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DRESSING

TO

PLEA as

ous’s

HUSBAND.

find a second Mrs. Carlton without the Mrs., and ask her assistance in emerging from old bache- lorhood. As our two friends were silting together that evening after the departure of their guest, Mr. Carlton observed:

“«T don't know when I have seen you look so well, my dear.”

Bella glanced up with a mischievous smile as she inquired: “Do you not think my dress is becoming?”

replied her husband, in # conciliatory tone; “but I muat confess I think a plainer style ‘would become you better. Really, dear, if you could only know how much prettier you would look without that vast expanse of crinoline, I am sure you would give it up instantly.”
 * Anything that you wear must be becoming,”

“Why, my dear husband, you can have no conception of what a fright I should be, if I were to act upon your suggestion! You would be thankful to have me return to my present style.”

“Before others wore hoops, had the idea been suggested to you, you would have exclaimed in horror that they would transform you to 8 fright; so you see it is only fashion which influences you, and if you would be true to nature, and not seek to alter your figure by artificial means, you cannot tell how much you would be improved. And then, my dear, that thin dress, it is very pretty certainly in itself, but of how little use! I could not help thinking, when you tore it on the bramble bush as we passed through the garden, how much more convenient s thicker and plainer one would have been; I saw Mrs. L—— the other day, dressed in a neat calico, and you cannot tell how much I admired her appearance; and then too, if ladies would only wear their dresses shorter, say perhaps 8 foot from the ground, you have no idea what an improvement it would be.”

“Not if the lady happens to own a mammoth foot, which would thereby become decidedly conspicuous,” observed Bella, dryly.

‘That I think would be slight,” replied her husband, “compared with the really slovenly appearance which s dress trailing in the dust and mud has.”

Henry Carlton had always entertained a sort of an ideal theory of how he would like to see a woman dressed; he had never collected his notions together and put them in array before bis mind’s eye and surveyed them as a whole; but he had his views of each part of a lady's attire separately, and it appeared to him, that would his wife only conform to his ideas on this subject, it would not only enhance her beauty, ut add to the perfection of her character. ells was forming her plans for future action, nd so sho listened patiently to his harangue. leased with what appeared to him so attentive n auditor, Mr. Carlton continued:

““T seo, Bella, that you are beginning to per- eive the truthfulness of what I say. Ag to your air, nature gave you that for an ornament, and n itself it is such, but you spoil it by bestowing o much labor on it; were you to brush it ntirely off of your face and twist it into a imple knot, I think it would be much more ecoming.’”’

“What do you think of my sleeves?” asked Sella, smiling, ‘‘do you not admire them?”

“I cannot say that I do,” replied her bus- and, ‘I think a closely fitting sleeve, fastened t the wrist, would be much neater.”

“How is it you are so particular about your wn clothes if you dislike to see ladies take ains with theirs?”

do like to see Indies take pains with their ress; it should be made to fit nicely, otherwise t will not be neat. My cloth is fine I kaow, nd so I ke to see a lady's dress good end fine f its kind; but you know that fashion, with us, eldom alters materially, while with you it is onstantly changing; what we wear is generally lain, substantial, and necessary, while your ex wear a thousand little fussy, fixy things, ntended merely for ornament. Look at our iats, for instance! there is some sense in them, or they shado our faces, while yours retreat nodestly to the back of your heads, affording rou no shelter whatever; now if they could be yrought far enough over your faces to protect you from the sun it would be worth while.”
 * You quite misunderstand me, my dear wife,

Bella had listened to all this with an expres- ion of edified gravity which was truly ludicrous, ind Henry, pleased at having so attentive a istener, had unconsciously overdrawn his ideas o such an extent that had his opinions, aa xpressed to Bella, been written down and panded to him, he could scarcely have recog- lized them as bis own. Anxious to avail him- elf of the advantage he had evidently gained, 18 continued :

“T know your own good sense must tell you hat I am right; now you will dress sensibly, rill you not?”

“Oh! yea,” replied Bella, ‘you shall soon see ne dressed in such a way that even you cannot sossibly find any fault with it.”

“Thank you,” said Henry, earnestly; snd he yegan to picture to himself how his wife would ook in the character of sweet simplicity.


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TO

PLEA

s1: ons’s nvsnssn.

69

Several days passed away, and still Mr. Carl- ton could see no change in his wife's style of dress, but then he reflected thas it must pro- bebly take some time to get the new suit ready, and he resolved to be patient; he little knew, poor man! how much more he would need to be a second Job, when his wishes were being oxe- cated, than now.

One afternoon, Mr. Carlton entered the draw- ing-room, accompanied by an old friend, of whose coming he had previously informed his wife. Henry felt pleased with the admiration which he saw his wife’s charms invariably called forth, and it was with a feeling of innocent pride that be now hastened to present her. He began,

“Mr. Landon, I will make you acquainted with my—good heavens, Bella! what is the mat- ter?”

Our hero had come from the glaring eun into & partially darkened room, and for a moment he had not noticed the curiosity which presented

itself in the person of his wife; but as she rose to receive her visitor the oddity of her attire broke upon him with overpowering effect. Her hair was put plainly behind her ears and twisted ia a simple knot behind, presenting the appear- ance of having been glued to her head tc keep it from running away; she was perfectly inno- eent of anything of the nature of orinoline, and her calico dress hung almost perpendicularly down from her waist, and finished at about a foot from the ground, thus displaying in full view a pair of heavy morocco boots, which squeaked loud enough to set a nervous person crazy every time she moved; her dress was very high in the neck, and terminated by a scrupu- lously white linen collar; her sleeves were long and tight, and fastened at the wrist. No orne- ment of any description was visible about her; indeed, to judge from her appearance, any one might imagine that she had laid a wager to get up the plainest style of dress that could be con- trived. Handsome as Bella usually was, even her husband, when she was dressed in this style, was obliged to admit that she was moderately plain; he could think of nothing, while looking at her, but a mammoth edition of some little wooden images of Noah's wife aod daughters’ toys, with which he bad played in his child- hood, and which, it always seemed to him, had been dressed in the greatest haste in whatever happened to come to band, and sent into the ark lest the flood should overtake them. At the first glance he had, as we have seen, been thrown of his guard, but he secon saw that her dress had been prepared after his own plan, somewhat

exaggerated.

Mr. Landon was startled by the unexpected riaion, but he was too much of a gentleman to setray his surprise; he saw instantly that some- hing very singular was going on, and he fels nuch puzzled to understand it; he was inte- ested, however, and resolved to watch proceed- ngs and let the story develope itself.

Bella was the only one of the three who was st all self-possessed. Upon being introduced 0 the stranger, she bowed with her usual grace, ind immediately entered into conversation with aim, with an ease which, under tho ciroum- tances, wae really astonishing. Henry colored, idgeted in his chair, and showed himself the nost unessy of mortals. He hed been partieu- arly anxious that bis wife should appear to the yest advantage before Mr. Landon, and now the lisappointment was a bitter one; and yet he sould not complain: ladies’ dresa had been his yet theme ever since his boyhood; he had always onged to have his theory adopted: and here it yas! He could not help owning to himaelf thas sia wife had taken the best means of proving te 1im his folly.

At length he proposed a walk around the grounds; Bella quietly drew.forth a huge straw onnet, with a plain ribbon passed once across t, and, with the most demure look in the world, laced it on her head, thus almobt hiding from riew her face; this, Henry thought, was not much of a loss under the present arrangements. Noticing that Mr. Landon, who now began to ake in the idea, was making a desperate effort st gravity, she turned to him, and in her quiet way remarked,

[t seems 6o very ridiculous in ladies to wear hose little caps which are no shelter at all.”
 * Do you not think my bonnet a sensible one?

“I should think that might shelter two or hree of us,” broke in ber husband, good-na- uredly.

‘sBurely you do not consider it too large?” said Bella, in a mock tone of disappointment. Then turning again to her visitor, and walking » little in advance of Mr. Carlton, that he might have the best possible view, she continued, ‘You may, perhaps, consider my style of dress rather peculiar, Mr. Landon; but I wear it to please my husband; this is his idea entirely, he gave me the whole plan of it; you will, of course, per- seive the advantage it has over what is denomi- nated ‘the fashionable atyle'—its convenience and simplicity are very apparent; besides, it is such a saving of time—many ladies occupy so many hours in deciding how they will have a dress made, and manufacturing various little trifies, which are nothing more than ornaments

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DREAMS.

after all. What are looks compared with saving one’s time!”

Mr. Landon, who remembered his chum’s pe- culiarity, and who, by this time, had puzzled out the whole plot, could restrain his mirth no longer, but broke forth into a merry laugh, in which he was heartily joined by Mr. Carlton; while Bella surveyed them both, from the depths of her new bonnet, with a look of feigned astonishment.

“Pardon me,” ssid Mr. Landon, when he could again command his voice, ‘‘but I happen to have some knowledge of Henry’s peculiarities, and I must confess I never saw any one better served in my life.”

“T give in!” exclaimed Mr. Carlton, honestly, ‘*T will say that I have been fairly dealt with.”

“Why surely,” said Bella, ‘‘you are not 80 soon tired of the style of drees, whioh it has been the height of your ambition for years to estab- lish, are you?”

‘Yes, indeed,” replied Henry, “tired enough of it; and if you will promise not to don that attire again, I will pledge myself never again to find fault with your toilet or wardrobe, let them be what they will; provided your own taste guides you in the selection, I shall be satisfied.”

Bella smiled triumphantly, and with mischiev- eus sarcasm inquired if it wes possible that his good sense failed to appreciate the convenience and simplicity of her present attire?

“Do be generous and spare me this once,” replied Henry, ‘‘and, as the children say, ‘I will never do so again.’”

Belia thought his punishment had been car- ried far enough, and saying that she would meet them in the drawing-room, after they had aatis- factorily prosecuted their investigations of the grounds, she left them. :

When they returned to the house, they fou Bella tastefully dressed, and with her hair pomingly arranged, awaiting their arrival. je mischievous part she had so lately played had added a fresh sparkle to her eyes, and a bright solor to her cheeks and lips; and Henry proudly thought, as he met her, that he had never seen any ove half so beautiful. Taking her hend fondly in his, he turned to his companion, and playfaily remarked,

“Mr. Landon, allow me to introduce you to my wife. She has been a long time coming, but this is the genuine Indy at last.”

Mr. Landon shook her hand cordially, and expressed his delight at the privilege of making her acquaintance.

The evening passed pleasantly away, all ap- proach to stiffness having been rendered imposa- sible by the laughable little episode already mentioned, and Mr. Landon reckoned among his pleasantest hours those spent at hia friend’s country-seat. Mr. Carlton was haunted all night, waking or sleeping, by visions of the costume which had first greeted his eyes upon his return home that day. We are happy to say, however, that he survived; but frem that time he was never known to quarrel with ladies’ taste in dress.

DREAMS. BY

ELEANOR CLAIR. When angel guests to weary souls may come In the still hours of sleep— What words of comfort from the Father’s home Sent unto those who weep!

Thus in my drenriness and weight of care, Life’s way with grief hedged up, In dreams this pleasant fancy came to bear Sweets for the bitter cup.

When Autumn clouds were dark and winds blew chillI Over a barren land, I walked in gloom, beset with ﬁrms of ill, No help on either hand.

On the low graves with richest verdure green, A thousand blossoms grew, So fair, so fragrant, save in realms of dream Met never mortal view.

While the bright sunshine kissed my tears away, And perfumes ﬁlled the air, Friends came, each hearing bud, or ﬂower, or spray, Most marvelously fair.

For many a day I kept within my mind The beauty of that dream, And with half faith amused myself to ﬁnd What might its meaning seem.

Thus moving on, my path at last came near Where lay the silent dead, And shuddering I followed, sick with fear, The hand that thither led.

Even so, mothought, God makes the woes of life, Its dreary, darkened hours Even death's bitterness—with sunshine rlfo, Bright with immortal flowers.

But when I entered, sudden, all was o'er 0f Wintry cold and gloom— The dreary winds—the bare, brown earth no more— But Summer‘s light and bloom.

Now hath my heart in sorrow learned to sing. Where dead its pleasure lies, The growth of patience, hope, and love shall spring And faith that never dies.


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THE ROMANCE or GEDARVILLE.

into close contact with my harum-scarum pro- pensities, I could plainly see that they were fre- quently paralyzed with amazement. They had never dreamed of such things: and I began to think that the placid faces could never discard a look of surprise. Not that I did anything really wrong or improper; but I was young, and full of life and spirits; I did not weigh my words before I spoke, and I did not stop to consider whether Mrs. Smith would like this, or Mrs. Jones approve of that. The consequence, of course, was many ridiculous scenes; and while respecting my relatives’ goodness, I used to laugh in secret at their walking-on-eggs style of pro- ceeding.

given to dissipation, that a visit to tea wae a great affair; but as strangers were unusual sights, various stiff-looking people called and invited me to their houses. These invitations were always accepted for me by my cousins; and early on the eventful afternoon, cousin Rachel would don a brown silk dress, fastened at the neck with a brooch of hair surrounded with emall pearls, while cousin Etta appeared in a grey silk, fastened ditto.
 * 8o little were the inhabitants of Cedarville

‘The conversation at these companies invari- ably turned upon a Dr. Slingworthy, who was, it seems, a widower with three or four children; and whose wife's sister, Amanda Tibbits, (I be- came quite familiar with his name,) was ‘keep- ing house’ for him. What combustible materials were these for a country village! The topic ap- peared inexhaustible; and I was amused at the variety of opinion expressed upon the subject. Some thought that it was highly improper in Amanda to stay—others, that it was perfectly natural for her to look after her little mother- less nephews and nieces—others descanted upon Dr. Slingworthy’s admirable qualities, and pro- nounced the woman at whose feet he Iaid him- self, and his four children, a fortunate one— others, again, declared that Amanda was a trea- sure, and that a man might think himself well off to get her.

“From all that I could gather, it appeared to me a very suitable match; but Miss Tibbits had now ministered to the little Slingworthys for two years, and things remained just as they were at first.

Idon’t believe,’ said one lady, impressively, ‘that it would ever enter Dr. Slingworthy’s head, he’s such an innocent kind of a man.’

“He’s a dreadfully absent-minded msn,’ rejoined another, ‘if that’s what you mean by innocent, A man who will go into the street, as he does with only one stocking, and send my Mary Jane red beans that were given to him for seed, instead of calomel, don’t know what’s best for him—and somebody ought to put it into bis head, for it’s my belief that Amanda likes him.’

“Mrs. Grimby paused, and her speech evidently made an impression on the company.

“I fell to meditating upon what seemed to be the romance of Cedarville; and as I had seen the two principal figures, I began to take quite an interest in it. Miss Tibbits was a tall, delicate- looking lady, with a mild, colorless face, not young, but quite refined and interesting in ap- pearance; and Dr. Slingworthy reminded me of a gigantic owl, auch a look of concentrated wis- dom was on his face, which had the ‘far-off ex- pression’ that characterized Mrs. Jellyby. He was one of those aggravating men who are always looking at nothing; and what Mise Tib- bits saw in him I was at a loss to imagine. But perhaps he was one of those rough, excellent characters like ‘Bear,’ in ‘The Neighbors;’ and I thought that if she did like him, it was a great pity that he had not the sense to appreciate hor.

“‘Miss Tibbits had called after my arrival; and, one day, to my great delight, cousin Rachel and cousin Etta announced to me that it was time to return the visit.

«But very solemnly was I prepared for the ceremony. I was warned that it was very possible the doctor might be visible, and on no account must I, by word, look, or action, testify to the slightest knowledge of any remark mado in my hearing respecting the two.

The doctor is very peculiar,’ observed cousin Rachel, ‘and it would be a sad thing, as sister Etta says, if any one, by thoughtlessness, should spoil the whole affair. Do be careful, cousin!’

“They addressed me most frequently as ‘cousin,’ perhaps because it was unpleasant to pronounce my atrocious name.

Siater Rachel!’ exclaimed cousin Etta, in an almost animated manner, ‘what a dreadful thing it would be if cousin Flint should forget, and call Amanda Mrs. Slingworthy. You know that you are apt to do such things, cousin,’ she continued, turning to me, ‘but do, pray, remember that she is Miss Tibbits—the doctor is so peculiar!

“The unwonted anxiety of the two worthy ladies fairly made me nervous; aud when I thought of encountering the doctor, who was ‘yo peculiar,’ this uneasiness increased. We nll set forth with solemn faces, and I devoutly hoped that the doctor would not be visible; while p confused idea of the sister-in-law aa Miss Sling- worthy, Mrs. Tibbite, and everything but the right designation, bewildered my brain.


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Conus prometheus.

Terebra cingula, Kiener.

Malongena morio, Lamarck.

 * Purpura coronata, Lamarck.

Cypræa starcororia, Linn.

Cypræa lurida, Linn.

Cypræa zonata, Chamintz.

Strombus bubonius, Lamarck. (Fernando Po.)

Cassis spinosus, Gronovius,

Littorina ahenea, Reeve.

Pachymalania Byroni, Gray. (Old Calabar R.)

Tympanolomus fuscatus, Linn.

Tympanolomus radula, Linn.

Achatina marginata, Swainson.

Achatina balteata, Reeve.

Pseudachatina Downesi, Gray.

Cardium costatune, Linn.

Dosinia africana, Gray.

Cardita lacunosa, Reeve.

Macoma nymphalis, Lamarck.

Schizodesma nitida, Schrectar.

Schizodesma largillierti, Philippi.

Standella silicula, Deshayes.

Donose rugosus, Linn.

Ungulina alba, Kang.

Leptogorgia pinnata.

Antillia sp.

 * C=from the bundle labelled "Cameroons."

 * O  "Ogowé."

Triumfetta semitriloba, O.

Adenocarpus Mannii, Hook.f. C.

Crassula abyssinica, A. Rich. C. Cuviera acutiflora, D. C.


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THE ROMANCE or CEDARVILLE. “We arrived, and were ushered into the par- lor by the doctor, himself, who looked more for- midable than ever; this circumstance, and the unwonted task of remembering something that I had been implored not to do, destroyed my self- possession, and as Miss Tibbits approached me, I addressed her quite audibly as ‘Mrs. Sling- worthy!"

A flood of rich color rushed over her pale face, and in the half-involuntary glance that she cast toward the doctor, I read her heart. It was a woman's heart, a gentle and loving one, and I respected it. As for Esculapius, himself, he looked quite fierce, and his hair bristled up like porcupine quills; but he blushed, too, and glanced at Misa Tibbits with a sort of surprise.

“Now you've done it!’ was the expression on the faces of my horror-stricken cousins; and as I bad done it beyond all repair, I took a sort of mischievous satisfaction in watching the results. How the mistake was smoothed over I cannot remember; I have a recollection, though, that it was a constrained and awkward visit, and that we very soon took our leave.

“*Oh! cousin, cousin!’ was all that my rela- tives could say, ‘how could you?’

I laughed, almost for the first time that day, for the ridiculousness of the whole thing struck upon me in its full light; bat my cousins evidently considered this a sign that my conduct had been prompted by willful maliciousness, and 1 quieted my visible faculties as soon as possible.

‘Perhaps,’ said I, ‘it may do them good.’

‘No,’ they replied, with a mournful shake of the head, ‘Amanda will go home, now, and nothing will ever come of it’

Mark my words!’ I exclaimed, with a sud- den inspiration of prophecy, ‘I feet sure that something will come of it, and that very soon.’

had no faith in me, for prophecy or anything else; and, by tacit consent, we dropped the sub- ject, and waited, like people expecting a than- der-clap, or something dreadful.
 * But cousin Rachel and cousin Etta evidently

“The next day, I sat in the window of my our apartment, which looked out upon the road, when I was startled by the unexpected apparition of Dr. Slingworthy, who had tied his horse to s post, and was now deliberately lifting the large brass knocker. I trembled, like a guilty indi. vidual as I was, and wished him miles away, but cousin Rachel entered my room, exclaiming

“*Cousin, what can it mean? Dr. Sling. worthy bas just entered the gate!’

“As she spoke, there was an involuntary glance at the mirror, and a smoothing down of hair already painfully smooth.

‘*Cousin Etta followed almost immediately. “«¢Sister Rachel,’ said she, ‘what is to be

jone? Here is Dr. Slingworthy inquiring for

ousin Flint! Do you think it proper to send er down unaccompanied by one of us?’

«67 won’t go down at all!’ I exclaimed, in error and indignation. ‘It is nothing to me vhether he marries Miss Tibbits or not. I'll ave nothing to do with it!’

ign, on which sho left the room; and then, aking me affectionalely by the hand, my eldest ousin began, in a voice of grave importance,
 * Cousin Rachel gave her sister a peculiar

“+Cousin, I hope that you will listen patiently © one who is considerably your senior. You re young and flighty, and have seen but little f the world: therefore, it is most desirable that rou should have a guide and protector who is nore sedate. Such things are quite unaccount- ‘ble to me, but we do hear of good and wise nen becoming infatuated with thoughtless girls; snd jit is very evident that Dr. Slingworthy has salled for the purpose of improving his acquaint- snce with you, with a view to such a result, and © offer you hia hand and name at once. It isa nost respectable name, cousin, and I advise you 0 accept it; but do nothing rashly, and pray reat the doctor with the respect due to his years.’

“Here I could contain myself no longer. My worthy cousin had delivered this speech seriously snd deliberately, evidently impressed with the idea that it was just the right thing; but when she requested me to ‘treat with the respect due o hie years’ the man whom she had just advised me to accept as s lover, I was seised with an uncontrollable fit of laughter, to which I freely gave vent,

“‘ Without replying to the imploring expression of cousin Rachel's face, and, intent now upon mischief, I ran down stairs, and found myself face to face with Dr. Slingworthy.

“Then I began to tremble again; and the doctor, as if to confirm cousin Rachel’s surmises, took my hand in quite a love-like manner, and led me to the sofa. I was quite passive, and waited for what he had to say.

“Miss Flint,’ he said, deferentially, ‘our very short acquaintance, I know, would scarcely warrant such a proof of confidence op my part, but I believe you will deal with me frankly.’

“Well,’ thought I, ‘something is coming of my mistake, sure enough, but not exactly what l expected.’

“The doctor became embarrassed, and so did I.

‘I am a straightforward man,’ he continued, more composedly, ‘and I am about to speak of


text: The Cambridge Carol Book

title: The Cambridge Carol Book


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NIL

DESP

E R A N D U M.

what very nearly concerns my whole future hap- pineas.’

“Now, if one is threatened with a whipping, it is not agreeable to be told of it continually, and have it put off indefinitely; and I sincerely wished for some means of bringing the doctor to the intended point, or of frightening him away from it altogether.

+ Well, sir?’ said I, a little impatiently.

s¢T beg your pardon,’ he replied, ‘but, yester- day, Miss Tibbits and myself were placed in a most embarrassing position. She has been very kind, very kind indeed; and I wish to know if you, a stranger, think her position in my family 8 singular, or questionable one? Not for worlds would I have had her feelings wounded by such a mistake!’

‘elt was s very natural mistake,’ said I, smothering a laugh, es I thought of cousin Bachel, ‘and I do not believe that her feelings were wounded.’

“+1 know that she is very much attached to the children,’ continued Dr. Slingworthy, ‘but you don’t think,’ ssid be, with a glow of delight, as the possibility of the thing flashed upon his mind, ‘you don’t really think that she could take up with an old fellow like me?’

«What I think is of no consequence,’ I re- plied, ‘but were I in an old fellow's place, I would take no opinion upon the subject but hers.’

“*T believe,’ said the doctor, looking su- premely happy, ‘that I have been a great fool; and, depend upon it, my dear, young lady, that I shall be eternally grateful to you.’

“Here the doctor wrung my hand, as though it had belonged to Miss Tibbits, and was gone, the next moment.

«Cousin Rachel made her appearance in time to catoh the last words.

“«¢Then, you have not refused Dr. Slingworthy, cousin?’ she exclaimed, with evident pleasure.

 * No, ma’am,’ I replied, demurely.

«Qh, cousin!’ exclaimed cousin Etta, follow- ing her sister aa usual, ‘have you really accepted Dr. Slingworthy? Iam so glad!’

«Not for myself,’ said I, ‘he did not give me a chance to do that—but I have almost accepted him for Miss Tibbits.’

“When I had given the particulars of the in- terview, cousin Rachel said, ‘Well, now, who would have thought it?’ and cousin Etta declared that she never was so surprised in her life; and yet they, with all the rest of the village, had been wondering that the thing had not happened long ago!

“The wedding came off during my visit; and as my eye rested upon the bright face of the bride, I felt happy in the consciousness of having performed s good action, although it was done by mistake.”

NIL DESP BY

ERANDUM.

ANNE Couaaos; ohi fainting heart, be brave; Drown not God‘s blessed sunshine in thy tears; Swil'lly thy life is flowing, wave on wave, Into the cold. dark bosom of the grave; S'iftly and surely nears The earthly end of all thy hopes and fears. Duty implores theel Pause not now To mourn o‘er broken dreams. Such grief is vain; Gent off the gloom and shadow from thy brow, And, in thel sight of Heaven, sternly vow, Never, in woe or pain,

To doubt God‘s wisdom, or his truth, again.

L. HUZZBY. _.

Up, ere the dew of youth be gone, Work, ere the frost of death thy pulses chill; Let the brave sword of truth be boldly drawn,

v,lMiW,/M¢I-M,¢/4MW”,~

And, in the name of right, walk ﬁrmly on, So shall life's Very ill Bow to the triumph of thy conquering will. Over the cross shineth the crmvnl Better than thou, for truth have fought and died;

Bravely bear up, though earthly hope go down; Stand to thy faith, though the world scoii', and frown. Angels are on thy side,

And Heaven about thee, let. what will betide.

Courage; God knows what is the best For us. in this blind life of anxious care;

Courage; “whatever is, is right!"

Do what thou ctlu'st for goml, and leave the rest

Darkly comes down earth‘s dreer and solemn night, Graudly in Heaven beamoth eternal light;

To Him whose name is ever to be hit-st;

Courage; oh! why despair! Trust, and believe, and pray. Action is prayerl a

Believe it, and fear not; God is our fate;

Peace, restless soul, and “hill

God's angels, once like then, were desolate!


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OLD

STONE

Georgiana glanced around, with secret triumph in her eye; but affecting hesitation, said,

“If you don’t think it will be too bot?”

Nonsense,” replied Mr. Talbot, in a blunt, decided way, he often had; and throwing down his line, he continued, ‘‘your parasol will keep off the sun; and it’s cooler on the water than here.”

«Well, if Margaret will come also,” said my cousin, rising gracefully, for sho never forgot the proprieties.

I was not particularly pleased at a second- hand invitation like this, especially as Mr. Tal- bot remarked, quite coolly, “‘Oh! to be sure,” as he jumped from the pier to hoist the sail of the boat; but I knew Georgiana would pout, after we got home, if I did not go, so I con- sented with the best grace I could.

There was o light breeze, which wafted us slowly out into the bay. I bave always been fond of the water, so I soon forgot my momen- tary vexation. Mr. Talbot bad the reputation, not only among the amateurs, but with the fishermen also, of handling o sajl-boat skillfully ; and certainly nothing seemed to be easier for him than to direct our light craft, as he sat, rudder in hand, carelessly chattiug with Geor- giana. Annoyed at the manner of my invita- tion, I held myself aloof, as much as possible, expecially as neither of my companions appeared to notive my reserve; so I sat humming a low tune to avoid overhearing the half whispered conversation back of me, now watching the white, fieecy clouds that hung about the western horizon, and now dipping my fingers into the wave, as the boat glided noiselessly along like a white gull skimming the waters.

We had gone about six miles down the bay, and were approaching the Highlands at its mouth, when I woke from a long reverie to hear Mr. Talbot say to Georgiana that a thun- der-storm was coming up and that we had better return. Glancing to the west, I saw that the fleecy clouds had disappeared, and that a purple black bank of vapor, like a distant mountain range, had taken their place. My cousin was already uneasy.

“There's nothing to be alarmed about, Miss Elliott,” said Mr. Talbot, as he turned the boat homeward. ‘‘We have ample time. It will be an adventure to talk of.”

Our progress was now comparatively slow. Instead of slipping smoothly along before the wind, we had to describe a zig-zag course, tack- ing contmually as it is called, in order to beat baek to the pier. But the motion, to me at least, was more exhilarating than it had been before. Now the boat rushed along, leaning far over to the left, the water shooting past her like fences past a railroad train. Now she seemed to stop in mid-career, obedient to the guidance of Mr. Talbot, and fluttering her sails for an instant, poised like a bird about to wheel, and then darted off at a sharp angle to her former course, dashing into the head-wavea with a thud that sent the spray often back to our faces. The blood danced riotously in my veins. I realized what Byron felt when he spoke of the sea bound- ing beneath him like a steed that knew its rider. I was in no hurry to be ashore.

Not so Georgiana. The constant stooping to avoid the boom, as the sail was shifted, and the changing ber seat each time to get on the higher side of the boat, for she was afraid to romain on the lower, made her, at Inst, exclaim,

‘Why don’t you go back like you came, Mr. Talbot? It’s much more comfortable, I’m sure. You lose a great deal, too, by crossing from side to side of the bay, in this way.”

“Ah! I see you’re no seaman,” replied Mr. Talbot, with a smile. ‘Going down, we had the wind after us, and could carry what sailors call ‘a free sheet.’ But now what little breeze there is, is nearly dead ahead, and our only chance is to work back, as I am doing. It’s very slow,” he added, dubiously, glancing at the threatening clouds to the west, now rapidly rising to the zenith.

rain?” said Georgiana, in alarm.
 * You don’t think we'll be caught out in the

“You're not much afraid of a wetting, are you?” he answered, gayly.

‘*We shall be drowned, J know we shall,’ almost shrieked my cousin, looking from Mr. Talbot to the approaching storm, and she rose quickly.

“Sit down, I beg of you,” said Mr. Talbot, half authoritatively. ‘You might upset this light craft.” And he added, in a soothing tone. ‘Indeed, there isn’t a particle of danger. Is there, Miss Gray?”

This was the fret time, since we embarked, that he had spoken directly to me. The alarm of my cousin had made me, for s second, a little nervous; but this now all passed away; for I saw Mr. Talbot felt perfectly secure, and I knew we could trust in him.

“I feel no fear,” I answered. ‘Georgy isn't used to sailing, or she wouldn't mind it either.”

For some time, nothing more was said. Mr. Talbot was busied in working his way slong, taking advantage of every puff of air, of every current, and had no leisure to talk. My cousin cowered on her seat, her head buried in her


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‘There wasn’t time.”

You had to act, you mean. Nobly eaid. Do you know, Miss Margaret, that I believe you'd have made a Joan of Arc!”

At this moment, my aunt came up, and began alternately to chide my companion for having taken Georgians sailing, and to thank him “for saving,” as she phrased it, ‘the dear girl’s life.”

“I'll take the blame,” gallantly said Mr. Tal- bot, ‘‘for I deserve it. But the praise belongs to Miss Margaret, who saved all of our lives.” And he withdrew a step, so as to put me into the foreground.

My aunt looked at me, at first in amazement, then with indignation, which she tried, however, to conceal from my companion.

“Oh! to be sure. I'd heard of it,” and she laughed a little constrained laugh. ‘We're all obliged to my husband's niece. She's quite masculine, always was,” and with this home- thrust, she left us.

Georgiana did not make her appearance till the next day; but Mr. Talbot was the first to welcome her; he even attended her to breakfast, taking my uncle’s vacant seat; for Mr. Elliott had gone to town.

Still, though in this, and other things, he was as attentive as ever to my cousin, I could see, after a day or two, that she was jealous of me. At first, the possibility of such a thing seemed incredible. But when she grew, daily, more cold toward me; when ehe treated me often superciliously, even pettishly, I could no longer doubt it. My aunt took even less psins to con- oeal her indignation. All this could not but render me unhappy. Yet, when Mr. Talbot was at my side, I forgot everything. Not unfre- quently, also, the jealousy of my cousin sent a thrill of joy through me, because it confirmed me in what, at other times, I still thought a vain delusion—the hope that I was not indifferent to Mr. Talbot.

One night, there was a subscription ball, given by the gentlemen of our hotel. It had kept the ladies in a state of excitement for a whole week preceding; hair-dressers had been sent for from the city; new wardrobes had been ordered; several army and navy officers, with various other guests, distinguished either soci- ally or politically, were expected. More than half the girls were speculating as to the con- quests they would make.

I wore my simple robe of muslin; and my hair a la Grecque. 1 will not deny that I thought of Mr. Talbot, and of what I had overheard him say about this costume, on that first evening.

- Georgians was to appear in a new and costly reas, which she had sent for from her milliner. [ saw, from her eye, that she bad determined to take everything on tbat night’s success. Never hall I forget the look of contempt that welcomed ne, for a moment, as I entered her room, pre- oaratory to going down.

Mr. Talbot, in spite of the crowd of uniforms, was atill the most popular person there. My reart fluttered when I saw bim approach where Jeorgiana and [ were sitting. There was a mo- nent of doubt, during which he paid bis compli- nents to both of us; then he asked me to dance he first set with him. I really pitied my cousin, ill I aaw the angry flush on her face, as I turned © go, and the threatening look of her eyes.

But I soon forgot everything but my partner. There was a subdued manner about him, dif- ferent from what I had ever observed toward »ther women, which made me feel at once happy ind embarrassed. Perhaps he observed my ner- vousness, for he suddenly became lively; never had J known him more entertaining; and I soon yrew at ease again. I felt the magnetiam of his intellect; 1 was in extravagant spirits.

When the dance was over, a group gathered about us, and I heard more than one whisper, ‘Miss Gray is unusually brilliant to-night: indeed my situation became so public, that I jrew my companion out to the piassa, under pretence of wanting freah air. <1 aball never,” [ thought, *‘ become habituated enough to society 1o endure being stared at.”

All through that evening, I saw my aunt watch- ing me with an angry scowl. But I was too happy o think of this except for the moment. Twice, Mr Talbot danced with Georgiana, and several other young belles were honored, each once, with his hand; but I was the only one whom he led out frequently. It came to be so natural for me, at last, to expect his return, after a walts or quadrille with others, that, unconsciously, I kept, whenever it was possible, a vacant seat for him beside me.

When I went to my room, that night, I felt, that, if I never was happy again, I had been so, superlatively so, for once in my life. I did not audibly even whisper it to myself, but the hope was never so strong before that I was beloved. Mr. Talbot’s manner, all the evening, had been what a woman would rather hove than any amount of mere intellectual admiration: and it had never been so before.

I woke, the next morning, with a heart as light as a bird. I began to sing at my simple oilet. I knew that Mr. Talbot was to rise at day-break to go fishing, and I did not expect, therefore, to see him at the breakfast-table; but


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l eould not avoid stealing a glance at his usual eest, and blushing, guiltily, when I caught my aunt’s eye fixed severely on me. “I wish to see you in my room,” said my annt, coldly, as we rose from the table. I followed her up stairs. She told me to lock the door.

“A pretty state of things!” she exclaimed. “Bo you think you can wheedle Mr. Talbot into marrying you.”’

I made no reply. But I felt the blood rush to wy forebead: then leave me pale as ashes, but trembling with suppressed indignation.

“As if he would ever do more than amuse himself with one like you,” she continued. ‘Oh! you needn’t look in that way. I always told Mr. Elliott you were a treacherous, uograteful minx. I declare you make me ashamed of my sex, to eee how impudently you throw yourself into this gentleman's way.”

“I am not treacherous,” I said, rallying to defend myself, ‘‘I am not ungrate——”

“Stop! Iwon't havea word. Suoh unblush- ing effrontery I never saw. You will make your- self the talk of the whole place, if you haven't already done it! If you've a right to disgrace yourself, you’ve no right to disgrace us. Mr. Tal- bot sees you are throwing yourself into his arms, and no doubt laughs about it to the other young men. The idea of going of walking, alone, up the beach, with him; of sitting out in the arbor, late at night; of following him witb your eyes; of always keeping s place for him, by you, on the sofa.”

Ace this last allusion, the color rose to my eheeks, for I felt partly guilty. She had paused for breatb, but when she saw my embarrassment, she resumed,

“Oh! you admit it, do you? You're not so brazen but what you blash for it. And remem- ber, Miss, what I see, others see. I know that your conduct was remarked on, last night. There, not aword; but gonow. I want no explanations, but only more prudent behavior. Get him, if you can; I’m sure your uncle and dear Georgiana, as well as I, .will rejoice at your good luck; but don’t disgrace us by indelicate behavior.”

1 left the room abashed and humiliated. I knew well that it was envy and rage that made my aunt speak in this way. But I could not avoid fearing, for ali that, that my conduct had been such as to cause remark. I felt guilty of having loved Mr. Talbot. What if I had betrayed wyeelf, ss my aunt snid?

Seach a possibility almost maddened me. Be- yoad ell things else I loathed scheming in a young gir. ‘Yo me it was inexpressibly un- maidenly. To be accused of it by atrangers, to have given even the faintest cause for the nccusation—oh! it was degrading. I hated, for the time, Mr. Talbot; I hated my aunt for her injustice; I hated Georgiana for having been the cause of it; but I hated most myself. Bit- terly 1 resolved that neither she, nor others, should ever have it to sey again that I courted his society: and in this mood I tock a book and walked angrily down to the arbor overlooking the beach.

CHAPTER VIII.

I had been reading for a little while only, when I heard a familiar footstep; and Mr. Talbot approached. Still smarting from what my aunt had said, and determined to afford no cause for such remarks again, I gave him a curt reception.

He seemed astonished: then offended: then appeared to think it was absurd to get angry. But having made one or two further efforts to draw me into conversation, which I answered only in monosyllables, he was about to go, when Georgiana came up. I had left her reading a sentimental novel in her room, where she declared she would stay till dinner; but I have no doubt she had seen Mr. Talbot join me, for her window overlooked the sea, and that she had come down purposely to interrupt us.

To do her justice she was looking charmingly. She pretended to explain her presence, by ssying she had been searching for me all the morning; and sinking languidly into s seat, she glided into conversation with Mr. Talbot. He doubtless mentally contrasted her affability with my sullenness, for his manner changed immediately, he grew animated, he devoted himself almost entirely to her. She, on her part, played off all her pretty, coquettish arts on him. In my ex- isting temper, I smiled, ironically, at this, behind my book. ‘Even tho most sensible men,” I said, scornfully, “are victims to vanity, and so fall a prey to these poor feminine tricks.”

I was in no improved mood, therefore, to an- awer a question which Mr. Talbot suddenly ad- dressed to me.

“What do you think of it, Mies Margaret?” he said. ‘*I see you have been reading, and not listening; and I don’t wonder,” he continued, glancing at my book, ‘‘for ‘Undine’ is a story to entrance one. But pray, forget Hildebrand and hie water-nymph, for awhile; and be umpire between Miss Elliott and myself.”

“T haven't the first qualification for the task, sir,” I saswered, coldly.

But he was not to be rebuffed.

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cousin maintains that women are not justly treated, by the laws; that, in fact, they are little better than slaves to the stronger sex.”

Now this was the subject, on which, above all others, I felt most strongly: the one in which my pride and sensitiveness controlled me, perhaps, more than my intellect. I had so often contemplated the possibility of having to leave my uncle's house and earn a livelihood for myself, that I was morbidly awake to the inadequate wages which women received, to the few avenues of employment open to them, and to the loss of social caste which laboring for their bread often brought upon them. I was already angry; and this question, thus put by Mr. Talbot, made me angrier, because it implied that he palliated, if he did not defend, the course of the world at large toward my sex.

But I need not have been so. I was well aware, that, though Mr. Talbot was a firm believer in the progress of the race, and though he advocated enthusiastically every measure which he considered a reform, he was not a visionary, and that many superficial thinkers, on this account, would have called him a con- servative. We had, indeed, never talked before on this theme, but 1 knew enough of his sentiments on social questions generally, to be aware that he was no friend to sudden and radical ohanges, even where they were possible, because he had no faith in their permanence under such contingencies; and I was not ignorant that he considered there were very few sudden social reforms which were practicable at all. ‘A reform, which is not founded on public sentiment,” he had once said, ‘is no reform at all; for things soon fall back to their old condition; no law can laat which is not an exponent of the popular prejudice as well as of the popular intellect.” Earnestly as I felt on the subject of woman's wrongs, I was well aware that it was one of the most difficult social problems of the age, and that to solve it wisely would require the best thoughts of the best minds for more than one generation. I would have known, in a calmer moment, that I could not expect Mr. Talbot to take the radical view of the question, to which I, ia common with others of my sex, inclined. But, in my present mood, I disregarded all this, and replied bluntly and passionately,

Slaves! So they are.” And as I spoke, the whole catalogue of woman’s injuries, as dealt out to her by laws made my men, rose up before me; and my heart ewelling with what I thought a righteous indignation, I continued with kia- dling cheek. ‘The chain may be gilded, but it is still a chain.”

Georgiana’s big eyes opened to their full width, less at the matter than at the manner of this speech. It shocked her conventional notions of fine ladyism. Mr. Talbot smiled, and that emile provoked me to go on, more passion- ately, if possible, than before. :

‘What equality has woman before the law?’’ Ieaid. ‘You do not allow ber to vote, yet you make her pay taxes. You tell her it is indeli- cate for her to preach, yet say she has a soul to be saved. You give her property, when she marries, to her husband; but don’t give her his, but only « third of it, and that not till he dies. And if a woman is poor, and has to earn her living, you put her at once out of the pale of good society, and degrade her to a lower class.’

“You are vehement,” said Mr. Talbot, gravely, as I paused exhausted of breath. ‘Permit me to ask: have you considered all these things as fully as your very decided language warrants ?’*

The tone of superiority, in which this was spoken, provoked me still more.

‘Decided language? Vehement?” I cried. “Qn such a subject one caunot be too vehe- ment.”

Mr. Talbot was silent. I continued heatedly,

“Take the case I last spoke of. Is the world just to a woman who has to earn her liveli- hood?”

Still he did not reply. He was writing on the sand with the end of his light bamboo cane. I cannot describe how this simple act irritated me. I began again,

“Nor is this all. Society, that shuts the door of nearly every employment against woman, pays her inadequately even for what it allows her to do. No female earns a9 much as a wan; she is not permitted te do it. In my city, women wait in stores, very generally; but even there they receive only half as much as young men. In your city, they are shut out even from this avenue. So it is everywhere. Yet a woman has blood and bones, must eat and dress, must have fire and light.”

‘¢A man is paid as the head of a family; oa woman as a solitary individual; and.the majority of men are heads of families, as the majority of women are not,”’ said Mr. Talbot, looking up.

“Are women never heads of families? Are there no widows, with orphan children? It is the old story of the lion. Men make the lawa, and make them to suit themselves. Oh! if woman could, for but one day, have control of the halls of legislation.”

‘Honestly now, Miss Gray,” he said, and ho looked me full in the eycs, ‘do you think the world would be the better, if women followed


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trades, did mérchandizing, wrangled al the bar, ’ cheated at the stock-exchange? Isn't there: womething in a truly feminine character higher | and diviner than can co-exist with these things?” ; I thought bitterly of what he had often said of : Georgians. “Suppose, for argument’s sake, that |

the avenues to all pursuits were thrown freely ; open to women ; that, for every purpose of money- | making, the two sexes were put on an equal; that , voman was made the head of the family—do you, o your honor, believe that society would be im- proved by itt” }

I made no reply. Secretly, I felt that he was: right. He waited for awhile courteously: then | proceeded,

“If my mother had been hard, echeming, lacre-loving, what a wretch I would be now! And she would have been all this, I fear, Mies Gray, if she had been engaged, her life through, as men are, fighting, first for bread, and then for fortune. Under God,” he continued, solemnly, his voice trembling with emotion, ‘it is because women are preserved, as I would say; excluded, as you phrase it; from the rougher contact of life, that we mon begin, at least, with some high and holy feelings; and if we Jose them afterward, or if they often grow cold within us, it is because we are thrown, like gladiators, into the arena, and forced often to fight for our very lives. By her organization, indeed, woman is mow deli- cate, more refined, more ideal, more religious than man is; but even her organization cannot entirely resiet the cold teachings of a selfish world; for few women, I say it with regret, who play the part of men, whether they play it from ehoice or necessity, but become more or less tmannish; and to the extent they become man- nish, to that extent they cease to be really love- able.”

Mach of this moved me. Much of it I felt to be true. But it irritated me all the more. I believed he was indirectly telling me I was too masculine. I anewered,

“Is what you call womanly, really so? Haven't all men a false ideal? Wouldn’t they rather have & toy than s companion?”

“No,” he replied, with sudden energy, ‘a thousand times no! In proportion ass man is stroog himself, be wishes, longs for, will have, & compsnion, and not a toy.”

“The ivy and the oak,” I answered, scorn- fally; ‘it’s ivy man wants, after all.”

“You don’t argue, you sueer,” he said.

“I do argue. I have given you examples enough.”

‘*And your examples were all exceptions.”

“Oh! that’s always the answer,” Iasid. ‘It s eternally the same equivocation about excep- ions to general rules.”

“But society, as you surely know, has to make eneral laws,” he said. ‘It flows from the fal- ibility of the human intellect; and under general aws it is impossible always to prevent injustice o the few. Besides, I don’t see that women uffer more than men. If there are thousands ff educated women, doomed to a poverty that is he more painful because of their culture, and ompelled to labor at hateful tasks for a liveli- 1ood, there are quite as many men. The majority f my own sex, if I am to believe their words, ire discontented with their lot. It is very cer- ain that where one is born, as the proverb goes, with a silver spoon in his mouth,’ a dozen are porn without.”

“We cannot talk on this subject,” Isaid. ‘We liffer too irreconcilably.” And I moved to go.

“Nay! stay,” said he. ‘Hear me out. Is it man, or woman, who is to blame for this ostra- sism, of which you spoke, awhile ago? Are not your sex the first to drop the acquaintance of a woman reduced to work for a livelihood?”

I acknowledged, mentally, that he was right; but remained silent. Georgiana now interposed.

bot,” she said, with a wonderfully natural air of frankness and innocence. ‘I confess I had never thought much on this subject, but had taken up the popular cry of my sex.”
 * You have converted me, at least, Mr. Tal-

“I wish you joy of your convert then, Mr. Talbot,” I said, curtsying ecornfully. ‘But it is, at least, thoroughly feminine on the part of Georgy. I suppose most of us women are 80, and that is. why man holds us in the slavery he does. You were right,” I added, bitterly. ‘We betray ourselves.” With which parting words, and a glance, like a Parthian arrow, sbot at my cousin, I swept proudly away.

But I had not reached the house before | was heartily ashamed of myself. I had given way to temper. I had shown jenlousy of Georgiana. I had exaggerated my opinions. ‘‘Vehement, was the word he used,” I said: and I felt its justice. Iwas self-condemned. I crept up to my room, double-locked the door, threw myself on the bed, and gave way to teara of mingled shame and remorse.

That night there was another “hop.” I had looked forward to it, only that morning, with unalloyed delight. But now I could not hope that Mr. Talbot would be with me. He would never be to me again what he had been. He might forgive my opinions, distasteful as they were to him; but he could not forget my too evident losa of temper.


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short volume is the first issued of a series that is intended to give a systematic account of the Coleopterous Fauna of British India.

The present work on the Longhorn Beetles of India was undertaken some years ago by Mr. C. J. Gahan, whose unique knowledge of the group is well known. From a variety of causes, but chiefly want of leisure, the Author has been unable until now to complete a sufficient portion of the MS. to allow of the publication of even an instalment. This issue, therefore, is only Part I. of the contemplated volume, and deals solely with the forms arranged under the family Cerambycidæ, which according to the latest classification includes the Prionidæ. A considerable portion of Part II., which will give an account of the Lamiidæ, is already in manuscript; it is therefore confidently expected that the completion of the whole work will not be unduly delayed.

Other volumes on the Coleoptera of India are in active preparation, and it is intended to include a General Introduction to the Order with one of these volumes. In the


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 The Dervish drowning the Pigs

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EDITED BY

ANDREW LANG

The Grey Fairy Book - Title.png

WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. J. FORD

39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON

NEW YORK AND BOMBAY

1900

All rights reserved

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 their influence that a great promotion took place in the official appointments of the party. When the hour of reward came, Mr. Lorraine and his friends unfortunately forgot their youthful champion. He remonstrated, and they smiled: he reminded them of private friendship, and they answered him with political expediency. Mr. Cleveland went down to the House, and attacked his old comates in a spirit of unexampled bitterness. He examined in review the various members of the party that had deserted him. They trembled on their seats, while they writhed beneath the keenness of his satire: but when the orator came to Mr. President Lorraine, he flourished the tomahawk on high, like a wild Indian chieftain; and the attack was so awfully severe, so overpowering, so annihilating, that even this hackneyed and hardened official trembled, turned pale. and quitted the house. Cleveland's triumph was splendid, but it was only for a night. Disgusted with mankind, he

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 scouted the thousand offers of political connections which crowded upon him; and, having succeeded in making an arrangement with his creditors, he accepted the Chiltern Hundreds.

By the interest of his friends, he procured a judicial situation of sufficient emolument, but of local duty; and to fulfil this duty he was obliged to reside in North Wales. The locality, indeed, suited him well, for he was sick of the world at nine-and-twenty; and, carrying his beautiful and newly-married wife from the world, which, without him she could not love, Mr. Cleveland enjoyed all the luxuries of a cottage ornée, in the most romantic part of the Principality. Here were born unto him a son and daughter, beautiful children, upon whom the father lavished all the affection which Nature had intended for the world.

Four years had Cleveland now passed in his solitude,—it must not be concealed, an unhappy man. A thousand times, during the first year

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 of his retirement, he cursed the moment of excitation which had banished him from the world; for he found himself without resources, and restless as a curbed courser. Like many men who are born to be orators—like Curran, and like Fox,—Cleveland was not blessed, or cursed, with the faculty of composition; and indeed, hac his pen been that of a ready writer, pique would have prevented him from delighting or instructing a world, whose nature he endeavoured to persuade himself was base, and whose applause ought consequently to be valueless. In the second year he endeavoured to while away his time, by interesting himself in those pursuits which Nature has kindly provided for country gentlemen. Farming kept him alive six months; but, at length, his was the prize ox; and, having gained a cup, he got wearied of kine too prime for eating; wheat, too fine for the composition of the staff of life; and ploughs so ingeniously contrived, that the

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 very ingenuity prevented them from being useful. Cleveland was now seen wandering over the moors, and mountains, with a gun over his shoulder, and a couple of pointers at his heels; but ennui returned in spite of his patent percussion; and so, at length, tired of being a sportsman, he almost became what he had fancied himself in an hour of passion,—a misanthrope.

With the aid of soda-water and Mr. Sadler, Vivian had succeeded, the morning after the Cabinet-dinner, in getting the Marquess up at a tolerably early hour; and, after having been closeted with his Lordship for a considerable time, he left Château Desir.

Vivian travelled night and day, until he stopped at .—Such was the correct style of Mr. Cleveland's abode. What was he to do now? After some deliberation, he despatched a note to Mr. Cleveland, informing him, "that he (Mr. Grey) was the bearer,

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Over the Wine

 * VERY often, when I'm drinking,
 * Of the old days I am thinking,

Of the good old days when living was a Joy,
 * And each morning brought new Pleasure,
 * And each night brought Dreams of Treasure,

And I thank the Lord that I was once a Boy.

 * When I hear the old hands spinning
 * Yarns of gold there was for winning

In the Roaring Days, that now so silent are,
 * And my brain is whirling, reeling
 * With their legends, comes the feeling

That the Rainbow Gold I knew was finer far;

 * For not all the trains in motion,
 * All the ships that sail the ocean,

With their cargoes; all the money in the mart—
 * Could purchase for an hour
 * Such a treasure as the Flower,

As the Flower of Hope that blossomed in my heart.

 * Now I sit, and smile, and listen
 * To my friends whose eyes still glisten,

Though their beards are showing threads of silver-grey,
 * As they talk of Fame and Glory—
 * The old, old pathetic story—

While they drink “Good luck” to luck that keeps away.

 * When I hear a politician
 * Speak of honors and position,

And the time to come when he will sit on high,
 * Then I feel a sovran pity
 * For this species of banditti,

Raising trouble while the golden time goes by.

 * Long ago I did discover
 * It was fine to be a lover,

But the heartache and the worry spoil the game;
 * Now I think, like an old vandal,
 * That the game's not worth the candle—

And I know some other vandals think the same.

 * And I hate the cant of striving,
 * Slaving, planning, and contriving,

Struggling onward for a paltry little prize.
 * O, it fills my heart with sorrow
 * This mad grasping for To-morrow,

While To-day from gold to purple dusks and dies.

 * Very often, when I'm drinking,
 * Of the old days I am thinking,

Of the good old days when living was a Joy.
 * When I see folk marching dreary
 * To the tune of Miserere—

Then I thank the Lord that I am still a Boy.

title: Over the Wine


text:
Page:Vivian Grey, Volume 2.djvu/20

 from England, to Mr. Cleveland, of a 'communication of importance.' Under the circumstances of the case, he observed that he had declined bringing any letters of introduction. He was quite aware, therefore, that he should have no right to complain, if he had to travel back three hundred miles without having the honour of an interview; but he trusted that this necessary breach of etiquette would he overlooked."

The note produced the desired effect; and an appointment was made for Mr. Grey to call at Kenrich Lodge on the following morning.

Vivian, as he entered the room, took a rapid glance at the master of Kenrich Lodge. Mr. Cleveland was a tall and elegantly formed man, with a face which might have been a model for manly beauty. He came forward to receive Vivian, with a Newfoundland dog on one side, and a large black greyhound on the other; and the two animals, after having

title: Page:Vivian Grey, Volume 2.djvu/20


text: Talk:Over the Wine

title: Talk:Over the Wine


text:
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text: Page:The poetical works of Robert Burns.djvu/78


text:
Page:The Works of H G Wells Volume 11.pdf/36

 God gave no answer.

"But that reminds me," said Satan unabashed.

The great winged shapes drew nearer, for Satan is the celestial raconteur. He alone makes stories.

"There was a certain man in the land of Uz whose name was Job."

"We remember him."

"We had a wager of sorts," said Satan. "It was some time ago."

"The wager was never very distinct—and now that you remind me of it, there is no record of your paying."

"Did I lose or win? The issue was obscured by discussion. How those men did talk! You intervened. There was no decision."

"You lost, Satan," said a great Being of Light who bore a book. "The wager was whether Job would lose faith in God and curse him. He was afflicted in every way; and particularly by the conversation of his friends. But there remains an undying fire in man."

Satan rested his dark face on his hand, and looked down between his knees through the pellucid floor to that little eddying in the ether which makes our world. "Job," he said, "lives still."

Then after an interval: "The whole earth is now—Job."

Satan delights equally in statistics and in quoting scripture. He leaned back in his seat with an expression of quiet satisfaction. "Job," he said, in easy


text:
Page:The Works of H G Wells Volume 11.pdf/37

 narrative tones, "lived to a great age. After his disagreeable experiences he lived one hundred and forty years. He had again seven sons and three daughters, and he saw his offspring for four generations. So much is classical. These ten children brought him seventy grandchildren, who again prospered generally and had large families. (It was a prolific strain.) And now if we allow three generations to a century, and the reality is rather more than that, and if we take the survival rate as roughly three to a family, and if we agree with your excellent Bishop Usher that Job lived about thirty-five centuries ago, that gives us— How many? Three to the hundred and fifth power? It is at any rate a sum vastly in excess of the present population of the earth You have globes and rolls and swords and stars here; has anyone a slide rule?"

But the computation was brushed aside.

"A thousand years in my sight are but as yesterday when it is past. I will grant what you seek to prove; that Job has become mankind."

The dark regard of Satan smote down through the quivering universe and left the toiling light waves behind. "See there," he said pointing. "My old friend on his little planet—Adam—Job—Man—like a roast on a spit. It is time we had another wager."

God condescended to look with Satan at mankind, circling between day and night. "Whether he will curse or bless?"


text:
Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/226

 THE OLD MANSION. STONE sents the following day. As I looked around, a feeling of melancholy, almost indescribable, stole over me. To haYe sat down and cried would hare been a relief. I had never felt so, without sufficient cause, before; and I was ashamed of myself for being, as I thought, hysterical Alas! it was a presentiment of evil.

The breakfast bell rang, an hour later than usual, and though every one looked haggard, all obeyed it, except Georgians. After waiting for a quarter of an hour, her father, who was a martinet in punctuality, testily ordered her to be summoned.

“Poor thing," said her mother, apologetically, “let her sleep. We can breakfast for once with out her, father. She must be quite worn out."

“Not more than we are," answered Mr. Elliott, who was always out of humor if he had to wait for a meal. “Let her get up, like the rest of us. It was for her pleasure the house has been turned topsy-turvy; and the least she can do is not to keep breakfast standing."

When my uncle spoke in this way there was no appeal. A servant, therefore, was despatched to Georgiana’s door; but the poor creature returned immediately, followed by my cousin’s maid, consternation on both their faces.

My uncle and aunt rose at once, divining something terrible. But neither could form words to speak. It devolved on me to interrogate the maids.

Both spoke at once. Georgiana’s room was empty, they said, and her bed had not been disturbed.

Simultaneously we three, uncle, aunt and myself, rushed up stairs; my uncle with an oath, my aunt shrieking, myself with a dread- fnl suspicion at my heart. The servants fol- lowed after. I looked back at Georgiana’s maid, and read in her face, though she strove to ap- pear frightened, that she knew more about the affair than she chose to tell; and my suspicions and fears began to assume shape.

Mr. Elliott was the first to reach the chamber, His eye instantly detected a note, left conspicuously on the dressing-table, which he read rapidly through, threw with an oath at his wife, and then rushed down stairs, exclaiming that Georgiana had disgraced them forever, and shooting for a carriage and policemen.

My aunt took up the letter, but her hand shook so that she could not see, and I was compelled I offer to assist her. Leading her to the bed. to ordered the servants from the room, and then read the note aloud, the poor mother rocking to and fro, and wringing her hands, except when she broke into audible sobbings.

My conscience smote me as I read. Georgians had eloped, the letter said, with one whom she knew her parents were prejudiced against, but who was all nobleness and virtue, as they would yet discover. He had loved her, she wrote, ever since he first saw her, at the sea-shore, in the summer; but had not dared then to breathe high hopes, because an old enemy of his, Mr. Talbot, had, he knew, prejudiced her parents against him. Since then, however, he had followed Georgians home; they had met frequently; and she had finally consented to be his; indeed, she had loved him, she said, from their first meeting. The missive ended with what is, I suppose, the usual conclusion in suoh cases, an entreaty for forgiveness.

I had no difficulty in solving parts of this riddle. Georgiana had eloped with Mr. Deepencer the adventurer who had disappeared so suddenly, the day after Mr. Talbot’s arrival. But other parts of it were still enigmatical. I had always intended to tell Georgiana this man’s true character; but had forgotten to do it; and I had never since even heard his name mentioned in the family. From my aunt I could extract no information. She had never known, she said, that he had visited at the house--how then could it be supposed that she or her husband was prejudiced against him? My poor aunt, on saying this, began to reproach her child, and went into violent hysterics.

The problem was not unriddled till later in the day, when my uncle, having returned from an unsuccessful pursuit of the fugitives, and my aunt having partially recovered, I mentioned my suspicion that Georgiana’s maid knew more of the affair than any of us. My uncle had her immediately summoned, and by locking the door, threatening her with a prison, and promising  her a large reward, he so worked on her alter nate fears and cupidity, that she-ﬁnally betrayed her mistress. By putting together what she revealed; what I already knew; and what I suspected, I got at the full truth.-

It seems, that, within a few days after our return, Mr. Despencer had waylaid the maid,  and by a liberal reward had induced her to send him word the next time Georgiana went out alone. Thus informed, he had met my cousin, as if accidentally, and renewed their acquaint Georgiana, mortiﬁed by the loss of Mr. Talbot, and having always secretly liked Mr. Despencer, consented, after one or two of these apparently chance interviews, to meet him clan destinely. Hence her walks before breakfast.

“Miss Elliott," continued the maid, "used to tell me all. How that Mr. Despencer was a lord


text:
Page:The Works of H G Wells Volume 11.pdf/38

 "Whether he will even remember God."

"I have given my promise that I will at last restore Adam."

The downcast face smiled faintly.

"These questions change from age to age," said Satan.

"The Whole remains the same."

"The story grows longer in either direction," said Satan, speaking as one who thinks aloud; "past and future unfold together When the first atoms jarred I was there, and so conflict was there—and progress. The days of the old story have each expanded to hundreds of millions of years now, and still I am in them all. The sharks and crawling monsters of the early seas, the first things that crept out of the water into the jungle of fronds and stems, the early reptiles, the leaping and flying dragons of the great age of life, the mighty beasts of hoof and horn that came later; they all feared and suffered and were perplexed. At last came this Man of yours, out of the woods, hairy, beetle-browed and blood-stained, peering not too hopefully for that Eden-bower of the ancient story. It wasn't there. There never had been a garden. He had fallen before he arose, and the weeds and thorns are as ancient as the flowers. The Fall goes back in time now beyond man, beyond the world, beyond imagination. The very stars were born in sin

"If we can still call it sin," mused Satan.

"On a little planet this Thing arises, this red earth, this Adam, this Edomite, this Job. He builds cities, he tills the earth, he catches the lightning and makes


text:
Author:Robert Carl Zuppke

Works

 * Football Technique and Tactics (1922)

Works about Zuppke

 * "Zuppke—Two Sketches" (1926), a poem by Anna Shattuck Palmer

title: Author:Robert Carl Zuppke


text:
Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/228

 1

THE

us.

OLD

STONE

MANSION.

us. Yet I knew, that, if Mr. Talbot had a fault, it waa in being inflexible to obstinacy, in regard to what he thought the right, and especially in regard to the conduct of women. On some points also I suspected that be was the victim of what, in any other, I should hare called prejudice. I felt, instinctively, that this was one of those points.

Mr. Talbot was silent for a moment. He bit his lip, looking on the ground, evidently both annoyed and hurt. At last he spoke.

“You really must give up this visit, Marga¬ ret,” he said. “I cannot consent to let you go.”

Had he spoken differently, had his tone been less authoritative, I might have yielded. But alas! for both of us, he roused all the woman in me by these words.

The blood mounted to my forehead. Consent! Was he, then, my master? No! I was not mar¬ ried yet; and I could, and would, do as I pleased.

Besides, ought not husband and wife to be alike as to rights? Was not each entitled to his or her conscientious opinion? Was not any at¬ tempt, on the part of the man, to claim authority to oontrol the woman, tyrannical?

It is true I loved Mr. Talbot. But was I, like so many other women, those recreants to their sex as I had been accustomed to call them, to abandon my principles at the first temptation? Was I also to become a slave, because I loved? My eye kindled, as these thoughts passed through me.

Mr. Talbot read my sentiments. But he was as resolute, as unflinching as myself.

“Margaret,” he said, at last, solemnly, “ think well what you are about to do. It is no mere whim that makes me object to your seeing Geor¬ gians. If you could visit her without involving me, I would stop with an expostulation-”

“But now you command-”

I spoke in some heat. God forgive me! But I was irritable from that weeks anxiety, and his tone, whether he meant it or not, was even more exasperating than his words.

He looked at me in surprise. Then his brow begin to contract.

“I will be frank with you, Marggret,” he said. “We are to be married so soon, that 1 think I have a right, equitably at least, to exercise some control over you even now. As my wife I can¬ not consent to your assooiating with your eousin. Her husband is a mere adventurer. Once, as you know, I had almost sent him to the peni¬ tentiary. You cannot visit his wife, without, as oy wife, countenaeing him; and to that extent embarrassing me. He will boast of an acquaint¬ ance, nay! connection, and so secure entree into circles whence otherwise he would be excluded. He is full of tact. If you notice them at all, he will obtain character and credit in consequenee of it. This I cannot consent to. I must insist, therefore, that you do not go, unless,” he paused, “unless you promise, at the same time, never to repeat the visit.”

I believe 1 would have yielded to this compro¬ mise, if it had not been for that one word “in¬ sist;” for I felt the force of his argument. Fer a moment, indeed, I was on the point of giving way. But a something within me whispered that I was weak; that I was surrendering to love and not to conviction; and this made me as firm as a rock.

“Mr. Talbot,” I said, coldly, “I believe I am a reasoning creature as well as yourself. And I have a duty to perform to others as well as lb you. Through my neglect, Georgians has be¬ come the with of this man; I owe her some re¬ paration; and as long as she wishes me to stand by her, 1 will not be so cowardly as to cast her off.”

We looked at each other. Neither flinched.

“So be it,” replied Mr. Talbot, beginning to button up his coat. He was greatly agitated. “So be it.” He took a step or two as if departing.

But suddenly he turned, walked up to me, and seized my hand.

“Margaret,” he cried, in a voice husky with emotion. “For God*s sake think what you do! Be just to yourself as well as to me. Let us not be separated on so trivial a matter. If you love me, you will make this sacrifice.”

His first words had melted me. His last made me as rigid as ever.

“If I do not love you,” I said, “because I will not yield, neither do you love me, for neither will you yield. But since you say I don’t love, the sooner this bauble,” and I took my engage¬ ment ring from my finger, “is returned to you* the better.”

He did not, at first, take the ring. He waa more forbearing than myself. He looked at me steadily. If there had been any relenting oa his part, I might have relented also. But I saw that he was waiting, not because there was any chance of his opinion changing, but because ho hoped mine would, and that I would yield. He evidently thought, that, in the relations that existed between us, it was as much my duty to obey as if I bad been his wife; and he as evi- dently held to the belief that the husband was the head of the household. Something of this found expression.

“I was too hasty,” he said, still hesitating^


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 218

THE OLD 8TONE MANSION.

round yet. He can’t be bo cruel.” - And a forced smile shone wanly across her face, as she added. “This is not very hospitable, however: you’ve been here an hour, and I’ve offered you no re¬ freshments; what will you have? A glass of wine and a bit of cake for luncheon ? Or shall we have an early dinner? Arthur won’t be home till dark, and told me not to wait for him.”

There was something in her manner, rather than in her words, when she spoke of her hus¬ band, that convinced me she was not entirely happy with him. She evidently loved him, but seemed to fear him. Already she was beginning, I said to myself, to drink the fruits of her way¬ wardness and disobedience. Yet I pitied her, with all her errors, the more that I felt, that, but for me, she might have been saved.

I did my best to cheer her, though I was far from cheerful myself. She innocently made me wince, more than once, when she referred to my approaching marriage.

We dined in a back apartment, similar to the one we had been sitting in; and were waited on by an old woman, who seemed to be cook and maid-of-all-work in one. After dinner we re- turned to the parlor, where I began to wonder why the carriage did not return, for night was approaching. The autumn wind wailed dis- mally among the pines, and directly the rain began to dash against the windows. At last, the jolting of wheels was heard. Georgiana, who had been uneasy, on my account, for some time, ran to the window and said it was the cabman.

“But there is a cart with him,” she added, immediately, and in a tone of some surprise. “And stay, surely I know those things; they are your trunks. Ah! I see it all,” and she turned and kissed me joyfully, “you have done this to surprise me. You have sent riyly, for your wardrobe and are going to make mo a visit. You don’t know how I thank you.”

I realized, from her unaffected delight, how lonely she had felt. But I was so much asto- nished, at what she said, that I hurried to the window, believing that there must be some mis- take. There was none, however. The cart, by this time, had drawn up to the door, and the carman was throwing my trunks on the decayed door steps, in the rain and wet.

At the same moment, the woman, who had waited on us at dinner, entered the room with a letter, which she handed to me.

“What can it all mean?” I said. “This is your father’s writing. Ah! I understand.”

These exclamations had followed each other, as I received the letter, glanced at the direction, opened it, and began to read. I tore up the missive, to prevent Georgiana from asking te see it, as soon as I had finished perusing it; and threw the fragments into the fire; or I would transcribe it here. But its purport, and even many of its phrases, I shall never forget.

It seems that my aunt had been in the baok parlor, which was separated, by folding-doors, as is still the case in many old mansions, from the front one, during my interview with Mr. Talbot. While I was up stairs, as I afterward discovered, my uncle had come in; and she had told him what she had overheard. He had immediately ascertained the number of the coach, in which I had left the house, and, when it re¬ turned to its stand, had sent for it. Meantime, my wardrobe had been collected, and paoked into a cart, ready to be despatched to me. The cabman, when he came, was given a letter, with instructions to deliver my baggage on the spot, or drive me elsewhere, if I wished.

The letter itself reproached me, not very consistently, considering for whose cause I had quarreled with Mr. Talbot, with having undermined Georgiana, with having trapped her into her marriage, and with still abetting her in her  disobedience. I was, it said, ungrateful, artful, insolent and treacherous. But I was, at last, found out. My very victim, Mr. Talbot, had discovered my true character, and cast me off; and the writer hastened to follow his example,   I should no longer insult him, or my aunt, with   my presence. They utterly disowned me, and forever. They had sent me such things as were mine, though I did not deserve it, and they  wished never again to hear my name. As to applying to them, by letter, or seeking an inter- view, it would be useless.

My uncle was neither a coherent talker, nor writer, and this letter was one of his most in-   volved productions. The very handwriting trembled with passion. In every sentence was revealed the hatred and revenge, which only the wealth and position of Mr. Talbot had  re strained, and which now had full sway,

Pride and indignation were my first emotions, when I had finished perusing the epistle. I looked up. The eyes of Georgiana were fixed  on me inquiringly. Calmly I walked to the fire,  as I have said, tore the letter up, and threw the   pieces deliberately into the flames. Then, as  concealment was no longer possible, I told my  cousin of the breach between Mr. Talbot and  myself, and that her father had turned me out of doors.

She was at my side in a moment. The many slights she had put upon me, in her rich and


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“IN

MEMORIAM.”~—DAHLIAS.

219

insolent days, were forgiven end forgotten from that hour. 8he was one of those, whom sorrow improves. Hod I been a sister she could not have been kinder.

“You shall stay with us,” she said, kissing me. “Arthur will be so glad, for he is com¬ pelled to leave me a great deal alone, and I know it gives him pain. You have come to all this, too, because you took my part. Ah! Maggy, it is just like you, always thinking of others be¬ fore yourself.”

I was really grateful for so hearty a welcome. For I felt that I had no other place to go to, at least that night, and that I should have been compelled to ask for a temporary home with her, even if she had not offered it. This much I saw, though I was yet too stunned by the events of the day, to reflect clearly, either on my real position, or on my future plans.

It was now Qeorgiana’8 turn to try to be oheerful. She led the way gayly to my room, Superintended the bringing up of my things, and kept assuring me “Arthur would be so glad that I was to live with them.” But I was not so certain of this. Even my temporary sojourn with them, till I could find some means of em¬ ployment, I began to think might be distasteful to him; for it was plain his pecuniary resources were small; and it was probable he would dis¬ like me on Mr. Talbot’s account. The events of the day had left me nervous, so that, as the hour for his return approached, I began to wish almost that I had rejeeted Georgiana’s invita¬ tion, and gone elsewhere. Bat where could I go? This continually returning question, and the ever repeated answer, that I had nowheta to go, humiliated me beyond words. If Mr. Talbot had wished for revenge, he was having it already.

At last Mr. Deepencer arrived. We heard him in the hall below, stamping the water from his boots; And Georgians hurried down to meet him; while I remained, sitting in the twilight, listen¬ ing to the rain beating against the casements, and feeling as if I had nothing now to live for, nothing to hope for, hereafter.

(to be continued.)

“IN MEMORIAM.”

ST. JOHN'S CHURCH, WILMINGTON: FOUNDED BY ALEXIS J. DUPONT. BY CLARA IOEETON. Nrvn. of dust beneath, did sculptured stone So eloquently speak, as this grey spire Of thee. 0h, laborer without him, whose day Cloud with the noon—thy Master calling thee Straight from the field, before thy work was done, To rent with Him above. Before thy work Was done? We dare not any of thee—whole lilo Was ﬁlled to overﬂowing with good deeds, Who crowded labors, in the noon-tide hour, 30 van! as this—that ought was left uudonol No! blessed be He who set thee to thy talk, And when the hours of servitude were o'er, Redeemed the promise of our Christ, and called Thee homo to glories of thy heritage!

These massive walls defy the hand of Timei Ages shall pass, and ﬁnd them still secure: Green creeping vines shall slumber up their sides, And intorlace their sprays. The pasaers by Shall feel their hearts throb fast, at thoughts of thee, Gazing upon its beauty and its strength; And so, to childrsn'l children. will thy name Go down, kindling to noble deeds. some yet Unborn, and uatt’ring seeds for harveutime.

DAHLIAS. BY L‘LARA

AUGUSTA

Toreenzn with the roval crimson fine Which gleam! blood red in princel‘ wine; The regal blossoms of the South, Ripe as some syren’s luring mouth; Fragrance ye graze have not! Where's Such courtly is ample meed theI need?

The rose is lovely, modest, meek; I like its dainty, blushing cheek— But qneenlier is the dahlia ﬂower. A typo of beauty, fame, and power! My love must be a stately girl, With elegance in each lot! curl;

'lio win kings’ hearts, and claim the praise 0f danntleas heroes wearing boys]

I'd have her heart a high, proud shrine, Where I might lay this love of mine!

Filled to the brim with gorgeous light,

And on the passion of her lips

Alone in proud imperial migbt— To sway the passions, charm the sense, And 11"] pMA‘I'OVIDBd innocence!

Bo lost, like bees in red coﬂlipel Content with this sweet Heaven helm, Which makes of life one raptureﬂowl