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SAMUEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor.
VOLUME XXXIII, NUMBER 45.]
PUBLISHED EVERY SITURDIY MORNING
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astrg.
A Word to the Wise.
Love hailed a little maid,
Romping through the meadow;
Heedless in the •un she played,
Scornful of the shadow.
••Come with me, ,, whispered he;
“Linten, sweet, to love and reason .n
"By and by," she mocked reply;
"Love s not In LICIIfO/1."
Years went, years came;
Light mixed with shadow.
Love met the maid again,
Dreaming through the meadow.
“Not so coy," urged the boy;
"List in time to love and reason."
“lly and by.” she mused rep:y;
“Love's still in season."
Years went. years came;
Light changed to shadow.
Love saw the amid again,
Waiting in the meadow.
“Pars no more my dream Is o'er;
I can listen now to reason..
"Keep lime coy," mocked the boy;
"Love's out of sca•of.
Qui Sait Abner, Salt Mourir
"I. burn my soul away!"
spoke the Ro+c, and smiled; within my cup
All day the •uheams (all in ft.tme—all day
Tey drink my seemesl up!"
"I sigh my soul awaylo
The Lily *aid; “all night the moonbeam. pale
Steal round and round Ina. whispering in their play
Au all too tender tale!"
"/ give my soul awu)l"
The Violet said; ••the west wind wanders on.
The north wind comes; I know not what they say,
And yet my soul in gone:•
Oh, Poet, burn away
Thy fervent voul! fond Lover at the feet
Of her dine 10,1C31. vigil: dear Chtist all, pray—
And let the world he vweet!
griettino.
The Third Class Hotel
"Mr,. Makmell will be down presently,"
the carelesb-htoking waiter, in his white
apron, and the brush, his professional badge
o! office, tucked under his arm.
The young ludy he addressed scarcely Le
stowed a gliti.ce upon him while be was
speaking. Iler face and figure, both, were
expressive of utter disguit at her surround
ings; she occupied as little of the hainclinh
sofa as could possibly support her, and her
dress was drawn up above her miraculously
fitting French bout, as if she feared the con
tact of ita flounces with the Brussels carpet.
It was quite as clean as the velvet on the
drawing-room of her own home, and the par
lors were light and cheerful, though small
for the present palatial style of hotels, and
guiltless of the steamboat fashion and up
holstery. In its day, the Ashley House
had been a first class hotel, second only to
its lordly neighbor the Astor; but of late
years the tide of fashion has stranded over
that once favorite mansion, in its retreat up
town, and its sounding corridors echo chiefly
the hum of political cabals, or the firm free
tread of those who are more familiar with
the quarter-deck than the saloons.
The Ashley, having no such popularity to
Sustain it, had degenerated into a stopping
place for business-men, making their-spring
and fall purchasers, and anxious to lose as
little time as possible. RWIIII in the centre
of the great wholesale trade. Look from
say window you choose, the pavement was
piled with boxes and the streets choked with
drays. It was the encounter with these
actualities of life that had helped to ruffle
the temper of Mrs. Maxwell's visitor. The
carriage bad been stopped by a blockade, at
least ten minutes; she had been helped
through the rush on the side-walk by a vul
gar policeman, and had torn that lovely
robe dress on a packing-box.
Now if ber Uncle Maxwell had been a
buyer and seller of Merrimac prints and
Allendale flannels, there 'would have been
some wine for his peculiar fancy for stop
ping in this dingy little Ashley house, miles
away from every one they visited; and in
fact Helen Sturgis scarcely liked to say to
her friends that Aunt Maxwell was in town,
when she had to give her address at this out
of the way place. If she would only stop at
the Brevoort House, or the Fifth Avenue,
the Saint Nicholas, even, where it would be
a pleasure to go, “hot this dreadful, forlorn,
miserable, dingy little Ashley Hower—
and Miss Helen looked around her in high
disdain, and wondered what kept her aunt
so long, and reflected on the mortification of
being recognized by 80030 personal aoquain
fiances Cellitig at such au unfashionable
• "WWI, Helen, bow srolrot2, dui! I sto
Mrs iFvfolapt you waiting, but/ bad 40
431116:4013$ agOOble foe. rite 43,114* .°
Miss Sturgis advanced, with considerable
animation, to meet the speaker, a very well
dressed, fine-looking woman of thirty-five.
To tell the truth, she did look a little out of
place in these quiet old-fashioned parlors,
with her rich drapery; it was not often the
mirrors had so brilliant reminiscence of
their old grandeur to reflect upon. It was
not a limited income, evidently, that brought
her to this stopping-place.
'We were delighted to hear you bad
come, Aunt Margaret! I flew down the mo
ment we got your note! How is Uncle Max
well? how are the boys? is Annie with you?
or dear little Madge? and—you won't mind,
will you—why in the world did you stop
way down here, particularly now that we
have gone up to Murray Hill?"
81 30
Mrs. Maxwell watched the shadow of dis
dain creep over the fair face before her with
an amused smile. "Ask your uncle; here
he comes! Archie, Helen is as distressed as
I told you she would be."
"Yes, it's too bad"—and Helen adopted a
pretty petulent manner with her uncle--"to
drag Aunt Margaret out of the world so.—
Please change your mind and come up in
our neighborhood. You've no idea how
lovely she Fifth Avenue is! All do!"
"Couldn't oblige you, could we, Madge?
anything else"--and Uncle Maxwell bestow
ed a loving smile on his wife, and a provok
ingly my•terious one on her Deice.—
"Couldn't be induced, could we?"
"Well, I don't see what the attractions
are! and only think how it sounds! I should
think you would hate to ask your Needs to
cull on you here." And then she blushed
with vexation, and the unintentional rude
ness of her last sentence.
"I feel for you, Helen, indeed I do! Per
haps you don't think so! I know just how
it will be when your devoted friend, Dolly
Mandeville, asks you where your aunt is
staying, to have to say in Maiden Lane!—
Horrible! Or to encounter that elegant and
fascinating brother of hers on his way to
Wall Street, just as you turn the corner!—
How he will lift up his aristocratic eye
brows! Never mind, Nell; if they show
any disposition to cut you, remind them that
their father had a retail boot and shoe store,
and has taken my measure himself many a
time, two doors below here."
"Goodness, uncle, you don't say so!"
and Helen's astonishment displaced all
other emotions. "Why, they are the most
exclusive people in our square: Mr. Mande.
ville has done no business for years."
••That's because he attended to it him-elf,
when he was in trade; made excellent shoes,"
added. Uncle Maxwell, with a recollective
shake of the head. "As good shoes as old
Williams did troweers, I bad my first real
roundabout from him."
•'Not the Jennings Williams family?"
"Just so."
"Well, I never would have believed it;
why they declined to visit the Lawlers and
the Hubhards last winter. I only wish I
had known it!" And it was plain the Law
lers and llubbarda should know it by the
very next opportunity. "If there's anything
I hate, it is to see people setting themselves
up." And Miss [Men shook out her floun
ces with the air of one who has some settled
claims, and can afford to bid others be
humble.
"That was when our grocery store was
on the corner of John Street and Nassau;
many a pound of sugar I've done up for
Jack Williams to carry home, helping my
self liberally."
"Uncle Archiel"—and Heleo's face began
to burn—"you ore the worst teasel"
"Does it tease you? I'm sorry."
"Don't, Archie," interposed Aunt Mar
garet.
"Because you know it isn't so; you know
grandpa was a shipping merchant," said
Uelen vehemently.
"So be was, iu your day; and so was
Mandeville, and Williams an importer; but
'great oaks,' you know—l have a remarka
bly good memory."
"There, Helen, he shall not tense you any
longer. Go and attend to your letters,
Archie; Helen will spend the morning with
me. You have the carriage with you? can't
you send it home and stay? I cannot very
well go up town before afternoon."
"Oh, you ask too mueb, Madge—Miss
Sturgis taking lunch at the Ashley House;
why the Williams family won't visit her
next, if they get wind of such unheard of
proceedings!"
"I shall stay just for that—now, then."—
And Miss Sturgis began to unbutton her
gloves, holding them up after the manner of
near-sighted, but it was a popular way with
the young ladies of the Vancouver Institute.
"And I'll find out what brings you here be
fore I leave, see, now. You can send Hen
ry home, and tell him to come for us at
three. Mamma expects you to dine; you
will go, won't you, Aunt Margaret?"
"Dine at three! Horrible! What has oc
curred to peril the gentility of the Sturgis
mansion sof"
"/ did not say dine at three; do send him
offl I don't see bow you live with such a
horrible teasel Does he always kiss you
good- by?" asked Helen, as she followed her
aunt to the opposite side of the house, where
bright cheerful apartments awaited them.
'•lt's not so bad here, after all, is it? only
the noise and oonfasion, and being so very
far down town."
"And tio unfashionable; say it oat, Helen.
Ditties ate dearest old spot in the world to
1 " = . 11 , 41 11 swy- sight of it
ankesswbargiorr , - , • - •
"NO ENTERTAINMENT'S SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JUNE 7, 1862.
Shutting out the noise of the street, as
the heavy curtains and closed windows did
on that wintry day, it was as cheerful a
transient home as a traveler could have
found in all Gotham. Evidently the state
apartment of the house in its best days, and
now, though the hangings were a little
faded, everything was nicely kept, and the
heavy furniture had its own old-fashioned
elegance. The lounge and easy chairs were
drawn towards the hearth, where a ruddy
fire glowed, reflecting its light from a bur
nished gate, and Fielen presently found her
self very comfortable basking before the
blaze, and admiring her feet as they rested
on the bright rim surrounding it. One hand
lay idly on the arm of the lounging-chair,
and with the other she held up an old-fash
ioned Indian screen that had been discover
ed behind one of the tall China jars upon
the mantle-piece. It was evidently not at
all distressing to have nothing to do for the
next two hours; it appeared to be an em
ployment she was entirely at home in. But
her aunt had not had the privilege of an
education in the Vancouver Institute, where
"elegant idleness" is taught as an accom
plishment. Traveler as she was, her little
green morocco work-box stood upon the table
beside her writing-desk; and, as she fitted
a shining gold thimble to her finger, she
took up a cambric handkerchief, half hem
med, before she settled herself on a corner
of the opposite lounge.
"Now, isn't this cosy, Nell? - Quite as
pleasant as your Fifth Avenue could be,"
she said lightly.
"Oh, niceenough—better than I expected;
but when one is traveling and has plenty of
money, one might as well have the best."
"Exactly what brought us here the first
time I ever saw the Ashley Rouse. The
Astor was full, for it was the height of the
traveling season, and this was next best; in
fact,- many preferred it then, it was so well
kept. It was my first real journey; I never
had been beyond Albany before in my life,
and I was as old as you."
"Why, Aunt Margaret!"—for, from the
time Miss Sturgis could remember, the fam
ily had always travelled in the summer, and
she had just returned from a six month's
European tour, to say nothing of two win
ters in Havana.
"Oh, that was an unsophisticated age,
when we read Looks of travel, and were sat
isfied to see with other people's eyes. Why,
we were considered as very extravagant,
'stuck up people' at Otsego for going that
year to Boston and the White Mountains,
though it was not a fashionable route then.
I had had a famous trip; I was very roman
tic, very susceptible, and, seeing more gen
tlemen in those two weeks than I should
have done in five years at home, I had im
agined myself in love twice at least, and
looked upon every new aegaintance, if he
was at all young or agreeable, as a possible
lover. It IVII.I exhaustingly hot weather
when we left Boston. The cars were crowd
ed; n+ for the boat, people were piled all over
the floor. It was impossible to sleep, so,
after a bad night and a day of sight-seeing,
you can imagine me pretty well wearied out
Still, nothing could have kept me in bed
that evening; two of our late fellow-travellers
stopping at the Astor, were coming over,
and the hotel was thronged. I could not
possibly miss such an opportunity for dis
play. Tired as I was, and with a headache
creeping on, I dressed my hair carefully as
if for a ball, sixteen long curls on each side
—I had not turned it up yet—and put on
my handsomest dress, a blue French muslin
and appeared with the rest at the tea-table.
After tea, our visitors came, not particularly
brilliant young men, but very complimentary
—oh, very! The lights were excruciating
to my-poor head, so was the hum of conver
sation in the parlors; but I bore it like a
martyr until nine o'clock and after, when it
began to be intolerable. Just then Cousin
Lewis came in, and said to his wife, with
whom I was traveling; 'Who do you think
has just come in, in the train from Philadel
phia?—our old friend Archie Maxwell?'"
"What—uncle?"—and Helen started up
from her languid attitude. "Why, I did not
know you had known him so long before you
were—"
"Yes, before I was married. I don't often
speak of it, you know; but here, just in
this house, I have a kind of 'Ancient Mar
iner' feeling; it is a pleasure to talk it over."
"But you were not engaged then?"
"Oh, we are not introduced yet, you know
Lewis said he had asked him to join us in
the parlor after he had made his toilet, and
presently he came in. Of course I was all
curiosity. Be could not have been such an
old friend, for he had only left college a year,
and that was where Lewis had known him,
when he was tutor, while be studied law.—
You cannot recollect him very distinctly at
that age. Well, I saw a tall. slender young
man, with rather heavy whiskers, and fash
ionably dressed. I thought him particularly
elegant in manner, and poor Abbot and Cal
lender, who had been quite high in my good
graces, dropped instantly. Not that he
would ever notice such a chit as I was; he
only bowed in acknowledgement of the in
troduction to me, and taking a chair close to
Cousin Anne, began to talk of mutual so
quaintances at New Haven. I had a good
opportunity. sitting on the ether aide of him,
to study his face. his white, even teeth, his
regular profile, his mellow. happy laugh,
much what it is now, I admired exceedingly.
I gave very *Wept, replies to my vi,itoni, for
apart from their lack of conversational cepa-
MI/i5:424 bestbesined burosiotwisb pda
and I began to think I should certainly drop
from the chair if I could not get to my own
room. But there was the curious crowd in
the parlor, groups much .like our own scat
tered all about, staring at and criticising
each other in the absence of any more intel
lectual occupation; and between me and the
door Mr. Maxwell's long limbs stretched out
carelessly. At last I could bear it no longer
not even with the dim, distant hope of shar
ing his attentions presently. I rose hur
riedly to my feet, and made one step for
ward; alas! I did just what I tried to avoid;
in the blind dizziness of paio, stumbled over
his feet, and was caught in his arms, out
stretched instinctively to save me from the
fall. I gave one imploring, deprecating
glance upward, and met such a look of min
gled amusement and kindness as Mr. Max
well quietly set me on my feet again, apolo
gized for his monopoly of the floor, and
hoped I had not been hurt. It seemed to
me a general titter ran through the room,
and that he was scarcely able to keep from
laughter himself at my awkward predica
ment. I should have been greatly obliged
if the floor bad kindly opened and conducted
me to the bar underneath."
"Don't believe her," called out a voice
from the adjoining chamber.
"Why, Uncle Archie, is that you?"
"You abominable eavesdropper"—and his
wife started up to meet him. "What busi
ness had you to come back so soon?"
"Oh, you gave me the wrong letter, with
your usual accuracy. I posted down to
Brown Brothers, with an account intended
for the Metropolitan Bank. She wanted to
bring me back, Helen, and have the plea
sure of seeing me once more. Yon have no
idea how wearing her attentions are. I
have to submit to it, though!" and with a
rueful face he kissed her with a very well
executed appearance of heartiness.
"She's just as designing now as she was
the night she pretended to stumble over my
feet. 'Well, there; take another it you will
have it," added Mr. Maxwell, showing no
disposition to release his wife. "The fact is
Helen, we've never quite made up that five
years! Come, I must be off; give me the
other letter, quick—"
"And order lunch as you go out, to pay
for eavesdropping." Mrs. Maxwell took up
her work again, but her eyes followed her
husband to the door.
"What loves they are still! dear me"—
thought Ileren—"how long does that kind
of thing last? John and Fanny have noth
ing of that going on, and they've been mar
ried only two years."
'•Uncle'b fond enough of you, now, at all
events; isn't he, Aunt Margaret?" she added
aloud, as her aunt's half amused, half ques
tioning look met hors.
"Yes, I think ho is, judging from appear
anceq."
"But that five years, as be said, how did
you ever happen to lose it? Didn't you
fancy him then?"
Mrs. 11Iaa.vell's eyes grew almost misty
with tenderness. "I suppose I have loved
him ever since. I went to bed that night
to think of him at all events, with his 'lice
forever impressed on my memory. Sleep
cured my fatigue, and I came down in my
white morning dress to breakfast, expecting
to meet our party in the parlor; but it was
earlier than I supposed; there were one or
two strangers, and Mr. Maxwell standing by
a window. I did not think he would know
me; but he came forward immediately, and
inquired whether I had been lamed by his
awkwardness, kindly taking the awkward
ness all to himself, and was so agreeable
that I forgot the unpleasant part, and only
remembered—well, I will tell YOU, Helen,
that his kind, strong arms had been around
me, though but for a moment.
"He went with us to breakfast, and to ride
afterwards; we saw him constantly for the
next three days, and you know how fast an
acquaintance progresses in traveling. The
night before we left, we all went to the old
Park Theatre to see the little Viecrse
chil
dren—little wreath dancers—it was before
your day, and ho walked home with me.—
We talked about it being the last evening;
and he said he should miss us—well miss
me—and the hotel would be dreadfully dull.
That his brother's family were out of town
and be was supposed to be reading law, and
it would be a year and and a half before he•
could be admitted to the bar; and his fath
er's property could not be divided until his
youngest sister came of age; talked quite
confidentially, and as if we had known each
other always. Then about our going away
again—and that I should probably forget I
had ever seen him in a month's time. We
were just in the blaze of light at the Muse
um, when he said that, and I looked up,
straight up into his face reproachfully; for
I was feeling as if I should never be able to
live without seeing or hoariog from him;
possibly you know what kind of a look I met
withontdeseribing it."
'I can guess," and Helen thought of a
certain evening at Long Branch the summer
before, when she bad not eared to dance, but
bad walked the piazza in the moonlight, and
the loveliest organdie dress: and bad met
several such looks. The very recollection
made her heart dance; but then she bad
flirted afterwards with Lieutenant Brad
shaw, and they bad quarrelled. Ileigh-ho!
• What a long sigh!" solid Mrs. Maxwell,
gathering a n oething of Helen's story, from
the light th.tt t•nate over her face, and the
aiad nigh that foLluvred it.
'•Year face load agleam as foriorn as mine
did wbezt the pining, aside, fa Jour wide
had not only been confidential, but had al
most said 'I love you;' and even Lewis and
Anne saw it, I am sure; for they allowed us
to walk down to the boat together and ral
lied me about my dullness all day. It was
not a very sentimental parting, for we were
late, and I was hurried on board without the
promise to write to me, which I felt sure to
the last minute he intended to make; and I
saw him Fast standing on the wharf watch
ing the boat, amid the crowd of drays and
produce, and portere, in a burning hot san.
Heigh-ho!" -
"You are sighing now, Aunt Margaret."
"Am 1?" and Mrs. Maxwell started from
the commencement of a reverie. "I was
thinking of that winter. I was really un
happy; I did not hear a word from your
uncle, after all; Anne thought it so strange,
and asked Lewis if he was sure Maxwell
was a high-minded man, and he defended
him warmly. You have no idea how mis
erable it is to be shut up in a country town,
with little society, and very few interests,
waiting and watching the post, from day to
day, wondering and wearying over it; and
at last I began to give up all hope, and ac
cuse him of trifling, and myself of folly;
and my face burned sitting all alone, when
I remembered how I had allowed him to
take my hand, when I met his eyes that
night, and hold it all the rest of the way to
the hotel, and bow he had said—well, you
can guess again."
And Helen could guess pretty near the
truth, for she bad experienced more than
once bow much could be said without com
ing to the point.
"'I love you—will you be my wife?' "
"Oh, dear Annt Margaret, men nre all
such horrid flirts! but I never should have
guessed uncle was! how can you love him
so well, now?"
"It's not very hard," said Mrs. Maxwell,
quietly folding up the finished handkerchief,
and taking another with theedge just turned.
"And how can you bear to sit sewing
away like sny seamstress? Why don't you
have a sewing machine?—we do. Lou and
I never think of setting a stitch."
"I have one, too; your uncle brought home
one the last time he was east; but no one
has ever hemmed his handkerchiefs but my
self, since I had a right to do it, or ever
will."
"Yee, but you haven't told me—"
"I don't like to think about that part of
my life very much. I grew more and more
low-spirited and self-accusing, and then
Judge Flint had that 'famous lawsuit with
Lewis, and he was very courteous, and dig
nified, and attentive to me; and every one
said what a good match, and I had the silly
idea of showing your uncle that ho had not
made me miserable, after all; and so it went
on, and I had had a grand wedding, and
became Mrs. Flint before I fairly realized
what I was doing."
"And didn't you see uncle, or hear from
him all this time?"
"Not a word; and after I became a wife
I thought it was right to. put away even the
recollection of him. I gave away the copy
of Tenuyson's Poems that he had given me,
and never sang the songs that I had sung to
him—and Judge Flint was very kind, and
I bad the children to think of after a while;
then he died, suddenly, and it was found he
had speculated, and all his property was
gone. At twenty-three, I was a widow,
with two childreen, entirely dependent upon
my oinexertions."
"Dreadful!" Delon had about as much
idea of earning a dollar as she had of *not
ing bread. "Ah, you poor child, you! what
did you do?"
"All manner of things—sewed, taught,
dragged along for two years, determined not
to be separated from my children, nor be
dependent on my friends. But it was no
use: the horrid plan I had put off from day
to day—the agony of parting with my chil
dren bad to come. I can't talk of it, now,"
and Mrs. Maxwell's lips quivered, and her
eyes dilated with starting tears. "To feel
those little clinging arms around me, to
hear that soft, lisping little voice: 'Come
home to-night, mamma, and bring Bobbie
present'—and see the manly efforts of the
oldest not to cry, not to make mamma feel
badly, and know that death and sickness
might rob me of them before I should ever see
them again, or that they would forget me
and cling to strangers. Oh, Ilelen, it stifles
me yeti They were to be with Anne and
Lewis, that was some comfort; I don't think
I could have bronght.myself to it otherwise;
and I came to New York with one of our
neighbors, a merchant, to advertise for a
situation South or West as governess.
"We came here. Mr. Grant's business
brought him to the Ashley Rouse, and the
very name thrilled me with old recollections;
how mach more the room, the well-remem
bered furniture. Tho house was crowded;
I had a bit of a room way up against the
roof. We arrived in a terrible October
storm. I never remembered one like it. I
was drenched going from the boat to the
carriage, and almost blown off the sidewalk
getting into the house. My room being eo
near the roof, I heard it in full force, tied
looking down into the street it was almost
deserted e the awnings were torn off—shut•
tars flapped drearily in She wind—the win
dows rattled. Oh, how desolate it wasl—
Such a contrast to my last stay here. Then
I was so youngg, sofa]] of health and hope,
surrounded by friends; now in-the care of a
nominal . acquaintance, broken in health.
wearied out in mind and body, desolsteand
• soloed with the Peie:ef 41," parting. 411
a 1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IP NOT IN lEDVANON
night I lay there listening to the storm,
stretching out my arms to shelter my chil
dren, and turning on an empty pillow with
great hot gushes of tears at the silence;
thinking, too, of the past, and how different
it might all have been.
"When morning came, I dreaded to face
it, to set about the business of my journey,
to make my first solitary step in life. I felt
as if I could shut my eyes to the light for
ever; tempted to turn at once and fly back
to my children, trying to familiarize myself
with the long year at least that lay between
me and the sight of their little faces. I had
no sympathy to expect from Mr. Grant. Ile
had come on business, and but half finished
his hurried breakfast when be stretched out
hie hand for the advertisement he was to in
sert in a daily paper for me, and was gone,
leaving me to the loneliness of an unoccu
pied stormy day.
"The week dragged by. I had had several
applications, but none that I felt I ought to
accept in justice to myself or my children.
The more advantageous offers were to go too
far from them, and some required too much
—sewing and personal supervision out of
eettool hours. It was pretty hard to find
one's time and powers so keenly bargained
for; I was questioned as closely as a cham
bermaid looking for a situation."
"Poor Aunt Margaret!" said Helen, think
ing with a little self-reproach of the heavy
eyed Miss Ferris who taught her little sis
ters, and that perhaps she might have a
story, too.
"I was almost disheartened"—and here
the work dropped unconsciously from Mrs.
Maxwell's white hands. "Mr. Grant was
to go the next day, and the little money I
had was melting away. I felt almost des
perate, and said to myself, I would take the
next situation, let it be what it might. Just
between daylight and dark that last evening,
a gentleman from the West called. The
room was vacant, save the figure that rose
to meet me, and it was so dusky that I
could not see the face distinctly, but the
gentleman was very kind in his manner,
made me be seated, apologized for asking
questions, but said it was necessary to make
a few inquiries. had advertised fora sit
uation as Mrs. F. Was I a widow? was I
willing to go to Chicago? I seemed young
—excuse me—for my position.'
"His kind and considerate manner, so
different from anything I bad experienced
through the week, and a strange echo in his
voice of one that had once spoken far more
kindly to me, made me tell him my story
briefly. I was not so young, twenty-five, a
widow two years, and I was working for my
children, and then I felt my fortitude and
endurance leave me suddenly, with the
thought of those wondering little faces watch
in vain for me, and I sobbed out the last.
"He was so thoughtful as not to attempt
to sooth me, though I felt that he was moved,
for his voice was tremulous when he spoke
again. It almost made me start, it was so
like one I had heard on that very spot be
fore, but I knew it was fancy, connecting it
with the place.
"'I am truly sorry for you, madam,'—and
then, beforS I could 'speak or think, the
tremulousness deepened into entreaty, and
I knew in an instant who it was that said,
'Oh, Margaret, your tears are choking mei
We did not dream of all this when we part
ed. I thought you loved me then.'
"I tried to be cold, resentful, but I could
not. I was too unhappy to refuse any com
fort, and I could not put away his; for all
that week the spell of the old time had been
upon me, and I had turned a hundred times,
thinking I must -see him among all these
strange faces.
"'Perhaps you thought hardly of me,' he
went on, hurriedly; 'but I only meant to
prove myself, and to work bard to be able
to be nearer offering you a home when I did
speak. I wrote you twenty letters that win
ter and destroyed them all but one; I have
one witness to speak for me. I started once
to go to you, but I thought you understood
me, and were waiting for me, and when the
time came, I heard you had given yourself
away.'
"I could not say one word; all that weary
winter rose op—and to think that he had
really cared for me.
"'I come to offer you a situation from my
partner,' he said, presently; "but if you did
care for me, Margaret, I can make you think
of me again. Be my little governess; 1
need one sadly: I have wandered out of all
good ways since that great disappointment;
you ought to guide me back again." .
"And what did you say," asked Helen,
eagerly, feeling as if she was in the second
volume of a sensation novel. "Why, it's as
good as a real love-story."
"Oh, you know I had promise] myself to
take the next situation, let it be what it
would," said Mrs. Maxwell, gayly, gather
ing op her work; "and so my poor deserted
children got their mother back again, and a
father, too."
"Did it really happen in the parlor we
were in just now?"
"Really; on that very deer old hair-cloth
sofa your uncle kissed ma for the first time
in his life. If there is ever a sale of furni
ture here, we mean to have it bought in."
"So that's what brings you here. But
how did uncle know it was you?"
"Why, it seems, after be became a banker
in Chicago, be used to come bare and stop
for the sake of old times, end be bad arrived
the day before. one of his errands being to
look for a-governess, and some one had bid
Ida of um*
[WHOLE NUMBER 1,659.
"Well, I don't know but I'd come here,
too, in spite of Maiden Lane," said Helen.
quite heartily. "I don't know- but I'd go
to Long Branch every summer, if —"
"If what?" asked her aunt, wonderiar if
Helen had a heart after all.
"Oh, nothing!" But Helen was thinking
of some fortunate accident should ever bring
about an explanation between herself and
Fred Graham.
"Arid you see some people do condescend
to como and see us here," said her aunt,
holding out a card brought in just at that<
moment.
Helen could scarcely believe her eyes as
she rend—"Mss. AUGUSTS BELMONT."
"I suppose you don't feel so badly about
it now"—and Mrs. Maxwell stood up before
the dressing glass to assure herself of the
rectitude of her collar. "Come, go with me.'
and hare a look at the old sofa."
'BROWNLOW AND YANCEY.—Ia his specoh
at the Academy of Music in New York.
Parson Brownlovv gave the following account
of his interview with Yancey:
A few weeks prior to the last Presiden
tial election they announced in their papers
that the great bell-wether of the whole dis
union flock was to speak in Knoxville—a
man, the tw..) first letters of whose name are
W. L. Yancey—a fellow that the Governor
of South Carolina pardoned out of the State
prison, for murdering his uncle, Dr. Earle.
Ile was announced to speak, and the crowd,
was two to one Union men. I bad never
spoken to him in all my life. Ile called out
in an insolent manner, "Is Parson Brown,
low in this crowd?" The disunionists cried,
"Yes, he is here." "I hope," said he, "the
Parson will have the nerve to come upon the
stand and let me catechise him." "No.".
said the Breckinridge secessionists. For;
gentlemen, we bad four tickets in the field•
the last race—Lincoln and Hamlin, Bell
and Everett—the Bell and Everett ticket
was a kind of kangaroo ticket, with all the
strength in the hind legs (great laughter)—
and there was a Douglas and Johnson and a
Breckinridge and Lane ticket. As God is .
my judge, the last was the meanest *and'
shabbiest ticket of the four, Lincoln was'
elected fairly and squarely under the forms
of law and the Constitution, and though I
was not a Lincoln man, yet I give in to the
will of the majority, and it is the duty of
every patriot and true man to bow to the .
will of the majority (cheers). But the
crowd hallooed to Yancey, "Brownlow. is
here, but ho has not nerve enough to mount
the stand where you are." I Xose and.
marched up the steps and said, "I will bow
will you whether I have the nerve or not."
"Sir," said he—and ho is a beautifuhspeak
er and personally a very fine looking man
—"are you the celebrated Parson Brown-'
low?" "I am the only man on earth," I re:
plied, "that fills the bill" (laughter).—•
"Don't you think," said Yancey, "you are
badly employed as a preacher, a man of
your cloth, to be dabbling in politics and
meddling with State affairs?" "No, sir."•
suid I; "a distinguished member of the party
you are acting with once took Jesus Christ
up into a mount (uproarious laughter)—and
said to the Savior: 'Look at the kingdoms
of the world. All these will I give thee if
thou wilt fall down and worship me.' Now,
sir," I said, "his reply to the Devil iliny!
•reply to you: 'Get thee behind me, Satan' "
(renewed laughter and applause). I rather
expected to be knocked down; but I stood'
with my right side to him and a cooked
Derringer in my breeches pocket. I intend
ed if I went off the scaffold that be should
go the other way (cheers). "Now, sir," I
said, "if you are through, I would like to
make a few remarks." "Certainly, pro.
teed," said Yancey. "IVell, sir, you should
tread lightly upon the toes of preachers.
and you should get these disunionist. to
post you up before you launch out in this
way against preachers. Are you *Stare,
sir, that this old gray-beaded man sitting
here, Isaac Lewis, the President of the
meeting, who has welcomed you, is an old
disunion Methodist preacher, and Buchan
an's pension agent in this town, who has
been meddling in politics all his lifetime?
Are you aware that this man, James D.
Thomas, on my left, is a Breckinridge
for for this Congressional District, and that
he was turned out of the Methodist minis.
try for whipping his wile and slandering
his neighbors? Aro you aware that this
young man sitting in front of us, Col. Lon:
den G. Haynes, an elector of the Breckin
ridge ticket for the State of Tennessee at
large, was expelled from the Methodist
ministry forlying and cheating his neighbor
in a measure of Gore For God's sake - lay
nothing more about preachers - until ;on
know what sort of preachers are in your
own ranks." And thus ended the colloquy
between- me and Yancey. I bare never
seen him since.
EDUCATION VS SIPAIN.--SoMill you:, asp
there was a legend about, that Moab bad
been permitted to re-risit the earth. Fe
wandered about from country to aountry,
ill at ease in each of them. Nothing
, 1:014
natural—nothing was as it ,
:itsed to be:L.
Steamboats and railroads ! telegraph' Wires
and inciter matches, with 1e Moult:0 OA
innovations. met him at 1 1 ,17 tarp- Tg r e
legend says at length he moiled sl43,' . gteit
the sadness of his eountananne was oltikik.
his ayes rpurklad - with delight ! , - and is Oa
ezuberanai of his joy, he threribriillis e a
indittanisl 'CV:sorest there Was eitii"".
try b vititslatid 3ust