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SAMUEL 'WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor.
VOLUME XXXIII, NUMBER 26.]
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING.
Qffice in Carpet Hall, North-westcor2zer of
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Unttg.
Amy's Cruelty.
'•Pair Amy of the terraced house,
Assist me to discover,
Why you who would not hurt a mouse
Can torture so your lover.
'•Yougive your coffee to the cat,
You stroke the dog for coming,
And all your fuce grows liindlier ut
The little brown Lee's humming.
"But when he haunts your door, (the town
Marks coming and marks gosng.)
You seem to have stitched your syclids down
To that long piece of sewing.
'Ton never give a look—not you,
Nor drop him a good morning,
To keep his long day warm and blue,
So fretted by your scorning.”
She shook her head—" The mouse and bee
For crumb or flower will linger;
The dog is happy ut my knee,
The cat puts ut my ling, cr;
"Rut he—to him the lemtt thing given,
Means great thiag,c at a distance;
Ile want. my world, my sun, icy heaven,
mil, body, is hole CXisiellec.
"They say love gives as well at take.;
lint :I simple maiden;
My mother's first .male velem she wakes,
1 still hove smiled sod pray
'•I only know my mother's love.
Watch gives all and ask• nothing;
.Lid this now loving sets the groove,
Too much the way of loathing.
'Unless he gives me all in Manisa,
forfeit all thing, by him;
The risk is temple and strange,
1 tremble, doubt, den) him
,w•ecte , t friend or hat debt Co
Bert angel or avo..d. devil;
I eitlier L ice, or—lo as Inm moo,
I can't Le merely civil.
`You trad a woman who put
ller Itto,-otn. -tiatture-t
Yon thial. -he dream- what eve t, worth,
51%0 Ca•t II to ttew (caner.?
"Such love's a eca , lip-Ittl: t
A rnatruate, pretty p t.tano.
I give m)-ell, if ail)
The first unto tun! the la 'I Inn,.
"And, netglthor or ilk" tre11,4,1
A man alionld mum u r never,
iie•ned worse, Ili•iii dog or mouse,
Till doled on forever "
Harvest and Vintage.
DIIEAUED Of a Mltvelow- Idroe•t—
I dreamed of a Thresh mg-floor,
Where Men, like grain, try Anreh, ttvaiu,
Were garnered in mea-ureless -tore;
All bound in sheave: , !the corn m the leaves,
And flailed, front husk to core.
And the Angels sang, with voices sweet,
''Out of the Grain the Pro, we beat,
Out of the Chaff wc winnow the Wheat:
True Souls arc the Wheat of a :cation:"
I dreamed of a wonderful Vintage—
I dreamed of a Wine-Pre , :s red,
Where Men, like gropes, by angel-.napes,
Were trodden with wrathful tread;
As grapes ye work, to mu-: and to murk,
And cru-h them, shred by shred.
And the Angels sang, with tongues divine
`•Out of the murk the mmt we line,
Out of the Grapes we mellow the Wine:
Brave Hearts are the Wine of a Nation!"
I would that my Dreams were Real—
That Angels this Laud might beat
And scourge our sod with the dad, of Cod,
And scatter the chaff from the wheat,
And mightily trend, in our Wine-Press red,
All dross beneath their feet:
That our souls might sing, in joyous =tram—
"Out of the Chaff the Wheat we gain,
Out of the lilurk the Wine we drain:
The Wheat and the Wine of our Nation!''
I pray that the Angel of FREEDOM
May strive with the Angel of WAR:
Till Men, like grain, the:4: Winnowers twain
Shall flail, from husk to yore;
Till Men, like Wine, in libation divine,
To Thee. 0 God! they pour:
And forevermore sing, will. tongues divine—
•'God of the True! this Wheat is Thine!
God of the Free! receive this Vine:
The Ileart and the Soul of cur IS:about',
grlettigno.
Alonciel DEFINITIONS.--Oversight—To
leave your old umbrella in a news-room and
carry away a new one.
Unfortunate Mari—One born with a con-
science
Progress of Time—A pedlar going through
the land with wooden clocks.
Rigid Justice—A juror on a murder case
fast asleep.
Independence—Owing fifty thousand dol
lars which you never intend to pay.
Efonesty—Almost obsolete; a term for
merly used in the case of a man who paid
for hie paper.
Credit—d wise provision by which con
stables and sheriffs get a living.
Love—An ingredient used in romance
and poetry.
ger"Father," said a graceless youth,
whose "governor" bad a good habit of ask
ing the blessing at meal-times, and a bad
one of breaking out into imprecations at
other times. "I wish you would stop pray
ing or swearing—l don't care which."
Carlyon's Vacation
110 W lIE TROLLED FOR JACK AND COT ROOKED
ESISEEI
[CONCLUDED.]
MATTER V
DEI
I=l
The day of the horticultural show, so
wearisome to Carlyon, was very literally a
jour de fele to Du Plat. In the aforesaid
rose allce, au clair de la lune, did the im
provident Templar swear eternal fidelity to
the Chips' governess, and beseech her to be
his wife; whether to live in chambers, dis
guised as the aforesaid Bea, according to
Phillip's suggestion, he did not stop to in
quire, though he could keep her in any other
capacity, Leicester, if put to it, could not
have explained. But it was the real thing
this time, you see—no deux temps love or
ice cream flirtation—and obstacles were
therefore in his eyes only so many hoops to
be jumped through.
"But what will your friends say to your
marrying a governess?" said Inez Windham,
"My friends? Confound them all. What
are they to me, love? If they were to cut
me—which they won't—it would be rather
a relief, for I am not very fond of the lot.—
I cannot offer you money, Inez, but I can
work, and I will; it is time I should, at
nine-and-twenty. I've been a sad idle dog,
but I'm getting rather sick of the life, and
it will be a change to get into harness and
work one's brain a little. I'll imitate Jef
freys, darling, and if I only make as good
an ending as he did, we shall de!"
Mil
Inca murmured a great deal about the
generosity and self-sacrifice, &c., &c. Very
pleasant to Du Plat's ears, I dare say: it
always is pleasant to be praised fur magna
nimity when one is doing a thing to gratify
ourself. "But if you should marry the heir
ess after all, Leicester!" whisperal the gov
erness, looking up in his face vritka malin
glance.
'•\Tarry whom? I would fling myself into
the Alder sooner!" cried Du Plat, with vehe
ment reproaches to her for doubting his love,
for supposing him capable of such treachery
for thinking any riche4 could be to him
' what she was—and all the rest of it ad in
finitunt.
"And yet I have an idea that you mad•
mnrry her, after all," anti tinued lucz, an
arch smile hid under her long lashes.
"Good God, dearest! what can you mean? '
exclaimed Du Plar, fairly ...tattled It the
ersistent disbelief iu his truth and eon
. stoney.
••I mean," murmured Inez, "that as you
wele generous enough to wish to take me
pemide—, as you fancied me, you will be
too gitocroos to ict my unhappy 'tin mines,
acrd, and zmnsiik' part us. Don't be angry
with me Lcicc•ter—don't let ibis miserable
money break ar poor Incr.'s heart."
into ber ere.; bewildered, mysti
ib.d, i:t ‘ei,Leoy a! Utz
auricular ur ocular organs, "You—ti,
heiress—what do you Inuau? You cannot
I)
"Yes," she answered, clinging to him—
"yes, I am the heiress your father met at
llawtree. I am the Miss Wil , dharn who has
£lO,OOO a year, that she will wish to Heav
en had never been hers if it annoys or an
gers you. Dear Leicester, I was sick to
death of lovers and friends who sought me
for my wealth. I lunged fur love unsoiled
by avarice, and a heart unbought by gold.
I had heard your father's wishes for you and
me. I thought when you came here you
were like the rest—heiress-bunting—and I
resolved to trick you. The Chippenhams,
and Leila Wyndham, a school friend of mine
then coming as governess here, helped me.
Iler name being the same, made it very
easy. She is a dear little thing, ready for
any fun, and we all entered into the plot
fur pure" amusement, never thinking of the
consequences. Tell me you forgive me,
Leicester. Many a time have I been on the
point of betraying myself, but the longing
to be loved—loved for myself alonemade
me go en with the deception. Never mind
the money, love; you would not have let
poverty part us—you will not force us both
to be wretched for the sake of my unfortu
nate riches. Speak to me, Leicester. Tell
me you do not love me less!"
Du Plat could answer such an appeal only
in one way; and though he was certainly
more astonished than ever he had been in
his life, and was sincerely disappointed to
be chiselled into doing the very thing he had
always vowed not to do, ho was for too wild
ly in love to part from Inez, if to marry her,
ho had been compelled to live on the ex
treme peak of Mont Blanc.
"And you won't throw yourself into the
Alder, Leicester, rather than marry 'the
heiress,' will you?" laughed the quasi-gov
erness, an hour after, when they had settled
everything coukttr de rose.
"I shall throw myself into the Alder if I
don't," said Da Mt. "13y Jove! to think
that I should be done in this way, that I
should marry Money! The worst of it is,
the governor 'll be so pleased; he's set his
heart upon your wonderful tin mines. But,
however, the mistress of the tin mines
knows I don't care a rush for them, and her
verdict is the only one important to me."
***. * * * *
One night pa i .rlyon sat in his dining-room
alone; his cat asleep on his knee, his cocka
too dozing on its stand, and Ehq surgery-bell
"NO ENTERTKINMENTIS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JANUARY 25, 1862.
quiet on its wire. Pluck alone sat gazing
at him with his true brown eyes, puzzling
in his clever canine head what had come to
his master to make him so stern, so silent,
and so distrait. People's lives were in dan
ger from Carlyon, and I'm not sure that at
that time ho did'nt prescribe belladonna as
a tonic, and send a child's gray powder to
a gouty member of parliment.
He sat and smoked, and smoked and
thought, and as he did so, his broad, pale
forehead knit, and his white teeth closed
hard on his meerschaum. As the clock
struck twelve, he started up, exclaiming.
"By Heavens, I can't stand this any lon
ger!"
That night, too, little Leila sat in her
raom in the moonlight, crying bitterly over
a withered bunch of_ wild flowers, and
thought to herself, "I shall never bo his
wife, but I shall love him dearer than his
wife ever will, all my life through."
"Mallon, Lion, where the devil did you
come from?" said Du Plat, seeing Philip
come across the lawn at Monkstone Court,
at noon the next day. "You look deucedly
ill, old boy. glad you've come down to
finish your holiday "
"How are you all? Is—is—Miss Wynd
ham well?" asked Carlyon, throwing him
self down under the cedars.
"Inez? Oh, yes, thank you, she's all
right, and as—"
"Inez? Pshaw! I mean my—my—pa
tient."
Du Plat whistled gently to himself.—
"That's the way the wind lies, is it? No,
she looks as ill as—as you do. By George!
Lion, you know she's not the heiress after
all."
"Not?" asked Carlyon, with a quick
glance of his dark eyes.
"No. Oh, I've got no end to tell you."
And Du Plat, taking his pipe out his
mouth, proceeded to tell the tale of how he,
poor victim, had been trapped into nail
ing £lO,OOO a year. Great was his marvel
to hear at the end of his perforation a snleunt
and fervent "Thank Heaven!"
"The devil, my dear Lion, l% hint's that
for? Are you thanking Heaven that I've
got the tin mines? I'll rehire thanks in
church about it if you think I ought."
"No," said tho one:: calm Carlyon, spring
ing to his feet, •'.l thank lleaven she is
per, that I may prove to her how dearly I
love her, and that tier •lil :al may inn. Cr
'ay 1 married /Mr I n• a, 11,,
going to
;Hairy! lion:Ala : .otqliod.
ham In'?"
..11.1a/ 4 . 1.1 11.1.••,_„ crud " Cold, n ,`,entity, I blush to
think I could ever have stooped to let her
buy me with her gold. At la it, in my life,
Dupe, I love; love I disbelieved in but never
theless sighed for; and I will break, break at
once and forever with these hateful tics that
bind me to one with whom I have not even
one thought . in common. I have erred—
erred to both. My fault is great to Huns
rim my en:fa:Pawn; to her was an acted lie
a , .d a :Le brings its own punishment,
but I will not add to the sin by marrying
her.
Du Plat stared at him, amazed at this
outburst from his calm and philosophic
friend.
"But, good Heavens! Phil, she may
bring a breach of promise case agaiust you."
—Let her."
"But it will ruin your practice."
"Su it must, but I shall be free from her,
and a man with brains can always live
somewhere. But she will not do that; cold
and phlegmatic as she is, as little affection
as there is in her heart, she is neither low-bred
nor coarse-minded, and would have as small
sympathy as you or I with a woman who,
for the sake of revenge, after all, only im
aginary—would expose herself in court.—
Poor llonoria's pride will be bitterly hurt,
but she will not heal it by proclaiming her
injuries in the Times law reports."
"And your pride will be hurt too, old fel
low. Llau,glity Philip Carlyon will have to
confess that ho was actually once in the
wrong."
Philip smiled. "Unpleasant, but I am
not so morally weak as to shirk the confes
sion. I have wronged Honoria, and I
should have gone on to wrong her still fur
ther by marrying her, that her money might
keep my brougham, and make me a good
position, if I had not been roused by a pas
sion too strong for me to resist. When 1
was alone there up in town, 1 felt that a
union with a woman I detested would be
insupportable. The s.olitado and barren
egotism of my life became hateful; and I
began to realize the possibility of a warmer,
truer, higher existence. I cannot now go
back to what satisfied me then; and it would
be a crime to Leila, and a moral suicide to
myself, if I could. I must either break my
chains and marry where I love, or never
marry at all, and lead a life as lowering and
profitless as it will be bare and void of eith
er aim, end or happiness."
"Break your chains, then, Lion; you are
too good to be lost. Leave Ilonoria and
Money to some fool with neither heart nor
brains, and take two better mistresses, Leila
and Ambition; they'll make you a happier,
and I bet, in the end, a more successful
man; for at your age, and with your nature,
if you set your fancy on this girl and lose
her, you'll go to the dogs as safe as this
pipe stem's made of cherry-wood. Have
you told the young lady of your entangle
ment?"
"Yes. It mull my duty to tall her."
"Your duty six weeks ago, I humbly con
ceived. Well, what did she say?"
"Forgave me like an angel."
"Never heard angels were given to for
giveness; their offices generally seem, ac
cording to the parsons, to consist in writing
down our sins. Of course she forgave you.
She would if you blew her brains out, and
she were able to speak to the fact afterwards;
and besides, women are always flattered at
an old love being turned over for 'em. But,
by the powers! they're bringing the car
riages round. We're going pick-nicking to
the ruins at Carlton. Come along. Poor
Inez 'll think I've been shot for a poacher,
or disappeared forevermore into the Alder.
By George, there she is, too!"
Du Plat tore across the lawn, Car.yon fol
lowing more leisurely. He met Lady Chip,
was warmly welcomed, and made her a
pretty speech about having run away from
his patients to apologise to her for having
quitted Monkstone so unceremoniously three
weeks before. Then he encountered Sir
Godfrey, who made him an instant offer of '
his pet bay mare to ride to Carlton; then
turned to I nez Windham, just being installed
her pony-carriage by Du Plat, and offered
her courteous congratulations; and then
made his way to a little pale face under a
Spanish hat. There were the eyes of twenty
people upon them, so Philip could only take
his hat off and shako hands with her; but
though she tried to smile and seemed uncon
cerned, and said "Good morning," talked of
the weather and the pony she was riding.
with forced vivacity, Carlyon read quite
enough in the sad eyes and the circles be
neath them to satisfy him. "Old Chip"
called to him to mount the bay; as he turn
ed, his eyes fell on Honoria Cosmetique.
She was just riding up with her Muddy
brook friends, and she gave him a haughty
surprised stare; for his two letters in three
weeks, and those two laconic and cold to the
last extent, had very naturally incensed her.
Carlyon saw little Leila shudder slightly,
-orike her pony sharply, and ride away as
the Muddybrook barouche drove up. Ho
mama gave him the extreme tips of two fing
ers, uttered one or two dry sarcasms, and
then leant back in the carriage in chill
majesty; while the heir of Muddybrook. a
pale, timid. sandy-haired individual, a snob,
but an unobtrusive one, busied himself in
putting the tiger-skin over her rich flounces.
Carlson sprang on the bay and moved
from the Muddybrook carriage. He rode
like a rough rider—rode as only those do
accustomed to horses from boyhood; for Car
lyon's father, an imprevidcm't rector, who
saved nothing out of an incmue of sixteen
hundred a year, and who died when Philip
was fifteen, had liked nothing better than to
see his son taking hedges and ditches after
a Sunlit fox. Leila looked at him reining
in the fiery mare, at his graceful figure, his
handsome chiselled features, his high-bred
air, and thought, "Ho fancies I can easily
forget him! He little knows his own attrac
tions. Let hint forget me I shall never cease
to care for him."
It was three miles to the abbey-ruins, but
not once during the three miles could Cur
lyou manage a tete-a-tete with Leila.—
Though she was the Chips' governess, men
admired and sought the little thing, and
Jack lluntley, and the rector of Monkstone,
a young fellow fresh from Grants, accom
modated their pace to the Shetland's short
trot with all the dogged perseverance of lov
ers. Carlyon grew fairly in a passion at
last; he felt if he stayed much longer he
should probably knock the Fusilier off his
horse, and the rector's hat over his eyes; so,
striking the bay savagely, he galloped the
last mile at a tremendous pace, arriving at I
the ruins twenty minutes before any of the
party, and causing the heir of Muddybrook
to ask if Mr. Carlyon wasn't a little mad; to
which Miss Cosmetique replied, with a sar
castic up-lifting of the eyebrows, "I begin
to think so."
They lunched on the grass, of course; peo
ple always do, because it's the most uncom
fortable position they can select. However,
a young lady once told ins that it is the dis
comfort which makes the fun, so chacun a
son gout. Carlyon somehow began to feel
that this detestable luncheon would never
come to an end. lie could have shot Hunt
ly and tho rector without the smallest com
punction; Miss Cosmetique flirted unnoticed
at his elbow, and Du Plat whispered to Inez
that if ho were to put suit into Lion's claret,
he'd het he'd drink it without knowing; to
which she answered, sympathisingly, "And
so would, you, Leicester, if two men were
usurping me; so don't make fun of your
friend."
Luncheon over, Carlyon's martyrdom
ended. As they broke up into different
parties, he boat down to Leila. "Come
down the river with me; I will take you
safely in the punt.
Sho looked at him in surprise and hesita
tion. "But Miss Cosmetique—" she mur
mured. '
"Alias Cosmetique? Bah! she is nothing to
me now. Come!"
Sho took his arm, the black lace biding
eyes full of tears, and Philip led her down
towards the river. But the river went
straight away out of the memories of both,
and he found it more agreeable to stay in
some of the old cloisters overhung with ivy
and aspen, where, with no listeners save the
blackbirds and mavises, and no witnesses;
except the campanulas, nodding themselves
to sleep on their stems, Carlyon told his sine
and asked for absolution, and, throwing over
Money, gave himself op—to Love.
"I cannot help loving you, Philip," whis
pered Leila. "I should always have loved
you if—if you even had married her. Oh!
are you sure that you will never look back
and regret what you now do? Never wish
that you had not renounced money for me,
given up ambition for love?"
Carlyon kissed her lips to silence. 'Never!
With her my life would have been blighted.
I should have had one for my wife with
whom I had neither thought, feelirg, taste
in unieon, and fools would have been able
to point at me and say, 'See! Carlyon, proud
as lie is, yet sold himself for money.' In
you, on the contrary, I shall ever have with
me one to rejoice in my success and inspire
my energies, a spur to exertion, a motive
for ambition; you have woke .ne to a nobler
hope, given me a warmer life. lied I never
met, and never loved you, I should have
gone on in my cold and egotistical routine,
deadening myself to every fonder feeling,
because I despaired of finding one who
would respond to them. Then du you ask
me whether I shall regret giving up dark
ness for light, hell for heaven?"
"A very pretty scene—l beg your pardon
for interupting it." The voice was cold,
sharp and clear.
Carlyon raisedhis eyes, Leila uttered a cry,
blushed scarlet, unclasped her hands from
round his neck, and stooped to pick up her
hat, which lay on the grass.
There, in full dignity, with her India
cashmere gathe:ed round her, and her point
lace parasol held with the majesty of a
sceptre, stood Miss Cosmotique, looking in
upon them from between the aspen boughs.
How gratifying it must hare been to have
heard oneself symbolized by "hell!"
Carlyon felt glad the eclaircissenzent had
come at last. He took a few steps towards
her, and said, calmly, "I have long wished
for this oportunity Miss Cosmetique; I ought
to lIRVO sought it before. hoar me for a
few minutes, and—"
She turned her black eyes on him with
fierce hauteur.
"There is not the slightest necessity, Mr.
Carlyon; I have seen and heard quite suffi
cient, and do not wish to be insulted by any
attempt at explanation."
Carlyon's color rose.
"Your anger is just; you cannot reproach
me more than I reproach myself. I have
acted wrongly to you from first to last. In
engaging myself to you I deceived you, as
a man always deceives a woman is simula•
Ling an affection ho cannot feel. There I
erred; 1 admit it frankly, and I ask your
pardon for it."
Ho spoke with the grace natural to him.
There is always, too, something winning
in the voluntary self-condemnation of a very
proud man, but it neither disturbed nor won
Miss Cosmetique. She answered very coolly,
altniring her tight lavender kid glove.
"There is no wrong dune, Mr. Carlyon ;
there is, therefore, no question of pardon.—
We have both of us, for seine time, felt the
want of congeniality between us. We shall
be happier free, I hope. Whether your con
duct has been exactly according to the rules
of that chivalrous honor and gentlemalike
courtesy you are wont to say you admire, I
will not pretend to decide; but of that you
are the best judge."
Carlyon bit his lip, but kept all passion
down, for he felt Ilonoria had a right to
condemn as severely as she chose.
"I do not defend myself," he said, gently,
"and I tell you I have done wrong. I feel
you have a right to judge me harshly, and
had I ever thought you loved me, I should
blame myself indeed. But you never did ;
we shall both, as you observe, be happier
free. I can only say, what I would say to
no living man, that I ask your pardon for
the wrong done you."
"Very condescending!" said llonorin,
with a sneer, sliehtly shrugging her cash
mere-covered shoulders. "The next time I
hear of a 'man of honor,' I shall remember
Mr. Carlyon. I offer you and Miss Wynd
ham my sincere congratulations, and beg to
wish you good morning."
Wherewith Miss Cosmetique gathered her
cashmere round her, shifted her parasol be
tween her and the sun, and without deign
ing to glance at either of them more, swept
through the trees in solemn majesty, her
thick bayadere flounces knocking the heads
off the campanulas right and left, and spread
ing destruction among the heaths. Carlyon
st3od still, and swore a little hit to relieve
himself, till Leila, whispered;
"Don't be angry, dear Philip; I can afford
to pity her now, poor thing, for has she
not lost you?"
Whereupon Carlyon called her every ca
ressing nanke he could lay h:s tongue to, and
talked more of what six weeks before lie
would have decreed bosh 'and spoonyism,
than anybody who only knew his "practical"
and "philosophic" exterior would have cred
ited.
"flow strange it is that you, you little
thing, should have such power over me. I
could have defied any one to shako my self
control or unman my resolution, but you,
my darling, with a word, could desolate my
life, or make existence paradise," said skep
tical Carlyon, still rather surprised at the
strength of the new-born love within him.
"I won't abuse the power, rhilip," she
whispered, looking at him as if ho were
some sublime archangel descended to earth
for her especial worship. "If I have such
power over you, what have you over me?"
Then she laughed the laugh that Carlyon,
in his present state of mind, thought the di
vinest music he had ever heard. "But don't
*1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE
you know that you admired me from the first,
monsieur? When I met you in the lane,
the day you came down here, did you not
praise my 'wild head, breadth .of shoulders,
and strength of action?'"
A month or two afterwards, Carlson heard
that Ilonoria was wooed and won by the
scion of the house of Aluddybrook. It was
the fusion of two 71011Ced1111X riches—they
can't carp at each other for lack of pedigree.
She rules her sandy-haired lord with trium
phant vigilance, and he submits to be hen
pecked with admirable grace and meekness
and when a regret rises in her mind for
Philip's clever brain and handsome face,
she consoles herself the recollection that she
never could have so ruled him. As her car
riage turned into the fling the other day,
she saw Carlyon and Leila walking across
the Park. They were close by the rails,
laughing and talking as they hurried on,
and llonoria, as the saw his face, could no
longer hope she and her brougham were re
gretted, or Philip made to repent the prefer
ence he had given to Cupid over Plutus.
Du Plat is reconciled to the tin mines,
and Ends £lO, 000 a year anything but a
dist - to eeable addenda to existence. Ile was
married from old Chip's at the same time
with Carlyon, which day, he avers, recollec
tion of the tin mines alone carried him
through. Lion and Dupe are fast chums as
ever- They see a good deal of each other,
as Du Plat spends the best part of the year
in town, and a trout stream running through
his place in Devonshire is carefully preserv
ed for Lion's especial benefit. Philip hasn't
tin mines; either literal or figurative, but
he likes his Rose d'Amour better than a
brougham, and, when he comes home tired
at night, he finds a joyous welcome more re
freshing then one of llonoria's chill siorees
would have been. His deep warm heart
has found an object to lavish itself upon,
and the nobler inner nature of the man finds
sympathy and rest in the sunshine ofaffection.
And I do really think he is perfectly happy,
since, during a fortnight on the banks of the
Wye last August, ho converted his little
vi:ife to the piecatory art, or rather to an in
terest in his fishing. If she has become an
apostle of Izattk Walton, he has become a
convert to Love, and Carlyon and Leila both
agree in blessing that fateful autumn vaca
tion when—he trolled for jack and got hook
ed by Cupid.
What He Saw
"Come, Mr. Trcvanion, tell us a story."
"My dear Mrs. Grey! a story! I have
not told one since I was a very little boy,
and was switched for my last."
"Nonsense! I am speaking English! I
don't wish a "fib;" but a tale—an adven
ture. Something pathetic, or harrowing,
or transcendental, or diplomatic, or—"
"Oh, such big words! spare me!"
"Big words! Am I a primer that cannot
speak in more than dissyllables without giv
ing notice? Be conformable, pray, and do
tis you are bid."
"Bid!" yawned Trecanion. He was sit
ting on the upper step of the flight which
led into the house, his head leaning back
upon the door-sill of the piazza, and his legs
dangling down. It must be confessed that
Mr. Trevanion's manners were—uncommon
and various. His very best were very good
indeed, but he would not run the risk of
wearing them out by constant use; his sec
ond best were tolerable; his worst I should
not like to see. At present ho was indulg
ing in his second best, fur if his attitude
lacked respect, his tone was pleasant, and
lie was with those who excused his manner
for the sake of his matter, and covered over
his defects with the shady mantle of "od
dity."
'Bid!" ho yawned again. "What kind
of story did you suggest? Diplomatic? shall
I tell you how I shocked a whole company
and flustered myself, by ignoring, through
my semi-barbarous American-Great-British
habits, that I should offer my arm to the
lady I took into my French dinner, and
conduct her back to the drawing.roora, in
stead of tucking my feet under the mahog
any for 'one glass more?'"
"No--I won't have that anecdote; for you
have condensed the whole thing, point and
all, in your own sentence."
"Then you wish to he kept in suspense.
Oh, let me off!"
Mrs. Grey shook her head, and called out:
"Mrs. Harrington, Mr. Trevanion is go
ing to tell us a story. Come and listen."
"I don't believe in stories worth hearing
which you patronize or submit to me," an
swering Mrs. Harrington, joining them.—
"She sent me a book lately," turning to
Mr. Trevanion, "written as an old mourner
might talk, with her compliments as the au
thor. I feel greatly obliged for the compli
ment to my understanding."
"Oh! had you been deceived by it," re
torted Mrs. Grey, "it would not have
brought your wit into question—it would
only have shown your apprehension of mine.
It was to test your gauge of me, not mine
of you."
"That was fair enough," said Trevanion,
"if Mrs. Grey had cause to doubt your val
uation of her mental charms. But, appro
pos of writing, I have a story, which ought
to bo written—"
"Write it, then; for, after all, you write
better than you speak."
"Indeed!" Trevanion was put on his
mettle by the malicious sparkle in the lively
lady's eye, us she threw out this suggestion.
[WHOLE 11 'UMBER 1,640.
I '•I will tell it to you," he said.
lie shook himself into a sitting posture,
r and there was a silence of some moments.
The light from an inner room scarcely
reached the group, but a young moon
danced upon the broad ocean, which rolled
and surged and beat lazily upon the beach
not a hundred yards from the house. Piles
of sand had drifted here and there, and lay
white and still in the cool but breathless
calm. There was no sound from any neigh
boring cottage, and nothing interfered with
Trevanion's strong and marked voice as he
deliberately thus began:
"There is a narrow slip of half-reclaimed
land upon my plantation which connects
the island on which I live with the 'main.'
I determined, during the last spring, to
make a causeway here, and so facilitate
communication between the two. I had a
gang of negrocs set to work at this spot, and
one afternoon took my way, as usual, to see
how they were coming on. But I was late
in starting. My pony stood saddled at the
door, and I loitered, to play with my little
girl, to watch the gambols of a litter of ter.
riers, to light a fresh cigar, etc. Finally,
when under way, the evening had nearly
closed in, and I pushed on to reach the
causeway before night.
"A thicket of trees borders the road on
either side as you approach this end of
the island.-jessamine %hoes interlace the
branches, forming by day a perfect bower of
amber sweetness, but at night producing s
gloomy darkness, which no moonbeams (had.
there oven been a moon) could pierce.
"My horse dropped into a walk as we
skirted this narrow path, and my stirrup
brushed aside the blossoms in our slow pro
gress. I was idly meditating another Eu
ropean journey,and thinking of the expense
of it, when a hand as cold as ice laid itself
upon mine. Starting I turned toward the
thicket—everything was indistinct, but the
lifeless hand lay heavily on my right, and
the horse had stopped. I passed my left
hand along the wrist of this strange appa
rition, and discovered an arm belonging to
it; but so wasted, so emaciated, so worn,
that my first idea of its being one of my ne
groes fallen dead near me passed from my
mind. None of my people could, unknown
to me, have reached so miserable a state.—
With an impulse, to which I instantly yield
ed, I drew the entire body from the en
tangled shrubbery, and tossed it, light as it
was, across the pony's neck. Urging him
then to full speed, I pressed through the
grove, the daylight was nearly spent—and,
to my horror, I could just distinguish, as we
cleared the overhanging trees and came into
the open country, that the burden I partly
bore was no negro, but a shapeless mass, of
which the head, crowned with golden hair,
displayed features mostbeautiful,most pallid
and most ghastly. Just then, to increase
my anxiety, my horse began to labor as if
the weight oppressed him, and it seemed to
me that I could feel an augmented pressure
in the side which leaned against me. I
gazed at the creature with an indefinite sen
sation—it was not merely the contact of a
deal body—a supernatural horror seized me.
I would, I believe, have thrown off the ter
rible thing, but it moved, and murmured,
'The warmth—the delicious warmth!' and
drew closer to me, feebly gasping, not like
a human being, but— Great God I can't
describe it!"
"Go on," cried his listeners, with shud
dering attention, and Mrs. Gray bent her
head toward him and glanced nervously be
hind her.
"It opened its eyes, and fixed them upon
me with a steady look—se earnest, so de
spairing, so deep, so unnatural, that I trem
bled, and all my courage fled. I would
have screamed like a woman, for my horse
now began to snort and shiver, and a cold
sweat bathed his limbs. This must be some
devilish device. I struck my booted heel in
to his clammy flank, and tried to urge hint
on. Then, for the first time, I saw that I
had lost my way; we were not approaching
the house—we had not the path to the negro
quarters; but, turn the bridle as I would,
we were re-entering the thicket of jessa
mines.
"The black night bad fallen, and close to
me clung this horrible presence, growing
heavier each instant, and filling me with
such thoughts as a lifetime will nut efface.
The gaze of those hopeless eyes—the pros•
sure of that death hand! I could stand it
no longer. I was about to fling myself from
my horse in deqperation, *hen the creature
raised one of those long, white •emaciated
arms which gleamed in the darkness, and
laid it on my shoulder. It chilled my very
marrow. I shook it off, and the voice said,
ungentleness from you!' At the
sound my horse's feet refused to move; be
staggered, trembled, and stood still. I felt
the unearthly breath of the dread mass upon
my cheek, hissing in my ear. I struggled—
what a moment of agony!—and awoke—sit
ting just where I am now, three nights ago
—with a perfect consciousness that there is
no such thicket of jessamine upon my es
tate, the dew dampening my hair, and a
thankfulness beyond expression that this
was all a dream."
"Oh! cried Mrs. Grey, "I shall never
ask you for a story again. You have fright
ened me heartily; for if the dream wore
nothing in itself, your manner of relating it
was so admirable, your dramatic effect was
so perfect, that I sat thrilled and miserable.
What a raconteurs"
"Then I can speak as well as write?" said
Mr. Treranion, with his third yawn.