Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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. "" _. lewis m. grist, proprietor, J Jmlepcmtynt ^familo Jtapapcr: <jjoi[ fhi; ?rorootion of tta| Jjolitiiiat, Social, ^{jrjcitltural and (Commercial Jntcr^sts of tin; ^outlt. |terms?$2.00 a year in advance. vot, RR. YORKYILLE, S. C., WEDISTESDA-Y, APRIL 13, 1892. NO. 15. ar>a em FVftnenBv he eilowlv # " HY JULIAN I [Copyright, 1892, by D. Apploton A Co., " CHAPTER L 'Superb1. 1 dont know when 1 have era finer, Tom, really!*' "Ahr said Tom. complacently handling his left whisker. "And," ho added, after a moment or two?"and thereby hangs a tale!" It was after dinner?after one of Tom Uainsborongirt snog, inimitable little dinners; only we three?Tom, his wife and myself, and a couple of negro afctendAnbL as well trained and less over powering than the best of the native English stock; and that charming dining room, jost big enough, just cool enough, soft carpeted, clear walled, and the steady, white radiance of the Argand Darners descending upon the damask tablecloth, crowned with fruits and flowers; and an agreeable shadow over the rest of the room, so that those sable servitors con Id perform their noiseless evolutions unseen, and a pervading eease of unconscious good breeding and unobtrusive wealth; and?but 1 will not speak of the china; 1 will not descant upon Tom's wines; 1 don't wish to make "And U\erel>y knngt a tale.'' other people envious. Only it was all inexpressibly good, from fascinating Mrs. Gainsborough and her diamonds, down. I felt a peculiar interest in Mrs. Gainsborough. because, in addition to her other attractions, she was a countrywoman of mine?that is to say, an American. She was a bmnetto, slender, ! graceful, with a weinl expression of the eyes nnder straight, black eyebrows, an ! expression which somehow suggested mesmerism?or. perhaps, a liability on her part to be mesmerized; faultless tnroat and shoulders, and bands and wrists that she could talk with, almost Where had Tom found her? 1 never had ; thought of asking bim, she was a Virginian. very likely?an "F. F V."?and they bad doubtless met upon the Continent This was the first occasion on which 1 bad seen her in her diamonds. Indeed. Tom and she had only been marvi&H a foQ r or tnm and had been settled In that bijon residence of theirs scarcely six months, and this was bat my third or fourth dinner there. Well, her diamonds became her, and she them; they somehow matched that weird light in her eyes, and 1 told Tom as much when, after dinner, she withdrew and left as over our wine. "And thereby hangs a tale," repeated be, thoughtfully reaching his hand toward the decanter and filling my glass and hJsown. -??? Mow it seemed to me entirely in aooordance with young Mrs. Gainsborough's "style" that there should have been something odd and romantic in the circumstances of her first acquaintance with Tom, and that diamonds should be mixed up with it. Therefore 1 was more than willing to give ear to the strange story which be proceeded to relate to ma imagine the servants dismissed, a fresh lump of coal in the grate, the decanter between us and our legs and elbows disposed in the most comfortable manner possible. Then this is the story. CHAPTER IL "rlThese are aU I^UinsLoncs,'' was DlrcK more1! first rertuirk. The diamonds, 70a mast know, have been ever so long in oar family. It is said they were brought from India in the time of Marco Polo by an ancestor of mine. Bnt that is neither here nor there, and snre euongh. they were only pat into their present shape quite rel can remember when half of them jrere nncnt, or cat in some bar- 1 barons, oriental manner, picturesque enoagh bat not fashionable. And some were mounted as nose rings, some as clasps some in the hilts of daggers and m all sorts of other ways. When 1 was a child 1 was sometimes allowed to play with some of the loose ones as a treat, antil at last 1 contrived to lose one of the biggest. Von may not believe it Cat the governor actually horsed me ind gave me a birching, and the dia- I moods were locked np from that day. It was only a few years ago that my dear mother, now no more, got them oat and insisted upon their being made ; up into a regular set by some skillful jeweler. We were thinking of going to Koine ? at the ttmelb spend six or eight months. and the first idea was to give the job to Castellani Bnt then it appeared that my mother had got her eye fixed upon a certain man in Paris, who Bhe had been told was the first lapidary in Europe. He,-and none but be, should set our diamonds. Yon know my mother generally bad her way, and she had it in this case. The fellow certainly did understand his business; bis work waa well done, as you may have noticed this evening A queer, pale, nervous little chap be was; not a Frenchman at all bnt a Saxon, born in Dresden, 1 believe, or some village in that neighborhood. His name was Rudolph?Heinrich Rudolph. He lived and worked in a little dark shop in the Latin quarter. He and 1 became quite intimato. You see, 1 had been commissioned to attend to this diamond business and to remain in Paris nntil it was done. 1 was to watch it through all its stages, and be snre that my mother's directions regard ing the style of the setting were accurately followed. When all was finished 1 was to pay the bill and bring the diamonds on to Rome, where the family would by that time be established. Well, i was a young fellow, just feeling my oats, and probably 1 was not much cast ; down at the prospect of spending a month or two alone in Paris, as you might suppose. But 1 doubt whether 1 should have attended to my ostensible business so faithfully as 1 actually did had 1 not been so greatly taken with my little friend Rudolph He and 1 "twigged* one another, as boys say. from the first. 1 used to sit and watch him work for i hours at a time, and as be worked be would talk, and very queer, captivating j talk a good deal of it was. He was a thorough artist and enthusiast, and ; seemed to care for nothing outside of his profession. He did not appear to me ; to be in the way of making much money and it occurred to me that it might be acceptable were 1, in an unobtrusive way, to introduce him to some wealthy customers. 1 knew few DeoDle in Paris: 0 IAWTIIOUNE. and published by special arrangement] but there whs a Mr Birchmore. an American geutlenmu, staying at my hotel, With whom 1 had foregathered over a cup of coffee and a cigar once or twice; he was a handsome, middle aged man, with an atmosphere of refined affluence about him snch its would have befitted a duke. Not a hit tike your traditional Yankee, in fact. I'm not sure that 1 should have suspected him if I hadn't seen his address?"Fifth avenue, New York city, U. S. A."?in the hotel register about a week after my arrival. He was an agreeable man enough, though not at all the sort to take liberties with; however, I made up my miud that 1 would get him to Rudolph's on the first pretest that offered. Well, 1 had an excel leut pretext before long. Mr. Birchmore came into the cafe one afternoon, with rather an annoyed look, and made some inquiries of the waiter. Francois raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders; there was some further conference, and then he and Mr. Birchmore began searching about the floor of the room. It presently transpired that he had lost a diamond one or nis ring, wmcu uhu i'unutium three matched brilliants. It was nowhere to be found. "1 dont mind the loss of the stone itself," said Air. Birehmore at last, sitting down near my table; "but it's one of a Bet matched with great difficulty, and I'm afraid 1 may never replace it" Here was my opportunity. I set forth the wisdom, skill and resources of my little Saxon friend in glowing colors; mentioned the work he was doing for me, and declared that if any tuau in Europe could help Mr. Birchiuore to repair his loss, Rudolph was he. Mr. Birehmore at first isaid little heed to my representations, bnt finally 1 induced him to accompany me to the Latin quarter, and at least make the attempt The next morning, accordingly, we set forth, and as we sauntered along the wide, pleasant boulevards our conversation became more free aud affable than it had been hitherto. 1 found my companion could be exceedingly entertaining wben he chose it, and had a vast fund of experience and ad venture to draw upon. He hail been almost everywhere; he had made himself familiar with all varieties of civilized and uncivilized men; as a matter of coarse, too he was a versatile linguist. The only direction in which he gave any evidence of comparative deficiency was in that of literature and the fine arts. His life bad been essentially atactive one; he cared little for Tennyson aud Swinburne, for Matthew Arnold and Carlyle. He had, however, read and appreciated "Macbeth." and some other of Shakespeare's plays, and he was well acquainted with several of the romances if "Unabashed Defoe." 1 did not discover all this in the coarse of that one stroll over to the Latin quarter, bnt it leaked ont daring onr subsequent acnnaintance. which was destined to be come more intimate and prolonged than I had any idea of then. As 1 have intimated, Mr. Birchmore was qnite frank and open in his talk except upon one topic?himself. Of his inner life and circumstances 1 conld learn nothing. Though he uever was obtusely reticent, yet he contrived never to refer to his own private ftfFalwL 1 could not satisfy myse'f "WfieihOT"he were married'or singto, whether he were a Catholic or atheist? hardly whether he were rich or poor. Some shadow of grief, some incubus of fear or calamity seemed to overwhelm fiim and impose silence. The most 1 could do was to draw inferences, and my inference was that lie was a bachelor, a millionaire, a skeptic and a ruan who at some period of his life had committed, either deliberately or by force of circumstances, a terrible crime! \ on will see presently bow far my estimate was from the troth, or how near to it. However. 1 am anticipating, us it Is. We arrived in dne time at Rudolph's little shop and 1 introduced him to pkchmore. I had previously told the latter about my diamonds and now 1 made Rudolph produce them The man of the world examined the gems with evident interest and with a knowledge of their value and qualities which surprised me and caused the little jeweler to eye my friend with a keenness that 1 took to indicate jealousy "These are all Indian stones," was Birchmore's first remark. "There is not an American among them?or, stay I What is this? neither an American nor an Indian I An African, 1 declare, and one of the finest 1 have seen!" "Der Herr hat Recht!" muttered Rudolph, with a glance at tne. "Erversteht ttllcs, "You know (German? He says what you don't know about diamonds isn't worth knowing." 1 put in Birchmore nodded with a half smile. "1 ought to know something about precious stones," he said. "I spent three years in a diamond mine for one thing.' He seemed on the point of saying more, but checked himself, and went on scrutinizing the stones, most of which were jlready iq their new setting. "A costly parure, that," he remarked at length. "It wouldn't sell for a penny under thirty thousand pounds." "Five hundred and eighty-live thousand francs, with the setting," replied Rudolph, to whom the words had been addressed "Monsieur's estimate would have been correct but tbat this stone here is a little off color and this one has a slight flaw, which is now in part concealed by the setting." "You travel under proper precautious. I trust?" Baid Birchmore after a pause, turning gravely to me. "1 know the confidence you young fellows have in your courage and cleverness, but a dozen or a score of thieves might conspire together for such a prize as this, aud against their skill and address no single man would stand a chance. Ah! I know something of it 1 was robbed once." "Do tell me about it," 1 exclaimed, with an impulsive betrayal of interest that made me smile the next moment "Another time," said he, shaking his head; and presently he added, "You will pardon me for presuming to counsel you?" "My dear sir, 1 am much obliged to you. My idea is that the simplest precautions are the best. 1 shall carry the stones in an inner pocket and I shall go armed. No one will suspect mo, and if 1 am attacked 1 shall make a good defense at all events." Mr. Birchmore said nothing more, and indeed seemed scarcely to listen to my remarks. I now suggested to him that he might show Rudolph his ring. lie put his hand to his waistcoat pocket and gave a half suppressed ejaculation of disappointment and annoyance. He had left the riner at homo! "No matter; 1 will call tomorrow, Herr Rudolph," he observed. "I've no doubt 1 shall find what I want here, if anywhera Good morning?that is. if you are ready, Mr. Gainsborough? By the way, Rudolph, 1 suppose you put your treasures in a safe at night?" "Oh, by all means, Herr," replied the little Saxon. 'And 1 have a watchman also, who guards all night long." "A prudent fellow; yes, that will do," murmured Mr. Birchmore in an undertone to himself. Then, with a partiug nod and smile, to which the jeweler did not respond, ho sauntered out, 1 following him. We walked back to the hotel. 1 did not see him again until after dinner, when he offered me a cigar, and when we had smoked together awhile in Bilence he said abruptly: "I've found that stone." 1 looked at him inquiringly. "The diamond out of my ring. In my trousers pocket, of all places in tho worldl Fell out while 1 was groping for iny 1 keys, I suppose. Sorry to have raised false hopes in your friend Rudolph. By the way, he'll have finished that job of ! yours before very long." "In about a week, I fancy 1 shall be ! 6orry to leave Paris." "Yes? Well, it is a nice place; but i one gets tired of the nicest places in ! time. 1 do. I like to be moving." "1 shall have a month to spend on my ; way to Rome. This is almost my first ! experience of the Continent. 1 wish 1 j I had some traveling, companion who j knew tho ropes." This hint I let fall in j the hope that he might propose to join I me, but as he made no rejoinder 1 at | length ventured to put it moro plainly. : 1 gave a rough sketch of the route I pro1 posed to follow, asked his opinion upon i~ and finally said that should his in- i clination lead him also in that direction j I should bo very glad of his company. "Well, sir, I'm obliged to yon," re- l > plied Mr. Birchmore after a pause of : some moments. "You couldn't pay a ! man a better compliment than to ask him to travel with you; and 1 would ac- | eept your offer as frankly and fearlessly j (is you make it, only?well, the fact is, j l.'m not so entirely at my own disposal . as I may appear to you to bo. 1 have , been tnrougu a guou mau^ u^ucuMa > jin life, and some of tho consequences are ; upon me still. When yon have reached ! my age?if you ever do reach it?you ! will understand me better. 1 suppose 1 | I may be fifteen years your senior; well, | fifteen years means a good deal?a good i deal." He puffed a meditative cloud or | two and then added, "You're not hurt? ; You see how it is? 1 would really like ' to accompany you?but 1 cant" Of course 1 warmly disavowed all re- I sentment, and felt inwardly ashamed of having forced him, by the freedom of my advances, into making this explana; tion. Meanwhile, 1 could uot help lik- j i ing him better than ever and feeling, i more than ever interested, not to say j J curious, about him. It was now certain 1 that some mystery or other attached to ; I him. 1 cost covert glances at him in 1 I the vain attempt to read something of j his secret through his outward aspect. ! But he was inscrutable, or rather there I I was nothing especially noticeable in > : him His face, as 1 have said, was : handsome in its contours; he wore a [ heavy mustache and a short, pointed j beard on his chin. His forehead was , I wide across the temples, bnt low, and ; dark brown hair, rather stiff, and 1 6treaked here and there with gray, grew j thickly over his head. His hands were large and hairy up to the second joints of the fingers, but they were finely and 1 powerfully formed and the fingers Ui- i pered beautifully, with nails smoothly cut and polished. In figure he was above the medium size and appeared strongly built, though j | he had complained to me more than ' i once of rheumatism or 6ome other bodily i | failing. In walking he took rather i j short steps for a tall man and without ! I any swaying of the shoulders, his hands | being generally thrust in the Bide pock- j | ets of his coat and his face inclined to- j : ward the ground. Bnt his eyes?large, 1 ! bright and restless?were his most reI markable feature. They appeared to ' take note of everything; they were sel- ! ; dom fixed and never introspective. ; j Compared with the general immobility ! j of the rest of his countenance, these eyes j of Mr. Birchmore seemed to have a life I of their own. and a very intense and watchful one. I OThAnfivfir thev met mine fullv (which ! was but seldom, and then only for a moment at a time) 1 was conscious of a kind of start or thrill, as if a fine spray of icy water had swept my face. What had those eyes looked npon, or what wwit that larked behind them? "We may run across each other again ?hope we may," Baid Mr. Birchmore when I shook hands with him at parting a few days later. "Glad to have met you, Mr. Gainsborough?very glad, sir." i "Thanks; I am glad to have met you. Your acquaintance has profited me not i a little." "Oh, as to that," said Mr. Birchmore, with a smile and one of those startling, ; straightforward glances into my eyes? ; "as to that the profit will have been mutual, to say the least of it Goodbyl" | j ^ CHAPTER HI j I "/ am M^ If you please, ^ sir." My route to Italy was rather a round- { i about one. Instead of running down to : Marseilles, and so on via Civita Vecchia ; to Rome, I set off eastward and crossed Germany, passing through Cologne, J Frankfort-ou-the-Main and Nuremberg, | thence 1 proceeded to Leipsic, and at ; length brought up in Dresden. It was my intention to go from there southward ! through Switzerland to Venice, and thus j I to make my approach to the Eternal City. Dresden, however, detained me longer than 1 expected. It was in August that , I reached it; there were not many people in town, but I was delighted j with the gallery, with tho picturesque 6weep of the river and with the green j 6hado and good music of the Grosser garten. There were several charming \ j drives, too, in the neighborhood; and as ! i for tho beer, it was really a revelation to a man who had never known any thing less heavy and solid than Allsopp's i pale ule. 1 had put up at the Hotel do Saxe. a : broadsided old building on one side of a large, irregular "Platz," called, 1 believe, the NeumarUfc. My landlord, who | was a young gentleman of great j>er- i I 6onal attractions, interested himself a | , good deal about my amusements; and one day he happened to ask mo whether 1 ; had visited a region known as Saxon i Switzerland. This, it appeared, was a j mountainous district some twenty miles I up the Elbe, in which was solved tho j j problem of putting the greatest amount 1 of romantic picturesqueness into tho smallest possible compass. It was a I land of savage rocks, wild precipices and profound gorges, conveniently ' grouped within tho limits of a good day's tramp. It comprised all the sublime and startling features of your Yosemite valley in California, with an area about equal to tho summit of one ! of tho tablo bluffs in that region. 1 packed my valiso for u sojourn of J two or three days among theso pocket Alps, put my diamonds in tnat secure inner pocket and took a drosky for ; tho railway station. Tho trip to Schandau (tho principal village of Saxon Switzerland) can also bo mado by steamer, but after discussing the pros and cons of rival routes with my host of tho hotel tho evening previous, : I had decided to go by rail, which pro- j vides nearly half as much pretty 6cenery as the river road, and takes up less than j a fourth as much time. 1 alighted at tho station door somewhat late, and having given my trunk ' ! in charge of a porter was hurrying to I get my ticket, when my attention was ; caught by a young lady who was stand, ing on tho platform in an attitude that ! bespoke suspense and anxiety. Her veil was down, but from tho slender eloI ganco of her figure and tho harmonious j perfection of her costumo 1 could not doubt that her face was beautiful. EviI dently she was not a German; had sho ! been a thought less tastefully dressed 1 j 6liould have 6aid sho was an English ; ' girl. As it was 6ho might bo cither an 1 Austrian or an American. Even then I rather inclined to the latter hypothesis. She appeared to bo entirely alone, but ehe was scanning with ill concealed eagerness the crowd that was entering the station as if in search of a familiar face. When her glance fell upon me 1 fancied that she took an impulsive step in my direction, but she checked herself immediately and looked away While 1 was hastily debating within myself whether or not it would be "the thing'' for mo to go up and ask her if she needed any assistance, I saw a dienstmann or carrier come up the steps, and taking off his cap deliver her a note. She tore it nervously open, threw back her veil impatiently and ran her eyes over the contents. Beautiful she was, indeedl My anticipations had been behind the truth on that score. Such strange, mystical, dark eyes underneath level, black eyebrows 1 had never seen. But jnst then there was an expression of dismay and distress in them that made me half forget to remember their fascination. She now addressed the carrier, seemingly in broken German, for he evidently did not well understand her, and the answer he made appeared to increase iter I embarrassment. Her slender foot tapped the stone pavement; she read the note once more, crushed it up in her hand, and then her arms fell listlessly at her sides with an air almost of despair. She looked this way and that neipiessiy. By thia time several persous besides myself had observed her bewilderment, and 1 thought 1 perceived that a certain fat old Jew, wearing a number of glittering rings and a very massive watch chain, was inclined to take advantage of it. TTiis decided me 011 my course of action; 1 came quickly forward, as if 1 had just caught sight of her, and lifting my hat with an air of respectful acquaintanceship 1 said in French: "If mademoiselle will permit me. 1 may perhaps be of some use." "Her veil, either accidentally or of design, dropped again over her face as she j turned it toward rue. 1 knew that she was scrutinizing me with a woman's intuitive sight, and I tried to look as guileless and respectful as I am sure I felt. In a moment she tusked: "Monsieur est il Francais?" "I'm an Englishman," 1 aiLswered, blushing a little, 1 dare say, ut her implied criticism of my imperfect accent. "Oh, 1 am gladl 1, too. urn almost English?1 am American. But I don't know how 1 can be helped, really.'"Some friend has missed an appointment?' "Yes, indeedi Oh, dearl it's worse than that. It's my father." "You were going by the train? "There has been some stupid mistake. I'm sure 1 don't know what 1 shall do. We had arranged to start at ten o'clock this morniug. and 1 started first, because ! I wanted to do some shopping ou the | way down. 1 understood that we were j to rendezvous here. But he did not come at ten, and I sent a dienstmann to the hotel; and now he h:is brought word from the hotel keeper that jwqKi started by the ten o'clock steamboat. 1 had not understood that it was to be the steamboat, you see: and I'm left here all alone." "But if you took the next train, you would still arrive two or three hours before him; that is?may 1 ask where yon are going?' "Oh, I think Schandau is the name of the place." "Schandau? Oh, then it's all right There is a train starts immediately." "Yes?but?no. I'm afraid 1 can't do that." 1 was puzzled. "Perhaps you would like to telegraph him to come back here for you?" "I don't know where to telegraph, so that he would get it, besides? But, excuse me, 6ir, you are very kind, but 1 won't trouble you with my affairs. 1 dare 6ay 1 shall get on very well." She turned away with u slight bow, but she was so evidently nonplussed that I determined to make another effort to gain her confidence. There was not much time to lose; the first bell was already ringing. "1 am going on to Schandau," 1 said. "If you like, I will send you back to your hotel in a drosky, aud when 1 get to Schandau 1 will hunt up your father and tell him the mistake he has made. Here is my card." She looked at it and her manner at once changed. A half repressed smile glimmered on her face. 1 felt that we wero on a right footing at last, though 1 could not at the time understand how it had happened. "I will confess to you. Mr. Gains- j borough," sho said, glancing up at me with a charming trustfulness in her manner. "My papa is so forgetful. We were not coming back to Dresden. After Schandau we were going on to Prague, and he has gone off with all our luggage, and?and he has left me without even any money to buy my ticketl At least, 1 did have enough, but I spent it all in my shopping.' This cleared up matters at once. "How stupid of me not to have seen it all before!" I exclaimed. "Now we have just time to get the train." I hurried her on with me as I spoke, \ bought our tickets in the twinkling of | an eye and without waiting for the change conveyed her rapidly across the platform, and with the assistance of a 1 < 1 1 guaru we iouuu uuiwiwd eaicij ensconced in a first class carriage just as the train moved off. My beautiful companion, breathless, smiling aud yet seemingly a little frightened, sank back on the cushions and felt for the fan at her girdle. 1 wished to give her plenty of time to recover her composure, and to feel assured that 1 had no intention of taking undue advantage of our position; so, having arranged the windows to suit her convenience, 1 betook myself to the other end of the carriage and diligently stared at the prospect for fully five minutes. Nature could endure no more, i and at the end of that time 1 was fain to j change my posture. 1 stole a glance at my fair American, j She, too, was absorbed in the prospect on her side, which consisted at the mo- | ment of a perpendicular cutting about j ten feet distant from her window. Her attitude as she sat there was the perfeo ! tion of feminine grace. Her left hand, | loosely holding tho fan. drooped on her i lap; her sleeve, slightly pushed up. re i vealed the lovely curve of her arm and wrist. 1 am a particular admirer of beautiful wrists and hands, and here I saw my ideal How exquisitely the glove fitted, and how artistically tne color harmonized with the rest of her costume! The other little hand sup ported her chin. 1 could just see the rounded outline of her small cheek and the movement of tho dark eyelash pro jecting beyond it. Beneath her hat tho black hair turned in a careless coil and charming little downy curls nestled in the naj>e of her neck. She was a thorough brunette pale, and yet pervaded with warm color Beneath the skirt of her crisp dress peeped the pointed too or an mettahie | little boot, which occasionally lifted it- | self and tapped the floor softly Suddenly, in the midst of my admiring inspection, she turned around upon me and our eyes met. There was an instant's constraint and then we tioth laughed, and the constraint passed away not to return. "1 was going to ask you," said 1. 'whether you wouldn't prefer sitting on this side? You will find the river better worth looking at than that stone wall." "1 am under your orders, sir, for the present; you put me here; and now if you tell mo I am to go elsewhere. 1 shall obey." She rose as she spoke, the jolting of the carriage caused her to lose her balance; 1 held out my hand to assist her and so she tottered across and seated herself opposite mo. "Now are you satisfied?" sho asked demurely, folding her hands in her lap and sending a flash into me from those mystical eyes. f'Yes, Indeed, if yon are. Did yon ever travel this way before?" "If yon mean alone with a gentleman 1 never met before?no " "Oh, what 1 mean was"-? "1 know?1 didn't mean to make fun Yes, I believe 1 was in this part of the country once when 1 was a very little girl; that was before i went to the con vent, yon know." "To the conventr She gave a charming impromptu : laugh. "1 wasn't quite a nun?1 didn't want j to make yon believe thatl Only 1 was i brought up in a convent near Paris. ed J ucated there, as many young ladies are 1 was there seven years-wasn't that long??and I only got ont a little while ago." "It must have been awfully dull." "Oh, 1 liked it in a sort of way, they were very kind to me there, but then I didn't know how pleasant it was outside 100 WOU1U never uotioo uun ucu^iikiui I the world is if you were only told about | it My papa used to tell ine about it sometimes, and he is a great traveler- j he has been everywhere. 3ut 1 didn't ' realize it until 1 saw for myself.'' "Have you becti to* A-aieriea since leaving the convenJ?" "Oh, yes. 1 went to Now York, and , saw my cousins there. Papa went with me, but he came back to Paris first and ! i followed later. 1 met him again "in I Paris only a few weeks ago. He will be ! surprised to see you here. Mr Gainsbor- j ough. What a funny way you have ' chosen to go from Paris to Koine through Dresden!" "Yes, i?but, by the way, how did you , know I was going to Rome? And why I will your papa be surprised?' Again she laughed, and regarded me with so delightfully mischievous a glance that I felt convinced 1 must in I some way bo making a fool of myself I What did it all mean? 1 bit my lip and ' the color came into my face from prove j cation at my own evident thick headed ness. ! "If you had only waited a little lougei in Paris," she continued, still Binding enigmatically, "perhaps we might have met in a more regular way. ami perhaps then you would have let me have a lr?ok at your?diamonds!" My diamonds! That explained the mystery in a flash. "Is your father Mr. Birchiuore?' "1 am Miss Birchiuore. if you please sir. You never asked me for my card and I didn't like to force it on yon. It I?-S?w1 /\f V/VT1 f A tulro I11A Oil tm?t >YU0 DU aiuu V/4 j \Ju w M*i>v ? -- ??. without making sure that 1 was all right first. I thought Englishmen were more cautious and reserved." I could now join in the laugh against myself with full appreciation of the ex cellence of the jest. Mr Birchmore. then, had been a married man after all. Of course he was. Why had I not t>e- | fore remarked the strong family likeness between him and his daughter? Take her on trust, forsooth. How I longed to retort that 1 was ready to take her for better, for worse, then and there, if she would have uio! If she were a fair specimen of American girls, what a nation of houris they must be indeed But then they were not all brought up in French convents. It was tiiat that added to Miss Birchmore the last irre sistible charm. That it was that gave her that naivete that innocent frankness, that uncon scions freedom. And this lovely creature had actually know me by report before we met Her father had told her of me. and evidently he hod not given me a bad character. And this accounted for the favorable change in her manner when she saw my card. Well, it was altogether delightful. -*1 had bee n guided by a happy destiny; thank fortune. 1 had so conducted myself as at least not to prejudice Miss Birchmore against me. Verily, good manners are never thrown away, and moreover 1 prided myself (as 1 fancy most gentlemen do) on my abil ;ty to detect a true lady at a gla.uce. Wo now resumed our con venation on a still more confidential footing than heretofore. Miss Birchmore related many amusing anecdotes of he:.- late experience in New York, as well its of her earlier days in the convent, and even some passages of her child life previous to the latter epoch. 1 observed, how ever, that ever and anon she would check herself, seeming to pass over certain passages in her history in silence and this reminded me of the similar b? havior which 1 had noted in her father That secret, that mystery?whatever it was that weighed npon him?hod cast its snaaow over her young neart likewise. Honestly did I sympathize with her unknown trouble, and ardently did I long?ell vulgar curiosity aside?to have the knowledge of it imparted to me. Few calamities aro so heavy as that by earnest and friendly help they may not be lightened. What could it be? In vain I asked myself that question. Here was this lovely girl, in the first fresh bloom of existence, just beginning to taste with eager, tuicloyed palate all the sweet joys and novelties of lifehealth, youth, a happy temperament and ample wealth ranked on her side, and yet this bitterness of a misfortune, not by rights her own, must needs communicate its blighting influence to her! It was tragical to think of. Yes, ever and anon I could mark its traces in her vivid face and winning bearing; a passing gloom of sadness in those wonderful eyes; a quiver of apprehension about the lips; an involuntary gesture of nervousness or lassitude; many trifling signs, scarcely perceptible perhaps to a regard less keen and watchful than mine had already become. Already? But time in an acquaintance like this is not to be measured by hours or minutes. It is a trite saying, and yet how true, that those who are under the influence of a strong i:? ... ? emotion nuiy uvu yuuia m <? iv.. k beats. "Please?oh, pleaso don't look so solemn, Mr. Gainsborough! What has happened? 1 should think, to look at you, that you had been robbed of your diamonds at the very least." "No; they aro safe enough," said 1, calling up as cheerful a tone and asjiect as I could master, and putting my hand over tho inner pocket as 1 spoke, "Are you fond of diamonds?" "Oh, did you ever hear of a girl who wasn't? 1 think thero is nothing so beautiful! Papa has a great many, but ho says I mustn't wear them until after I am married. Isn't that hard?" "But perhaps you think of being married before long?" I inquired, with positively a jealous throb at my heart. "No, that's tho trouble; 1 know 1 shall never bo married." Theso words were uttered in a lower and graver tone, and once moro I thought 1 could discern the flitting traces of that mysterious melancholy. But sho brightened up when 1 said: "Well, ho won't object to your seeing my diamonds, at any rate; not even to your putting them on, perhaps!" "Just for a minute?may I? that will be splendid! Papa says that some of them are tho finest ho ever saw," "For longer than a minute, Miss Birchmore, if you aro willing?I mean if ho"? What did 1 mean, pray? Was 1 going to make an offer of my hand, heart and diamonds on less than an hour's acquaintance in a railway carriage; and was 1 going to forget that tho diamonds did not belong to mo at all, but to my respected mother, who would probably seo mo cut off with a shilling before granting mo tho disposal of them? Luckily for myself possession and self resect tho train drcwupjust then at tho station known as "Krippcn," on tho bank of tho river immediately opposito Schandau. The guard opened the door; wo alighted, and tho flrst person wo saw was Mr. Birchmorc, and close behind him a short, ungainly, beetle browed fellow, a valet or footman apparently, with a camp stool, an umbrella and a small basket of fruit on his arm. KfiaT" Good farming is brain work. inflected ftoftog. "IF WE KNEW." If we knew the wires anil crosses < Crowded round our neighbor's way; , If wo knew the little losses, 1 Sorely grievous day by dav, Would we then so olton chide him ; For the lack of thrill and gain? < Leaving on his heart a shadow, , Leaving on our heart a stain ? If we knew that clouds above us, Held by gentle blessings there, Would we turn away all trembling, I In blind and weak depair? | Would we shrink from little shadows, Lying on the dewy grass, ( While 'tis only birds of Eden, Just in mercy Hying past ? If we knew the silent story Quivering through the heart of pain, l Would our womanhood dare doom them | Hack to haunts of vice and shame ? , Life has many a tangled crossing, Joy has many a break of woe, And'tho cheeks tear-washed are whitest; I This the blessed angels know. I Let us reach within our bosoms 1 For the key to other lives, . And with love to erring nature, Cherish good that still survives; So that when our disrobed spirits Soar to realms of light again, i We may say, dear Father, judge us . As we judge our fellow-men. S SECOND CAMPAIGN. j By MAURICE THOMPSON. (Copyright, 1891, by American Press Assocla- ' tion.l 1 CHAPTER XXVI. , JULIAN INTRODUCES UIMSKLF TO COLONEL CHEN I Kit. ] pi jjjjL "ll'i1!'" r"I am the mmi." I E Igar .1 ulian's harts proved very seri- i ' ous, though the physician from the first j I pronounced them not necessarily danger- i | ous to his. life. He was compelled to lie | i j in a constrained attitude and 6ntmm to i I any amount of poulticing and dosing, I j which was very hard for him to bear. Colonel Chenier of his own choice be- i ! came Julian's nurse and companion i through his season of pain. When the : young man was well enough to bear oon| versation they retold together their war reminiscences and adventures, Julian all the time circling around, without ever i quite reaching, the one memory which of ull others was bitterest to him. He tried from every direction to pave the way for a full confession; but whenever he neared the point Colonel Chenier would frighten him away by some indication of resentfulness. i Julian's training as a lawyer had taught him the art of approaching a point i by ever]' manner of indirection and circumlocutory device. Ho tried to educate Colonel Chenier by gradual approaches, so that finally the strange and ugly truth, when it should be disclosed, i would not excite any undue passion. He was patient, and he strove to be both wise and cunning. Of course Colonel i Chenier did not dream of Julian's object, i But all the same he was quite refractory; i he refused to be educated up to Julian's notion of what was pardonable on the j score of being military necessity or the i legitimate result of the excitement and prejudice of civil war. He was a south- , erner of the old school?a believer in the antebellum past, a worshiper of chivalry and the Lost Cause, a good hater of innovation. His pride went on high, old fashioned stilts, from which it would not come down for anything. When at last Julian did disclose his secret it was with all the heroic swiftness and mercilessness of a surgicul operation. i "Colonel Chenier," he said, "1 am going to bo well before long, and then i suppose I shall have to go back to Chicago. 1 feel that 1 ought to say to you before 1 go that 1 love your daughter Rosalie and desire to marry her." Colonel Chenier looked grave, and did not reply at once. He was not taken by | surprise, but the matter was of such | vast import that in his judgment it j ought to be proceeded with slowly. | "Have you Rosalie's consent?" he at i . . .l.ui j.?I? ; lOSl very uenuerni.cij' iwjuiicu. I Julian moved painfully upon his bol- j i sters, and thus gained time to consider i j of his answer; but he could frame no | | evasive phrase; he simply said: j "No. but 1 hope to get it." Colonel Chenier smiled grimly. "Girls are very uncertain, sir; very i j uncertain. Perhaps I would better re| |ervo consideration of the question until j you are sure." "No," responded Julian quickly, "that is just what 1 do not want you to do. 1 | ! ain sure, from reasons of my own, that | ! I ought to know, before 1 spealc further j j to her, how you would regard my mar- ; I riage with your daughter." j "I regard you very highly, sir," said ; Colonel Chenier, "and, so far us 1 am concerned, should be proud to call you my son. It is for Rosalie herself to decide the matter." i Julian lay for a few delicious minutes | | reveling in the exquisite charm of this ! ; announcement, forgetful for the time of | j all that lay between him and his heart's : | desire. Since his accident he had spent j j most of his wakin;* hours, when alone, 1 , in thinking of Ron-u.o and conjuring up ! | a thousand absurd reasons for her ! strange elusiveness. Sometimes ho j caught the sound of her voice coming ; I from, other rooms as she weut about tho j J house. She sunt flowers to hiui every , I day, but as yet she had not come to see j j him, though Adelaide often had. j "I am glad you are not against me," j j he presently said; "I have been dreading i you, terribly dreading you. It seemed ; ! to me so probable that you would oppose I | me?so natural that you would not like ! to have your daughter marry a?a? j i marry one of Sherman's men." { Colonel Chenier had been looking out \ i of the window which opened near Ju- ! i Man's couch; he now turned his eyes j I Mm vnnnir man's face, and in a j "I1"" J o tone of warm good fellowship said: "1 am a southerner, sir, but I hope I i ain no fanatic. Why should 1 object to ' i you on the ground that you were on tho ! other side? Tho war is over and that is- j | sue is settled forever. A soldier, sir, I j honors those who honorably fought | him." "It is doubly noble in you to talk like 1 this, Colonel Chenier," exclaimed Julian, j "when personally you have suffered so much. Your homo burned up, your fortune torn from you and your physique wrecked: and then your dead sons, and" j Colonel Chenier interrupted him with a gesture of command and said: "All that fell from tho hand of fate. I War is a calamity. I hold no grudge, i Let the dead past bury its dead." "Can you make that sentiment good, : Colonel Chenier? Can you bear up j against every temptation to hold a , grudge?" said Julian, trembling as ho : spoke. "Yes, sir, 1 should call it unmanly to ! rake over the embers of the war now to gratify personal spite. I hope I am on a higher plane," said Colonel Chenier. "Then you can forgive tho man who burned your house find bayoneted your laughter?' cried Julian excitedly. Colonel Chenier's face darkened. He moved uneasily in his chair. "Ah, 1 see," added Julian bitterly, you svouldn't care to shake hands with that particular soldier!" "It was a dastardly, cowardly, dishonorable deed!" replied Colonel Chenier, "and not within the rules of civilized warfare." J ulian, after a moment, continued: "I knew you couldn't keep up to your ligh standard, and make good your pretty theory of letting the dead past bury its dead, and all that. It's all very well till it comes home, and then" "No, sir," Colonel Chenier interrupted, "you are wrong. 1 admit you touched me at a tender point when you mentioned the burning of my house and the stabbing of my daughter: but I say to pou now that I can and do forgive even those outrages?that is,- I do not hold them a charge against the individual who committed them in the name of war and liberty aud national glory. A soldier is a mere machine." "You had better be careful what you oo.rinn. ?* ot/*1 fiirno/S .Tnlinn bin AVPn gleaming strangely; "I shall hold you fast on every word. Do 1 understand you to say that you are nobly generous enough to freely forgive the man, if you could find him, who with his own hand applied the torch to the Chenier homestead and thrust your daughter through the arm with a bayonet?is that what you mean?" "Yes, sir," was the prompt reply; "yes, sir, that is what 1 mean. A battle was being fought all uround my house, and my daughter, in the supreme moment of excitement, fired upon the detachment that stormed the place. Of course she took the chances of war." Colonel Chenier held his head high as lie spoke, with the air of one who feels the grandeur of his sentiments. Julian smiled increduously, and lay for a moment eying the dark faced, soldierly man as if contemplating a spring upou him, then he 6aid: "You'll take every word of that back in less than five minutes, Colonel Chenier." The colonel smiled and shook his head, saying: "No, you do not know me yet; you do not know the southern people yet. We ire much better than your newspapers represent." "Well, permit me to introduce to you in person the incendiary who burned your mansion and the ruffian who stabbed your daughter." "Certainly, sir, whenever you can." "I am the man." Colonel Chenier laughed. "You need not try to make a joke of it," cried Julian; "1 swear to you upon the honor of a man and a friend that I am the very man." "You! pshaw, 6ir, the idea is preposterous!" Colonel Chenier said this with a great effort to be light; but he had caught something from Julian's voice that chilled miu. "Go ask Miss Adelaide?she recognized me; she'll tell you who I am," the young man cried, impetuously gesticulating with the index finger of his right hand. "Are you serious? Are you sincere? Do you mean" "I am serious?1 am sincere?I mean every word 1 say," Julian said with emphasis; "and I am anxious to know where your theory is nowl Do you still think you can control your prejudice?" Colonel Chenier looked at Julian for a moment in silent inquiry; then his dark face grew darker, and his eyes took on a Btrauge gloominess. Adelaide came in with a tray of cut Sowers, jasmines, roses, violets and geraniums. "How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Julian?" she inquired, ps she put her brilliant and fragrant load on the table near his window. "Oh, thank you, 1 am ever so much better?1 am enormously relieved," he exclaimed; "1 have just unburdened myself to yonr father?told him who 1 im and what 1 did." She glanced hastily from the young man's face to her father's, and a look of trouble leaped into her eyes. "He does not think it possible that 1 am the incendiary and assassin both in one. He does not like to believe" "1 think you are exciting yourself too much, Mr. Julian," she said; "you know what the doctor ordered." She gave him a warning look, and then turned to her father. "I have forgiven him, papa, and of course you will too," she gently said, slipping an arm about the colonel's neck. "Oh, he promised me that before I told him," said Julian. Colonel Chenier put aside his daughter, and, taking his crutch, left the room without another word. Adelaide stood looking after him till he passed out of sight; then she turned to Julian and said: "It will be all right; 1 am glad you have told him." "And Rosalie?" he exclaimed. Adelaide involuntarily put her hand to her breast und in a faltering voice replied: "1?I don't know?I am not sure. We npod not tell her. need we?" Her voice had some subtle sweetness in it that touched Julian strangely. "Yes, 1 shall tell her as soon as I can see her. Won't you get her to come in here? I so much want to see her. Tell her it would help me; mako me well." The dark, comely woman stood before him a moment, her lips slightly apart, : her dusky eyes fixed upon his face, her j bosom swelling strangely. Julian had never before noted how beautiful she I was. It w.is the dark, splendid beauty | of the old south, a beauty that suggested j passion as fervid as the sun. "Yes, I will tell her," she said at last, turning away, "but if I were you I would not divulge our secret to her. It could do no good." When she had gone out Julian sank back among his pillows and found him- j self weak and faint. He had overtaxed his strength. Tho fever lurking in his blood from the irritation of his injuries had rendered him excitable. Then, too, he had brooded over his strange predica- j ment to an extent that had touched him j with recklessness. It was well for him that he could fall asleep. He awoke feeling greatly refreshed just as Rosalie came into the doorway. When his eyes ; fell upon her shining hair and beautiful, j beloved face he felt his heart leap might- I ily. He put forth his hand and said: "I knew you would come, Rosalie"? j and his face beamed joyfully. She hesitated; her eyes would not meet his, and sho did not speak. "You don't know how 1 have longed to j seo you, to hear you talk, to have you j near me," he went on, still holding out ! his hand. She came into the room and went to ! tho table, where sho stood for a time [ making some pretense of rearranging the I flowers Adelaide had put there. "Oh, Rosalie, Rosalie, how could you stay nwuy so long?" ho exclaimed, his j voico husky and low. Sho gave him a quick, half frightened j look, and tho rosy bloom vanished from | i? Mw.in fur jl moment 1 I1U1 UilClTA^, l(.Uf !? ) paie as marble. "Are you {jetting well?"' sho asked in a j tone indicative of great restraint, as if | every expedient for appearing at ease had j slipped beyond her reach. As if at the j sound of her own voice, the blood flowed j back into her face, lighting it with a delicate freshness, and her sweet troubled j eyes burned with a sudden underglow. Julian saw the cross on her breast rise and fall with the waves of her emotion. He reached his hand farther with an appealing gesture. "Won't you shake hands with me after our long separation?" he said; and then, as she seemed to waver and hesitate before him, ho fervently murmured, "Oh, Rosalie, my own, my flower of all the south, come, you liavo eluded mo long enough?come!" His voice, so low and passionate and masterful, seemed to thrill her as the wind thrills the llowers and grasses. Was 8fie about to place her hand in his? Was she about to swiftly stoop and kiss his forehead? He felt the wave of a great happiness flow over him as a little reeze sprang in through the window and tossed Rosalie's shining hair about her forehead. The footfall of the physician coming to make his call was a most unwelcome and inopportune sound. Rosalie started like a frightened bird, and with one quick, never to be forgotten look into Julian's eyes, turned and glided lightly ' from the room. CHAPTER XXVTL THE GOLD MINE. ' I i. "OK ^flosnlle, ^^y<m are ^mine' Julian got '.vel.1' very soon. Mis convalescence was so rapid that within three days from the date of onr last chapter he was able to sit on the veranda and watch the mocking birds flit to and fro among the trees that shaded the street. Somehow he had drawn infinite happiness from the expression of Rosalie's face, or from some indescribable intonation in her voice, or from the atmosphere that she had seemed to bring with her on the occasion of her only visit to his sick room. fYdrmpl Phonitir u*nn mnoh the same as formerly?polite, entertaining, talkative?but bs never approached the subject of his last conversation with Julian. Adelaide seemed ghy and quiet, but Julian could not help seeing how her sojourn in Savannah was adding to her personal charms. She looked ten years yonnger than when he first eaw her? more cheerfnl, elastic alert?and her voice had lost a certain quenilominess which had characterized it. That her heart had thrown off its burden of discontent was apparent. Julian tried to obtain little interviews with Rosalie, but she seemed not to understand his intent, and so allowed this or that trivial circumstance to thwart his plans. Instead of vexing him f hia amused him, and he allowed the days to go by without any effort on his part to break the dreamy monotony of things until he was able to walk without any artificial aid. About this time Colonel Chenier came to him with a letter that he had received announcing the discovery of gold in the spring hollow above the old mill. Along with this letter, or at least on the same day, had come a package of gold of about two hundred dollars in value. Colonel Chenier was excited. Telegraphic specials in the daily papers giving highly colored accounts of the discovery of new mines in several places added fuel to Colonel CheniePs excitement. "I must go and look after this matter," he said to Julian later in the day. "It may be possible that I have a fortune up there after ull. I should like to have you go with me, if you will." "It will delight me to be of service to yon," Julian replied; and after a good deal of discussion it was resolved that they should go at once. When Rosalie found that her father was going back to the old mill, she began to beg him to take her along. He flatly refused, saying that it would be a hurried trip, und that he could not be encumbered with her. Julian, when he was about ready to start, went looking for Rosalie from room to room, and finally found her behind the curtains of a bay window crying. "I have come to bid you farewell," he said; "my time is short; haven't you something cheering to say to me?" He did not uotice her tears. The outer blinds were closed and there was soft twilight behind the curtains. "I shall come back or not, just as you Bay," he half whispered. "I love you too much to stay near you any longer, unless, unless?if you cannot and will not ?if it is unpleasant to you for me to be here." bhe hid her face in her bands a moment in her peculiar girlish way, while he stammered and paused in his speech; then she looked up and said in a breathless sort of voice: "You must not stay away?you must come back with papa." "May 1 come back for you?" ho eagerly asked, leaning toward her, his arms half raised. "Will you be my wife, Rosalie?" How sweet and shy and lissom she looked in that tender light as she tremblingly toyed with the Provence cross, and alternately lifted and let fall her wistful, happy, gray brown eyes! How could she speak with her heart turobbing wildly in her throat and her lips trembling sol But even this delicious silence could not satisfy Julian. He was too stubborn to reach forth and take her into his arms before 6he had expressly given him the right so to do. "Your father is ready to go and is waiting for me," ho said, with some obscure qualms of conscience at the thought of how nearly brutal this stubborness was. "and there is but a moment. Won't you answer me, Rosalie? Must 1 go away without knowing that you love me, and without your promise to bo my own little brown eyed wife?" He stooped toward her and put his arms out farther. "Come, come!" ho whispered, and then she yielded. Ho felt her slip close to him and nestle her bright head on his breast, and as ho clasped her tenderly he said: "After so long?after so many doubts and fears?Oh. Rosalie you are mine forever!" "I have been yours all the time," she murmured with her old naivete present in her voice, "but?but I didn't know it till I?I thought you were going to die." They were standing thus when Adelaido came in to tell Julian that the carriage was waiting to take him to the station, and that her father was ready and impatient to bo off. Julian released Rosalie and went to meet Adelaide, smiling proudly nnd joyfully. He took her hand and said: "I am the happiest man in the world!'" Adelaide looked up into his beaming face and said under her breath: "You have not told her?" "Told her what?" ho asked, and then he remembered. "No," ho added, "but all the powers of the world cannot separate us now She is mine, and I am hers." She did not reply, but turned and left the room. Julian kissed Rosalie again und went away. Colonel Chenier's gold mine proved to be a curious failure. When the boundary lino of his mill estate caine to be run, it was found that a mere fringe of the rich discovery was his. The deposit was really 011 land adjoining Colonel Chenier's, and quite recently purclnised by Francis Whitcombo Ellis. On the way back to Savannah a misconnection of trains delayed Julian and Colonel Chenier a day in Atlanta. Here Julian found himself suddenly face to face with Ellis. Their eyes thrust and parried a moment, and then Julian said: "I don't want you to be my enemy; 1 want to leave the south without a single bitter memory." Ellis now looked straight into the UUt VUVAUVft W ? ? ? m w _ I said: j "It is all right, sir, all right I have been the loser all around; bat, when a gentleman apologizes, it is an end of things." The rich, deep voice of the southerner thrilled and charmed Julian. There was something evil in it, bat there was an; immense reverse of something pathetic-' ally noble. They parted, and have never met again. CHAPTER XXVnt THE END. Where the Maid of the Mistral used to tit When Edgar Jnlian, after his retorn ? ' ?> u ~ _? A.% to Kooseveit riace, toia rvosane ot ue interview between himself and Ellis at Atlanta, she felt a great load lifted from her heart. She had made herself wretched daring his absence, imagining a meeting between the enemies in some mountain hollow, where Julian would be no match for his unscrupulous an* t agonist Julian was in no hurry to tell her the dreaded secret of the war time. He accomplished it by gradual approaches; but after all there was nothing gained. Roealie loved him, and the disclosure did not cause even a momentary shadow to fall on her sunny face. She only crept closer to him and shyly kissed him. Af- * terward she went to Adelaide, and throwing her arms about her neck, murmured tremulously: "My dear, noble sister! He has told me all!" Her warm tears fell npon Adelaide's cheek and neck. They made a One picture as they stood there twined together like dewy vines, and thas it whs that love burned away the barriers of hate between the north and sonth. Out of the ashes of the burned up home and the scar of the bayonet wound grew the sweet flower of reconciliation. TVi/i onnfhofn onuimpr Piimfl on anace. Dusky splendors hovered in the grovee and avenues by night, uud by day the waves of heat shimmered over the housetops and along the silver river. The time was uearing when the Cheniers would embark for France. J nlian finally prevailed upon Rosalie to set their marriage day early enough so that be could take her to Chicago for a few weeks before their departure for the land of the mistral and Chateau Cheuier. "1 want to show yon to my friends," he proudly said, "so that they may see how great has been my second victory over the south." "It is not a victory," she quickly rejoined, "for you are my prisoner for life!" She put her arms around him to illustrate his captivity. "Well, then," he said, "I want to show all of Sherman's boyB how things have changed, and how delightful it is now to be captured in the south." When Rosalie was once more in the norfh she found its fascination stronger than ever. The prairies with their seas of corn and vast plains of pasture, the thronged towns and the hum and hurry of industry and enterprise, seemed to clear her mind of the last trace of gloom. The whole country was hersl Colonel Chenier and Adelaide are now in Provence. The question of Colonel , Chenier's title to the chateau is under investigation in the French courts, but Julian and Rosalie are drifting about through a honeymoon that has run for nearly two years. When they first reached Chateau Chenier they thought they should be content to stay there always. They climbed upon the old wall and imagined they found the very spot where the Maid of the Mistral used to sit and play her lute while her lover was away in the eastern wars. Julian pointed out to Rosalie the part of the garden where the peasant dug up the old cross. They drove along the country roads between the fig ard the mulberry orchards, where the barefoot peasant women were picturesquely grouped, and where the wild eyed children were working bareheaded in the sun. It was a sweet fulfillment of Rosalie's dreams; but Julian grew tired of Provence, and they went to Paris, and then to Switzerland, climbed the mountains and breathed the sharp breath of the glaciers. We leave them in Rome. When they come back to America they will probably vibrate between Chicago and Savannah. Julian has not become altogether a southern man, and Rosalie cannot quite agree to the northern winters, which would seem to be about all that is left to quarrel about between the sections. The old banjo from the "pocket" is Rosalie's constant companion, and the present taste for banjo playing among refined Americans leaves her free to indulge in those merry old song8 as often as she may desire without any danger of shocking society; for what was once the lyre of the ignorant and enslaved southern negro is now the lute affected by the most cultured and aesthetic circles of the great cities both north and south. the end. IiriiiiKH Goods.?There is nothing that an unscrupulous salesman can outwit the unwary purchaser in as easily as in rubber. All rubber, unless it is the hard vulcanized kind used years ago for jewelry, becomes disintegrated or spoiled by age. It is a vegetable matter, and this change cannot be prevented ; at least no process has been discovered vet by which it has been. The New York Tribune states that rubber overshoes, gossamers, waterproofs, or any goods that have been long manufactured, become perfectly useless, and at a slight cause will fall to pieces. A new pair of overshoes fresh from the factory will last three times as long as one of last year's * " ' ! <? I 1 stock. Old gossamer waterproois mu to pieces sometimes sit the touch. This old rubber, it is said, is bought up at the shops and manufactured over, hut it cannot be made durable. At best it is only shoddy of a detestable kind. Australia's Size.?The size of Australia is not generally appreciated. The seven colonies between them occupy a territory greater than that of the I'nited States, including Alaska. New South Wales alone is as large as the thirteen States. Tasmania, the Rhode Island of Australia, is as large as that State, with New Jersey, New Hampshire and Massachusetts added ; Victoria, the smallest colony of the continent, is as large as (Jreat Britain. Queensland surpasses the united areas of Austria, France and Uermany. South Australia, one-third greater than Queensland, is nearly as large as Western Australia, which has nearly four times the extent of Texas. The total population is close upon four millions. fifciTA brother in prayer-meeting in a neighboring town, the other night, prayed for the absent who uc.-e '-prostrated on beds of sickness and sofas of wellness." ? Why do gills kiss each other, and '( men not ? Because girls have nothing better to kiss, and men have.