rich man's death, was there, and on a ^ luxurious bed was extended the emaciated ^ body of a dying millionaire, and fierce was c the struggle between that pampered body c and a soul panting to escape from its sin- c polluted cage. The trembling lips poured fi forth wild prayers, and besought the soul to stay yet a little longer; there was so much c to do?so much more to undo. The church j. had been a cloak, an ample cover here, but r had fallen off at the portal of the dread j hereafter. Religion had been only a pre- ^ tense, the solemn "amen !"?the clasped c hands?the deep groans during revivals were J the tricks of an actor, but the hypocrite of , a life time was now on the border of that j higher world where no pretense could avail, , and the failing body writhed in cowardly j anguish. j The Soul bade Conscience answer the wild ^ appeal. Conscience stood forth, and in a j low, distinct voice, asked stern and start- \ ling questions: "Didst thou not in early , manhood turn coldly from the good old J father who had reared thee, and repay the 1 care and affection of a tender mother with ] heartless neglect aud unkindness? Hon- j or thy father and thy mother, saith the 1 Book." I A cry of anguish answered. , "Dost thou remember, long years ago, ( how thou didst creep into the heart of a fair j young girl, in humble station, and write j thy name on its unspotted page in words j that no time, no change, no circumstance ( ever did efface, and when thy fickle fancy ( wandered off, how thou didst coldly see her ] droop, and die of what men called 'con- ] sumption'? Thou shalt do 110 murder, c oni+h fV>?>'Rrtnlr " "Anel onnHior vniinff irr_ OUiUll UIV^ X/UUUf X A.11U UUWVtlVl ) J VUlig ) | norant and a child of povertv, but strong in , her purity, whom thou diclst follow with ( thy sly unmeaning gallantry till the world ( looked coldly on her, and on thine own villainous lip rested a sneer that devils loved, and will reward ? And remember how thou didst perjure the Soul that would now forsake thee, when the good name of this pure maiden thou didst shrug, insinuate, and even lie to blacken? 'Thou shalt not lie,' saith the Book." "Dost thou remember the widow whom thou didst wrong by keeping from her the mouey thou didst justly owe her husband, because she had no paper to show against thee ? Didst thou not see her stitch, stitch, stitch, till the color left her cheek, and the light faded from her eye ? and when in the depth of her misery, she craved of thee a trifling loan, didst thou not bid her V70 work V when her weakness rendered her as unfit to do so, as thy own bloated corpulency rendered thee. Thou shalt not steal, saith the Book." "Hast thou not seen the orphan suffer? Hast thou not often kept the workiugman out of his well-earned wages, through some petty spite, or culpable carelessness, till nearly frantic with want he was willing to sacrifice half to get the rest to buy bread for his family, while thou wast pampered with dainties? Do unto others as tnou * wouklst they should do unto thee, saith the Book." "Didst thou ever enter a poor man's home, when he lay as thou dost now, and minister to his comfort ? And thou who didst never fail to swell the procession who followed the rich man to his grave, didst thou ever so honor the poor and friendless ? Charity covereth up a multitude of sins, saith the Book." "And thy wife who weeps, though the blight of her existence is passing away, what reward hast thou given her long years of devotion? What but daily disappointments?dispelled illusions?a faded cheek, a tear-dimmed eye, and premature age?" There came no answer. Conscience questioned no more, for the Body ceased its impotent struggles?the white lips writhed in a vain effort to cry once more for mercy, the eyes with one last look of horror, closed forever, and the impatient Soul winged its flight?Where? Columbia, June 1884. + + ? ANDY JOHNSON'S SECRET. Said a prominent public man in New York the other day: I don't want to boast but I was prominent enough during the war and the years which followed it up to 1870, A- 1 -1 1 1 1 ? A XTr L! A f to oe consiuereu soineuuuy ui< wusnmgiuu, * and to have almost free access to Mr. Lin- c coin, Mr. Johnson and their respective cab- \ inets. And as to the execution of Mrs. c Surratt, I think 1 know the inside history a of that most glaring wrong as well as most people, even, who took an active part in i compassing it. To begin at the beginning, t Mrs. Surratt was tried by a millitary com- a mission for complicity in the assassination t of President Lincoln and the attempt on the t life of Secretary Seward; and in accordance c with the findings of the commisson, she was 1 executed in July, 1865, three months after c the assassination. Andrew Johnson, who c had become President, had been covertly y and openly importuned and petitioned for a t pardon, commutation, or even reprieve, and ri the prayers of the unfortunate lady's daugh- n ter were joined by many in public and pri- e vate life ; but the conditions were such that ^ Mr. Johnson could not see his way clear to e interfere. The appointed day arrived, and r Mrs. Surratt was executed, on Capitol Hill, y while her daughter lay fainting on the steps o of the White House, repulsed from the 1 President's presence by bayonets ordered s by Edwin M. Stanton, Secretary of war, and b refused a word of favor by Preston King, e who since committed suicide in the North v River. I think it was in the month of o December, 1865,1 was stopping at Willard's i' hotel, in Washington. Diningone Saturday d evening with four friends, it was suggested n after cigars had been lighted, that we make tl a call on President Johnson, the proposition C was agreed to by all except one of my a friends. Four of us?General James B. n Stedman, Felix McClosky, Cornelius Wen- a dell, public printer, and myself, sauntered p along Pennsylvania avenue, and by tho o time our cigars were exhausted reached the c White House. We found the President tl nlnno hnf mnnrlv nnrl ovfrlpntlv rlpnrpS5r?H. V Several unimportant topics were discussed. I was speaking with Mr. McClosky and a General Stedman, and President Johnson v was talking in a low tone of voice to Mr. tl Wendell, when he suddenly turned and C said: p "It has been told me that there are ru- tl mors about the hotels in the city that a peti- w tion was sent to me in behalf of Mrs. Surratt, v praying for a pardon, and that all the mem- c< bers of the commission which tried her ex- J cept one, signed it; have you heard of any o thing to that effect?" We answered in one q voice: "No, Mr. President." Mr. Johnson ti continued that he was assured that such was o: the fact, and that he would await develop- b ? ~ IITA j) :,i i./-v <IT u^r>..^1 7 lllClllO. iU'Ua^j C3HIK.L 11CJ X i,(*VU llvttiu of such a petition for the first time. I resisted the importunities of private individuals, and was greatly distressed, but could C not see my way clear to interfere." He h was right in his own mind, and he took ei the only safe course, for there weife 10,000 oi men in and around the White House night h and day ready to kill Andrew Johnson had e< he proceeded on his own motion, or yield- F ed to the preasure that was brought to bear, d' to even postpone Mrs. Surratt's execution, sj Was there such a petition ? Certainly, I do tt not know who started it, or whether it was pi not of the "round robin" nature where no cl one in particular moves. In due course the F petition was placed in the hands of Joseph. F Holt, head of the department of justice, to h transmit to the President, but he and Stan- D ton combined to suppress it. It was con- hi struct!ve manslaughter, for, backed by the di word of those who tried her,- and with a^ his own broad sagacity to see the injustice tr of the whole proceedings, president John- J on would have commuted the death penlty; and the people, blood-thirsty and lamorous as they were, would have acquired in that action, when inspired by uch public favorites as General Geary, Lew Wallace, Hunter, and others of the commision. So certain were the chief army offers that the President would act favoraoly in that most potent pressure that General >V. S. Hancock, of his own motion, stood in Pennsylvania avenue, with signalmen staioned at the White House, on top of the reasury building and Capitol Hill, so that hey could telegraph down in a minute. Of ourse the matter of the petition was kept luiet, but it was known to the leading army ifficers, among whom it was regarded as a ort of professional secret. The signers, herefore, made no mention of it, for they, apposing the President had ignored it, felt oo mortified at the supposed cavalier treatnent to make themselves subjects of comnent. Gen. Hancock had an idea that at he last moment, mayhap, the President's jreat heart and solicitude to do exactly ight would prompt him to sign acommulication, and so had everything prepard for ts reception. Gen. Hancock would have -imirontofl Uio ovonii+iAn hnrl tho Prosiilpnt nade a sign, if it would have obliged him ;o turn his soldier's bayonets against Stan;on himself. But President Johnson was 11 and abed in the western part of the White fiouse, and the War Department was in jossession ; at its door there was neither ingress nor egress. Archbishop Spaulding, of Baltimore, the Roman Catholic primate of America, bearing the Presidents "card of access at any lour," was repulsed by Dr. Drake McKay, ;hen captain of the provost guard, now in Dublic service in this city. On the evening >f our visit, Mr. Johnson was greatly agita;ed, and did not spare invective in expressng his opinion of Joseph Holt, recognizing ;hat that functionary had done him and the ;ountry an injustice and cast upon them mdless odium. And to the day of his death President Johnson bore a weight at his leart, placed there by Stanton and Holt, Stanton committed suicide, and Holt is livng in Washington, a miserable, morose old nan. I write to place the truth of the exe:ution cf Mrs. Surratt on record and to vinlicate the memory of Andrew Johnson. THE FIRST COPPER CENTS. Our copper coins, as well as those of other jountries, in numbers exceeding all othir coins, have been submitted to many fanatic changes. Rude everywhere as they originally appeared, the most extensive abrlcation has added little grace to relieve ;hem from being everywhere "common and mclean." The copper coins issued in Engand, by Charles II., possessed intrinsic valle equal to their nominal value?Charles XII., of Sweden, however made copper joins of less weight than that of our earliest jopper cent, and then paid them to his arny as the value of a silver dollar. It is some gratification to find our treatment of a jopper a little less heroic than that of the Swede. The earliest American copper coins made jy any r?raie were maue at xvupert, in vernont, and before Vermont had been adnitted into the Union. A mint was there istablished for eight or ten years, having a capacity to stamp sixty coppers per minute, lpon which the so-called "baby-head" godless of liberty appeared ; but truth compels ue to say that this goddess was no more iomely than that on the coins of the present day, although she was a hundred years rounger. The owner of the mint, Reuben tiarmon, was bound to pay the State per jent. for his privilege. At first these coins oassed two for a penny, then four and then ' ?ight, when they no longer paid for their lost, mainly on account of the sudden comaetition in other States, and of the large mportations of Birmingham hardware, :ommodly called "Bungtown Coppers." We had no protective tariff then, and we mve none now, against "Bungtowns," .vhether of copper or silver. In 1787, by authority of Congress, a con;ract was made with James Jarvis, for 300 ;ons of copper coins of the Federal standird, and cents were coined at the New Ila^en mint, of the following description: On me side 13 circles linked together, a small circle in the middle, with the words, "we ire one;" on the the other side, a sun dial, ind below the dial the words, "Mind your msiness." In 1792 Congress authorzed the coinage of a :opper cent weighing 264 grains, which was educed, in 1793, to 208 grains on which the o-called "booby-head" appears, and in 1857 o 72 grains, of which 88 per cent, was to be opper and 12 per cent, nickel. In 1884 t was once more reduced, to 48 grains?95 >er cent, of copper and 5 per cent of tin ir zinc. Finally, in 1882. the last change vas made, to three-fourths of copper and ?ne fourth of nickel, but the weight remains it 48 grains. The frequent and wide alterations which lave been made in our copper coins show hat intrinsic value has almost vanished, nd they bear almost no proportional value o other coins; but at the start when copper >ore a much higher price, the weight of the ent was fixed at five and a half times what t is now. In the southern portion of our ountry, and especially on the Pacific coast, oppercoins have been as uncurrent as the 'ellowcolored Chinamen, or for a long time hey were practically tabooed, and even iow they are unwelcome travelers, much in iced of a passport. Wherever not altogethr snubbed, tne copper cent must pass, as Vood's notable copper coins must have passd in America or Ireland, far above any eal value, and with little other merit be'ond that of the dusky color now supplied n its lace to our recent Indian image of .liberty. After common use these coins asume a deeper Ethiopia complexion, and ecome petty nuisances?scents as well as ents?redolent of many coppery smells, i'hich are easily transmitted to other coins, r to anything with which they hold pocket utercourse. Copper, as a metal is wonrously useful, daily becoming more so, but either Lycurgus nor Hamilton would at his day think of stamping it as money, 'ertainly we can do better. If the cent and nH O.fiont n/iina ware nrtw rnarin U'hnllv nf ickel, the Government would obtain an mple seignorage; and nickel, when comared with swarthy copper, is immaculate, r clean and bright. The importance of the ent coinage will be realized, when we find hat over 40,000,000 pieces were coined last ear. The Chinese and Japanese bronze coins re of very light weignt, of angular form, rith a hole in the centre, and some of hem are quite equal to other exhibitions of riental art which are now received with ublic favor. The specimen of an unaulorized cent made by our mint in 1850, dth a round hole in the center, suggests *hat might be done, if not with a nickel 3iit, perhaps with a half dime of silver, 'he present nickel half dimes are so nearly f the same diameter and thickness of a uarter dollar that they are not readily disnguished; but with a perforation, square r round, in the centre, all confusion would e remedied, as well by touch as by sight.? "rom Senator MorriWs Speech on the Coinage. ? Suicide to Avoid Death.?The case of harles Ford is a very curious one. It was e who killed Jesse James, the great "Westrn robber. Ford belonged to James' gang f thieves, and he was induced to murder is chief because of the large reward offeri by Governor Crittenden, of Missouri, ord was given the money and a free jiaron. He was then engaged by a theatrical )eculator, who exhibited him throughout le country; but the enterprise was not a ecuniary success. Robbers and murderers o not make a good amusement attraction, ord subsequently lived a miserable life, [e was tortured by the fear that some of is former associates were on his track, ay aqd night the spectre of the avenger iiunted him, and life became so great a buren to him that he finally killed himself to raid being killed. Verily, the way of the ansgressor is hard.?Demorest Monthly for \ily.