fillip lip II FRANK MORTIMER, ) Editor and Proprietor. J AN INDEPENDENT FAMILY NEWSPAPER. ( Terms : One J IN ADVANCE Dollar per Year. IYoav Blooinflold, Xn., TuoHdny, 3Xtiy 1, 187-1. IVo. SO. 3 liko a tiny prince. It was summer weather. Tho sea was really for once "liko glass." Ono could hardly bo sick, oven if he tried. Mrs. Dunraven was sitting on deck, one day, with her boy, when sho heard tho palter of little feet, and a child onmo bcainjiei ing up to her knee and caught her hand. Tho now comer was a little maid some eight years old, with a pretty head covered with jet-black hair, and a pair of doep black eyes, lustrous and lambent. Tho little girl's complexion was of almost topical darkness. She was a lovely little creature, indeed, who might have stood as an infantile impersonation of Night, while tho sunny-haired boy near her would have passed for tho living symbol of Day. "And what Is your name, my little dear?" asked Mrs. Dunraven, who did not remember to have seen the child 1eforc.' " My name is Dosireo," little Night re plied, promptly and clearly, and then went on :" I saw you on tho deck, and I ran to you because I love you." "Do you, my sweet little creature? I am sure I shall lovo you," said Helen, kissing the child tenderly. "Oh yes, I love you ; and t love your lit tloboy." , The little boy was holding off rather sheepishly, after the manner of hut race. In very early life the girls make idl the ad vances, if any are mado. This little girl stood fearlessly before the boy, and gated at him in tender innoeent frankness, while he was somewhat shy, and looked at her timidly out of his great bluo eyes. At his mother' bidding bo went near the child, and gave her his hand ; but she put her aims around his neck and kissed him. Before tho day. was half over they woro firm friends. They ran all over tho deck together, and tried to play that game (what is it called?) which people play on .board ship with round pieces of wood and a thing like a crutch, and a number of squares and and figures chalked on the deck planks They ran into all manner of holes and corners ; they sat sido by sido at meals, and shared the oranges and apples captured at desserts. Mi's. Duuraven saw nothing of Dcsiroe's mamma. An eldorly mulatto woman came and looked after the child now and then ; but the mother did not appear, and seemed quite content that Desireo should lie left entirely to Mrs. Dunraven's caro. Practi cally this was bo. Tho little girl clung to Helen and her boy all through the voyago as if she belonged to them ; and indeed, people often wondered at tho English lady's two children tho one so fair and the other ho dark. Only on the last day of tho voyago did the lady whom Desireo culled her mummu make an appearance on deck. She was uu invalid, apparently ; she walked with diffi culty. She was wrapped in shawls, though tho weather was warm, . Her face was indeed somewhat liko that of Desireo, but was sallow and yellow. It was prematurely wasted and old. It was lighted by the cold fire of two stern and dark eyes that burned with a penetrating painful keenness. Tho mulatto woman, on whom sho leaned, brought this lady up to Mrs. Dunraven. "Iain deeply grateful," the luOy ;iid, pt Ijloomfitlir Is Published Weekly, At New Blooinfleld, Tcnn'a. BY FRANK MOB TIME It. KUUSCItlPTION TEKMS. ONE DOLL All PEJi YEAR I CO Cents for G Mouth 8 40 Cents for 3 Months, TS ADVANCK MRS. RYLAND'S NIECE. TTEAHLY twenty years ago an English L lady and hor little boy woro crossing the Atlantic in one of tho Cunaid Hleamcra. Tho lady was going to Canada, whero her hrotlier lived. Sho was a widow. Sho had lost her husband a very few years nfter their marriage. Her nanio was Helen Dunraven, and sho had a sweet, gentle, somewhat melancholy face, as I think a woman named Helen ought to have. Her little boy was a bright haired, blue-eyed, creature. His fair hair clustered about his forehead and fell upon his shoulders. This was about tho tinlo when Knickerbockers lirst becamo tho garb of small hoys in En rope ; and little Eustace Dunraven woro black velvet Knickerbockers and looked " for your attention and kindness to tho lit tle girl Desireo. I am nn invalid and sho is a restless, seir-willed child. No nurse or servant of any kind can get any control over her." "Indeed? I should never have thought so" Mrs. Dunraven replied. " Sho seems to mo a very docilo and loving littlo crea ture It was such a pleasure to me to havo your lit Uo daughtor with lis during tho voyago I" " Thank you. I am much obligod. Desireo is not my daughter ; sho is tho child of my brother. Ho is dead. Desireo is an orphan." Mrs. Dunraven sighed, nnd looked at her little boy. "Sho calls mo mamma," tho other lady continued ; " but sho has neither father nor mother. I take care of her so far as I can ; I am her guardian. Desireo will be well cared for, nnd sho will make many friends if sho lives, for sho will be nil heir ess." Thero was something cold and disagreea ble in her tone a certain grating cynicism, implied in her manner more than in tho words. Mrs. Dunraven felt inclined to shrink from her. "She looks a fine, healthy littlo girl," she said in order to say something. " Healthy ! Oh no ! tho other replied, coldly ;" far from healthy! I should say sho had the seeds of consumption in her. Her father and mother both died very young. Tho littlo boy and girl wcro playing on tho deck at soma distance while tho ciders wcro thus talking. Mrs. Dunraven looked with wonder and greatly increasing disliko at tho woman who thus so coldly cast tho horoscopo of this loving and lovely child, and sought to find for her tho houso of death. Poor Desireo came in for misfortune that day. She and littlo Eustace were missing for a long timo. Two hours and more passed away without their making their ap pearance. At last they came riming up together hand in hand and with an air of immenso triumph and excitement, to where tho elder ladies were sitting. "Look here, mamma !" the boy exclaim ed half out of breath, " See what we have been doing 1 Desireo is to be my wife, you know, when wo grow big ; and so that we may be suro to know each other again, I have dono my name the lotteiB of it on hor arm, and hers on miuo. Tom, the steward's boy, got us tho gun powder, and it didn't hurt a bit at least not much, you know. I liked it, and Dosireo stood it like a brick 1 See 1 there it is E. D.' on her arm, for Eustace Dunraven, because she belongs to me ; and ' D.' on my arm for Dcsiree only D.' becauso Desirce doesn't quite remomber her other name, and I don't know it. But 4 D.' will do well enough ; won't it mamma?" And the boy pulled np first Desireo' sleeve, and then his own, and showed the work of his hand in triumph. He actually had tattooed the identifying mark in his rude littlo letters on their arms. Ho had seen and been immonsoly delighted with the tattooing performances of tho sailors, and ho thought tho finest thing in the world was to employ the procoss as a love mark for Desireo and himself. "Dosireo's "mamma" positively flamed with fierce, sudden and unintelligible an gor. She loaded tho poor little girl with harsh and bitter words, and struck her two or three sharp blows on tho faco. Littlo Eustace's eyes burned with anger and his fat round fist clenched. Desireo never cried, nor even winced. The punishment over, her guardian rose front the seat with out a word to Mrs. Duuraven, and despite hor invalid condition, hurried down stairs. The parting of little Desireo from Eus tace was a dismal piece of business. The poor children clasped each other and cried. Mrs. Duuraven found her own eyes wet as she looked at them. She made an effort to obtain tho address of the little girl's so- called " mamma ;" and when the "mam ma" herself appeared on deck for the last time, the steamer being actually in the dock, Mrs. Dunraven went over to her, made an dibi t to be warm and friendly, ex pressed a hope that they should meet again, and tendered her card. Tho other lady was cold and constrained. She said ve are going Houtn ; we seldom como North ; the climate does not suit me or my husband aud childreu nor Dcsiree." But she gavo a card which bore the name of " Mrs. Angelo Ryland, Now Orleans." A hurry ashore, a rush for luggage, carriage, a final dash of Dosiree'a sad eyes, and the parting was over. Mm. Dunraven and her boy went to Canada. She was to keen houoe for her brother, who was a widower, as sho was a widow, and had young children. I will not venture to say whether it is possible for a littlo boy of twclvo to fall in lovo with a girl of eight to fall in love with her so that tho feeling survives long separ ation, and abides with a tonacity of vital power which seems unconquerable. But it is a certain that littlo Desireo had so deeply impressed Eustace Dunraven that the memory of her was always with him. For a year or two ho kept incessantly ha rassing his mother with petitions and prayers to bo taken to Dosireo. Then, as ho began to havo a clearer intelligence, and to understand that thousands of miles can scparato loving hearts, he implored and pe titioned no moro ; but ho thought of Dosi reo all the same. Mrs. Dunraven listened to his occasional talk of Dcsiree with a keen pain nnd sadness ; for she had learned something which sho would not toll as yet to her son. It was this : ono day sho hap pened to sec nn old copy of a New Orleans paper at tho houso of a friend, nnd turning listlessly over its pages, sho was shocked and grieved to see in tho list of deaths tho name of Desireo Constant, aged nine years nnd three months, at tho house of her un cle, Angelo Ryland, Esq. So sho was dead, then, and tho cold, sharp faced aunt was right, after all. Mi's. Dunraven resolved that sho would not yet tell her boy of tho death of his quondam littlo play-mato. When tho dis tinctness of his memory of hor should havo worn itself away then sho would tell him ; not till then. Two years after thoir arrival in Canada, Mrs. Dunraven nnd Eustace paid a visit to. some friends in Now York. Ono day as Mrs. Dunraven was coming out of a book storo in Broadway, Eustace clutched her dress, and cried, " Oh mamma, look, look Desireo 1" Then . he ran two or three paces on and cried out, "Desireo !" Mrs. Dunraven looked in tho direction which the boy's gesture ami movements indicated, and she saw a carriage driving on and thero was a child's face scon for a moment at tho window, which did certain ly seem to her to resemble that of poor lost Desireo. At least it was tho faco of a dark-eyed child, with clustering dark hair ; and the child did scorn to bo looking eager ly hack. But that fact was easily to bo explained. Tho child, who probably bore some littlo resemblance to Desireo, was doubtless attracted by Eustace's sudden cries and gestures. The whole incident was piteous and pathetic. Mrs. . Dunraven's heart was keenly touched by the mournful expression in tho face of hor boy, as, disap pointed, he came back to her. " Well, dear," she said, " you were mis taken?" " Mistaken ! Oh, no, mamma J it was Dcsiree. I wonder sho did not stop the carriage?" "But, Eustaco, my child, it could not have been Dosireo." " Mamma, don't you you think I should know Desireo ? Besides, she saw mo and knew me." ' Mm. Duuraven shook her head sadly. She saw no use In pursuing tho discussion any farther. Poor Eustace was quite perplexed and miserable all that day. Indeed, tho holiday in New York was spoiled for him. There wassomothing wonderful in the hold which tho recollection of the dark-eyod child hod on the boy. You might have thought he was a full grown lover, yearn ing for a mistress. At last, his mother thought it right to tell him what she knew. The certainty of the worst seemed to her less likely to be wast ing and injurious than the pressure and excitement of barren hope. So she gently but firmly broke tho nows to him that Desirce was dead. He Hushed all red with horror at first, and his lips and hands trembled ; but then he broke out with the words : "Mamma, it isn't true. It was a mis take of tho paper, or it was somebody elso of tho same name. But it was not Desirce, I saw her that day iu Broadway, and she saw me. Dcsiree is alive, and I'll find her yet!" Mrs. Duuraven wrote a letter to Mrs. An gelo Ryland, New Orleans, reminding her of thoir slight acquaintance on the voyago from Europo, and of tho affection Eustaco had formed for Desireo ; and asked if it was truo that the dear littlo creature was doad. After the lapse of some weeks she received the following answer : My Deah Madam a I well remember our too short and slight acquaintanceship which might have ripened into something closer but for my invalid condition. I shall never forget your kindness to the beloved child who is now an angel in heaven. It is too true that Dcsiree Constant has boon long since removed to that bettor land whore those whom her loss has bereaved may yet hope to find hor. To mo, who loved her as dearly as if sho wcro my own daughter, thero can Ihj no earthly consola tion for the decree which carried her out but to which, howovor, as in Christian duty bound, I endeavor unrepiningly to bow. I remain, dear madam, with warm regards, yours over, Clotilda Kyland. Mrs. Dunraven thought thero was some thing singularly ropolling about tho tono of this lotter. "Sho novor loved tho doar littlo child ; sho was glad of her death, because probably sho got somo money by it," was hor exclamation; but then tho good woman chocked herself, and said, " I have no right to judge her thus. After all, it would bo cruel to suppose that a woman did not lovo a child or mourn for its death, merely becauso sho was sometimes harsh to it in its lifetime." Sho told her boh of the letter, and even read it to him. Do burst into a passion of tears, but even amidst the tears ho exclaim ed, "Oh, mamma, I don't care; I don't bclievo it. I saw Dosireo iu Broadway that day, and she is not doad !" Nino or ten years went over, and Eustaco Dunraven was arising young physician set tled in New York, his mother living with him. Ho had been attached to tho army, had served through tho war, and had been in New Orleans, nnd had stood by the gravo which a maiblo monument described as the last resting plaeo of Dosireo Con stant, aged nine years and three months. Ho had looked at tho gravo with tenderness and sadness, remembering the fervor of his childish love. Of course, tho dark-eyed child had faded from him long since into a mcro memory, a ciouu-snapo, a urcam ; something which impressed him sweetly aild sadly to think of, liko tho recollection of exquisite music, or of somo melancholy moonlight scene But ho had never loved any girl since. Ho thought with curious wonder over his boyish conviction that he had seen Desireo jilive long after the date on tho tombstono ;ftnutliougn ho now as sumed that ho was mistaken, it wasstrango how clearly on his mind remainod tho im pression of his having seon her. In New Orleans ho had made inquiries about the Ryland family. Fato had dealt heavily; with them. Clotilda Ryland, tho aunt of poor littlo Dosireo, had died at any early period of the war, hor death having boon hastened by the nows that her son, whom she passionately loved, had been killed in a battlo by a Federal bullet. Angelo Ryland, hor husband, who was represented as hav ing been wholly under her influence during her lifotimo, was living in Paris with his daughter, now his only child. They had lost nearly all thoir proporty most of it inhoritod on the death of littlo Dosireo during the war, and were living in a poor and narrow way. The mulatto woman whom Eustaco remembered as Desireo's uurse had been devoted to Mrs. Ryland, refused to accept her freedom during the war, and died soon after her mistress' death. The family was, if such an expression may be used, effaced from Now Orleans. And now Eustace Dunraven is settled in New York. One day ho Is sent for to at tend an English lady who, with hor family, bad just arrived at the Clarendon Hotol. Ho finds that the lady is very weak and nervous from the effects of the voyago part ly, but that there is nothing serious the matter. The lady's husband is an English man of wealth. They had boon in Ameri ca several years beforo ; they had come again to soo how it looks after the war. Ho hears the lady ask one of her servants " where Miss Dennis Is, and ho hears that Miss Dennis has gone out with MissEinml- ly and has not yot come back. Dr. Dunraven takes his loave, to visit the lady next day and on leaving her apartments, and hurry lug through the hall, ho almost runs against a young lady and a little girl who are coming in. Ho takes off his hat begins to make uu apology, when he suddenly breaks oil, flushes, stammers, aud at last exclaims, " Do lot me ask of you your name I Tell me are you not Desireo Con stant?" For thero before him stands a woman, not a child ; but tho woman has the faco, tho eyes, tho hair of the child Dcsiree The resemblance is wouderful, bewildering overpowering. It is Desireo. And the young lady turns palo, and says lu a tremulous tono : 1 "Sir, my name is Elizabeth Dennis; but the name Desirce startles mo in a man ner I cannot explain. I do believe 1 ouco must have known you then." "How did you get the name of Ellzubeth Dennis ?" " I don't know J I hardly remember my parents. I cannot understand why the name of Desireo seems so familiar to me, It cannot, I now know, have been my name. "Why do plcaso forgive my strange questions, and bclievo that I havo a reason able purpose in them why cannot your name have boon Dosireo Constant ?" Because," said sho, somewhat hesitating ly, " because, among other reasons, the ini tials of my namo aro marked on my arm ; And I can faintly remember my little broth er I supposo it must have been ho mark ing them ono day on board a ship, and somebody I supposo my motjior was there and was angry." Eustaco Dunraven broko into an excla mation that was almost a cry. " Desireo," he exclaimed, " It was I who mado the mark upon your arm 1 Tho initials were mine, not yours. My conviction my faith was right. Desireo Constant was not dead she lives, nnd you aro she?" It was Desiro Constant. Desireo was onco attacked by fever, and Mrs. Ryland announced her death. A slave child, nearly white, died just then ; her corpse was bu ried in a coIlin which bore tho namo of De sireo Constant ; and Desireo was sent to the far West, when sho had scarcely yet recov ered from her fever, nnd kept tlicro for awhilo by somo people who received an an nual sum for her, and woro giveu to under stand that sho was an illegitimate child. The letters marked on hor arm suggestod to Mi's. Ryland a new baptism for the girl, and she smiled to herself to think how ad mirably the supposed means of identifica tion could be mado so servo tho purpose of deception and fraud. Sho gavo to Dcsiree Constant tho name of Elizabeth Dennis ; aud tho child waking from tho delirium of hor fever to hear herself addressed only by this name, soon yielded to It in bewilder ment, and at last forgot Hint sho bad ever been called by any other. It was not long after this that tho Eng lish family with whom she was now living saw tho child, wcro charmed with her, and were anxious to roscuo her from the rough, uncongenial, and morcencry hands in which sho was placed. They paid off her keepers, got possession of the child educated aud brought hor up, and had her now as a teach er and companion of thoir children. Y This was the story so far as ever became Jtpown. It was not clear that Angelo Ky land, the broken old man now pining in Paris, ever was a party to it. No steps were taken to crush the broken reed by any legal prosecutiou. Eustace Dunraven becamo a close friend of the English family, and of courso Desi reo. The memory of his affection soon changed into tho roallty of manly lovo. And tho girl loved him, and they wore fin ally married, and are happy. Dcsiree found a mother and a husband at onco in Mrs. Dunraven and Eustaco, and the future let us hope, will repay her for the past. Aa Orange Orchard. A CORRESPONDENT of Hearth and Home writing from California, thus describes an orchard of that oounty : " A few days ago I visited Wolfskin's orange orchard. It is probably the largest orchard in California, if not iu tho world, and is known to many iu tho States from reading about it in Tht New Weil, by C. L. Bruce. At the time of my visit the blos soms were just beginning to appear. Per mission is freely given visitors to walk through the grounds of this princely estate. I do not care to say how many oranges I picked up and ato. I tako it for granted that any one who can walk about under such glorious trees, with the luscious fruit on every hand, aud not "take and eat," must be either moro or less than human. Apples, it may have been that Eve ato, but I think not, as that would argue that thero wore no oranges iu Eden, elso the sorpeul would have chosen thoiu instead of apples. Practically, oranges aro a staple articlo of export bonce. Tho treo is a very slow growor for tho first six or eight years from the seed, and only begins to bear about the tenth year after planting, even with the best of care, and it thence continues to in crease in size and profitableness for a life time It is a hardy plant and bears trans planting well bettor, I believe, than apple or pear trees and quito largo trues aro of ten successfully moved by severe pruning, though the generality of trees aro tiaui . planted from the nurseries at three or four years of age, being then about throe fuel liigh. At fifteen years old, tho tree bears two thousand oranges eauh year, without any alternate or resting years, aud at the local ruling price of threo dollars per hun dred, form a profitable crop ; so profitable, in fact, that the owner of a purse of less caliber than that of an army contractor need not enter into negotiations for the purpose of an orchard iu bearing. 1 V
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