1. 45trritson, gropiittor.,
LEAVES AND .:IfEN.
DYEDEICEZER ELL'Ior.
trop, drop into the grave; Old Leaf,
Drop, drop into the grave
Thy acrons grown, thy acorns sewn—.
Drop, drop into the graie, I
December's tempest. rave, Old Leaf, k
Above the forest grave, Old Leaf,
Drop, drop into the grave.
The birda in Spring will sweetly sing,
That death *ldea is sad: ,
The grass will grow, the primrose show
That death alone is isad - s "
Lament above the grave, Old Leaf,,
For what hai - Life to do with Grief!
'Tis death aline that's sad. •
What then ? We two have both lived through
The sunshine And the rain:
And blest be He, to me and thee,
Who sent His sin and rain :
We've had our sun and rain, Old Leaf,
And God will send again, Old Leaf,
The sunshine andthe rain. .
Race after race of leaves and men
Blootn, wither and are gone:
As Wit.d and waters-rise
So life and death roll on
As long as ocean heaves, Old Leaf,
And buds and fades the' leaves,` Old Leaf,
Will life and death roll on .-
How like am I to thee, Old Leif;
drop together down
Howllike art thou to me, Old Lear,
-Woll'drop ;together down
I'm
,grav and thou art brown, Old-Leaf,
Well drop together down, Old - Leaf;
Well drop together down.
Drop, drop into the grave, Old Leaf,'
DroriVrop into the grave;
Thy acotis grown, thy acorns sown—
Drop, chop . into the grave : -
December's tempest rave, Old- Leaf,
Above thy forest grAve, Old Leaf,._
Drop, drop into the grave.•
From the HO= Journal
10 VE, HO OR -1.3 7 . D. 0 IkE
BY rHceuE
Promiie to lov,e! why woman thinks
To love a priiilegeotot a task !
If thou wilt. truly-Jake my he.irt,
And keep it, this all I ask.
Honor thee : yes, if thou wilt - live
A life of truth ; and purity . ;
When I hate *en thy worthiness,
I cannot aoo - so but bonorthee.
Obey when I have fully !earned ;
Eaoh•warn and wish to.underetand,
barn alit wisdom to obey,
'lf thou-East wisdom to cotnmfaid.
So if •I fail to live with thee
In duty, love and lowliness,
'Tis nature's fault, or thine, or both;
The greater - must control the less.
INDUSTRY
Work for some good, be it ever so slowly-;
-Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly;
For labdrall labor-is noble and bol y.
COURTING IN lOWA,
The folloWing circumstances happened in
Cedar county, Iowa;
A certain young man being out on a co,nr
(x
tinfr prAition, came home late on Sunday
e ening, and in order to keep hiO secret from
fonng acquaintances, determined to be at
Ito bright and early on: Monday morning.
%anted on his horse,.dres - yed in his fine white
summer pants:and other fixing in pfoportion,
he arrives at the residence of his inamorata,
where he was kindly-received and his horse
properly taken care of, being turned into the
„pasture for the night. The night passed
away, sad three o'clock iii the morning arri
ved. - Three o'clock was the time for, him to
depart, so that he might arrive at home be
fore his comrades were stirring. He •sallied
forth to the pasture to catch his. horse, but
there was a diffieulty—the grass high and
loaded with dew. To venture-in with white
pantaloons on would rather take the starch
cut of them and lead to his detection. ill
" -would not dcito go in with his white unmen
tionables,-so he made his resolve. He Car
fully disrobed himself of his 'whites' and pla
ced them hi safety on the fence, while he
rave chase with unscreened pedals through
the wet grass after the horse.
Returning to the fence where be safely sus
pended his !illy white .unmentionables.- 0
Horrible Dietu I what a sight meet his eyes !
Thp field into_which - his horsehad been turned
was not onli.a 'horse pasture,' bUt a 'calf pa
- atuie' too, and the naughty ives; attracted
by the white flag on the fence, Thad betaken
themselves to it and; calf-like has eaten them
upl—only a few well-chewed fragments of
this once valuable article of wardrobe nowt
remained--a few shreds—just sufficient to
- indcate what they once hid •been. -- What a
plight this was for a nice
. young man to be in !-
-It was now daylight and the farmers were
up, and he far from home, with no cover•
jog for his 'traveling apparatus: It would
'ot do, to go back to the house of his lady,-
love, neither could he' go to -town in that
-plight, There was only only one resource
left him, and that Was to secrete himself in
- the bushes:until the neat night, and -than
borne under cover ofthe darkness.
Safely hid, he remained under cover of the
bushes for some time, and it may be imagined
that his feelings towards the' calf kind were
not of the most friendly , character ; but ere
long his seclusion was destined to be intruded
upon,
.. .
13y and by, the. boys, who hadleen'cvnt to
feed the calves, returned With
,the remnants
of the identical white garment which adc!rned
the lower limbs of their last visitor.
They, were mangled and torn to shreds! ,
Aninquest wasimmediately held.over , them.
Came • awful fate lad befallen the young
man. The neighbors were' summoned to!
_search for the mangled corps, and the posse.
with all speed set out with. do‘rs and aims.
The pasture was thioughly 'scoured, and then
the , adjacent .tickets, when lel oni-hero was
<invert out from his lair by the keen scent of
the deg; all safe, alive and w 4, - minis the
linen. f.
An explanation then ensued at the expense
of our hero, but, he was auccessfull in the end;
and married the lady, and is now living com
fortably is one of the flourishing towns of
. lowa,
NOP
Albe X
•
sluff
• • From Household' Words.
THE PAINTER'•S PET.
Claude'Lafont was a painter—an artist in
the fullest and completctt sense of the word;
for he lived as`-it were, in the centre of a cir
cle.of art, and it was through this medium
that the perception of all outward things
came to hitp ; k was under the influence of
this atmosphere that all thoughts were pre
sented to hits.
He lived, therefore, in a' world of his own ;
realities were to him the things, the most un
real ; he mixed as little as possible in the so
ciety of other men,' because he found their
presence and' conversation disturbed the
beautiful phantoms that, when he was alone,
held him such sweet and genial company.—
He cared nothing for the subjects that inter.
ested them : they might, barter and trafic,
marry and give in marriage—dupe and be
duped—all these things it only confused and
unsettled him to hear of: the relation of them
conveyed to him no : plear or definite idea,
while, at the same time, it disturbed and
troubled .his: own thoughts and dreams.
Alone,-Le . was ,never lonely; sealed in his
studio in an old arm chair, with his pipe, lie
saw through has. half closed - eyes the gracious
company that sant:kande& him; women love
lier than•angels—now gorgeous, proud, queen
like—new soft and holy as the Madonna :
now tearful as Niobe—now:youn,g; and rodi ,
ant as Aurora. Cleopatra passed before him
many times as he sat there : Helen, Clytem
nestra,Guenevere,sad cEnone, frail Rosamond,
'murdered 'lphigenis, Jephtbah's daughter,
bending an unmurmuring sacrifice, .to a mad
oath ; Ruth and - Griseida, Judith and Joel—
all great, or good, or beauteous, or fated, or
terrible women named in scripture, or history,
or fable, visited him at his call, -So did all
heroes ; all knights, all men of old renown -or
later fame and other visions, beings begot by
lns own teeming brain; born of his own bright '
fancy, grew into form and maturity; to be la
ter fixed in the canvass.
In summertime, with a knapsack, a staff,
and a sketch book, he would wander forth
wherever the fancy led him ; now over the
mountains, now.by the sea shore, now through
woods and valleys, collecting everywhere fresh
ideas, fresh experiences of that-nature without
which true art cannot exist ; the nature of
which she is born, and nursed, and nourished,
and inspired; that nature,that if she seeks to
let go its hand and walk alone, her creations
become monsters
.or pigmies, which struggle
through a weak and
.ridiculous existence, and
then fall away into an ignoble tomb.
High up, on the eternal bills, be listened to
the voice of God in, the. winds that swept a:
round him, -
It seemed to him that it WaII but the clonds
which capped their summit/ that veiled from
him the glory of His throne.
-Lyino on a cliff that overhung the ocean,
far and near were sights and sounds, costly
and strange and beautiful. The low immov
able horizon, over whose barrier no mortal
ken might reach ; the water that might
restAlay or night, but dashed passionately, or
heaved in slow, unbroken undulations; in
dented coves, with fringes of yellow sand;
cliffs, with pale, stern, hard faces looking out
to sea, sometimes brightening into a faint ro
sy simile, in answer, to the sun's ardent good
mqfning or good night,; little valleys in their
lag, with trees, and white cottages, and sil
ver threads of streams, hurrying to throw
themselves into the bosom of the deep. -And
there, about him, -beneath him, within reach
of his band, what minute miracles in the tiny
tangles of the close Short grass and mosses,
leaves and" stems, buds and blossoms, roots
and seed Vessels, of the unknown, unnamed
plants; hundreds of.whic . li went through all
the' phases of their existence, completely and
perfectly, in
,the - space of each inch of grand :
while hosts of as minute arid as perfect insects,
oauze-Winge,d, railbow-tinted, burnished and
speckled, roved through them as through vast
forests: •
The woods—ah, let us not open the volume
for its leaves are as many as those of the
trees, and the last page may never be read by
man.
To Claude Lafont, sensualism was a word
that conveyed no meaning. Re has passed
through the- stages of youth and early tnan
ho,-.4 untempted by anj of the de4res. and
ambitions, natural or artificial, that seem al
most imiewirable from man's career in socie-,
tv . ; He worshipped beauty in whate'ver form
it came to him, but only through the soul,
and its purest essence.
Now that his life was midway spent—that
the stamp of full maturity was marked on
his brow—that the time was approaching
when.the sun of his existence would be de
clining from,3ts zenith, there were moments
when a vague a ant was felt, hints that came,
he knew not whence, of a yearning for some
morn v.arm and . Nal sympathy than the
shadows of great men and women could 4.
ford him. These longings- came and passed
Away, but not for long; and their stay was,
at each return, more extended.
But whence - could he satisfy them f His
slighteommerce with the men - and women of
the outer world had brotfght him in contact,
with none whose society promised in the
sli*est degree to fill the void that was
growing in his heart, wider and deopei each
day. .
One still October day, Claude was pursu
ing his desultory rambles through the au
tumn forest, when the sight of a thin blue
smoke, wavering upward through the stirless
air, attracted his attention. He advanced
with a vague curiosity, and soon perceived
a sparkling fire, and distinguished, amid its
crackling the voice of a woman, harsh and
shrill.. Advancing further,he found he was
approaching a sort of gipsy encampment; or
the bivoun6 of one of those gangs of strollers,
half actors, half conjurors, of the lowest order,
• that wander about - Prance, stopping to dis
their performances _only at out-of-the way
villages and country faits. All the party
*ere absent with 'the exception of a woman,
the speaker—whose hardened features and
unsympathetic aipect, kept the promise given
by her voide—and a little girl of about thir
teen or fourteen, small, dark., sharp: featured,
but with limbs firm led faultless in their
slight proportions,, and wondrous wild dark
eyei, almbet excessive in-size, flashing from
beneath the masses of 'black hair that over
hung ber face. TO her the woman was ad
dressincr herself in harsh and bittee reproach
es to . Aich the child listened in the silence
- that becomes almost' apithy in children. who
Win their infancy are little used toyny other
Finding bow alighte'was the effect of her
g‘ IVRAUE ALL EQUAL BEFORE GOD AND.THE .(O1 STiTUTIoN.r-James Buthantin.
j 3 antrcrse, 2iLsiptekanna ficruntg, COtrstrag alorning, aanitall 14, 1858.
, the woman sprung, at the girl, and ere•
ould escape or parry the blow, struck
severely with a fagot across her naked
ers. The stroke was a heavy one, yet
ild uttered no cry.
•h ! little 'Wretch ! You don't care 4
see-take that!" and seizing her, the
b poured nn the half clothed body of her
a shower of blows. At first the girl
ed in silence, then, and passion over
ig her enforced stoicism, she burst into
ringing shrieks of rage and agony,
thrilled threugh every fibre of Claude 's
writ ;
COllll
wild
.that
hear
Sp
ished
with
ed he'
chec
into
turn•
nging forward, be grasped the aston
ormentor, and, with a %Dice tremulous
i:ititotis emotion, indignantly reproach-
Icruelty. Her wrath, for a moment,
ed by surprise, notk only directed itself
I new channel, and with fierce abuse she
44,n the child's defender.
'ude had no arms to meet such an at-
I: nd,. after a fresh protest against the
a's brutality, he turned and left the
Ihrowilig a-glance of pity and a word of
• thy to the sobbing child,, whose slight
Istill quivered with pain and excite-
tack,
Worn
spot,
.
SyMp+
frame
went.
ude returned to the village inn, whiCh
Is temporary abode. He dined, lighted
and - sat down to the enjoyment of
stomary reveries. But the shapes he
out to -invoke came not ; one face— a
•Ifin face with heavy hlach hair and
ustrous eyes; one form—a slight, agile
one—always stood before him. He
pencil and sketched them in various
Oils and attitudes, and formed plans of
in which this little figure was to
he conspicuous object. -
ust get that child to sit to me," said
• to himself; and ho resolved to go on
drrow to the stroller's camp, and .offer
I go a few francs,to obtain this pur-
sound of a cracked drum and wheezy
.rgan ennui along the village street—
boyish voice proclaimed that on the
ng evening, at seven o'clock, would be
y-Siguor Paneolfo, the celebrated Sor :
f the South, a series of experiments io
and prestigation ; that Madame Mon
and Mademoiselle Edmee would per
pas des Djinns, aided': by figurantes
catity.% - - • ..
was sitting by the window.: He
his eyes and looked out linguidlv i a
d of about fifteen, with a large shock
very conspicuous hands, feet, knees,
`owe, scantily attired in the dirty flesh
cotton hosiery and short spangled
magic'
doltier,
form 11
of the
Cla
opene
lean 1• 1
head •
and ell
colorej,
i .
1
drawer, was beating the drum to fill up — the
st i
pause of his programme; behind him, with
the or nau monkey, came , im wld eyed
child hose image had ; for the lastlour or
two, b n floating through Olande's dreams.
up, went- into the street, and joined
rwci of urchins and idlers thatfolln..>.a .
otters. Soon-they got bap:m..l , l-6o licrt
.he village; then the boy slung the
)ehind him. andthinfr over his histri-
Lie sod
the c «
the et
its of I
drum ,
,stunie, a ragged loo,; coat ; he helped
I to lade her shoulders with the organ,
top of which the monkey perched rrim
d the village idlers, seeing the artists
uto private life, and consequently cease
bjects of interest, dropped off in pairs
•ups and returned to converse, of the
-'s performance. •
.so Claude. When the last of the
the gi
ou th -
self, a
retire
to be ,
and g
motto
No
ad turned away ; he addressed himself
little girl, whom he had hitherto fo!-
at some distance, and unperceived, for
walked aid:lg looking neither to the
.r left, but with the spiritless, apthetic
!.ne performing a task whose dull ran
urded no shadow Of interest or excite-
idlers
to the
lowed
she 11
right
air of
tine a
meat.
She loo s led up. What a change came
over te listless face l—eiery feature became
instin t with earnest ,-
life :the eyes gleamed,
I,
the lips broke into a radiant smile over daz
zling little teeth, and a warm glow spread it
self beneath the dark, Ballow, but transparent
skin. -
" Ah ! Monsieur !"
" Yin are glad to Bee me, little one!"
It is very pleasant, Claude felt, to see any
face 11-rht up so at 'his presence.
"G , ad ? yes !" .
" Nybat is your name 4"
Eidmee, Monsieur."
" Should you like me to make a portrait of
you I'
"." 0 me, Monsietn= I" Another blush and
s; if you will sit, I will - give you forty
pained expression crossed the child's
es,—only—" • .
my what? Yon won't!
ecanse—mother—"
. boy broke in with the half laugh that
bashful boys are wont to introduce their
.with.
, Th
rough
speed
"SI
the lq
that's'
e's afraid; the old woman's always on
ok-out for excuses to. beat her. Ab,
l an ugly customer—old hag !"
i nt if I ask her leave, and give her some-
h, then, perhaps."
as settled that on the morrow Claude
make the rtxpsisite advances to the
" and giving the forty sous thezhildren
of earnest money, each party took
separate way—one to the forest, the
to his inn.
k t day the bargain was struck. A five
piece softened the obdurate nature of
g. and she readily consented to Edmee's
as many sittings -as - Clauq desired,
V'
ded they did not interfere wit . tilt don
!rupgery to which the child was subject
ler domestic and professional occupa-
tbe
givi •
pros-)
ble
Si 6 Was to Claude a curious. study, in her
moral' as well as well as her_ physical nature.
Vicious example, uncontrolled passion of eve
ry bhd sort,—brutal usage, fraud; force, the
abse ce of all manliness, of womanliness in
thos she lived with; : the absence of all ten
derness, -of all instruction c —such was the
moril atmoqbere in which she had grown
.to girlhood ; such was the soil in which were
sown a warm heart, an intense _sensibilty, a
briet intelligence, and a keen sense of grace
I
and beauty. Not a tint of vulgarity was in
the hill's mature . ; not a word passed her lips
that had not a meaning, not a movement of
her *
imbs but was replete with a strange pe.
.
en grace. .
Claude was fascinated by the elfin child,
whol, as .she-stood before him, seemed- not on
ly. tat guess all his slightest intentions, but
con tautly suggested new ideas of form and
symmetry beautiful bend clescript'on. He
sketched and`painted ler in every ttitude.;
sometimes feared to-•-w4ixylar, but hen be
expressed the fear, sheahook her head, with
one of her bright suites, and In emphatic
" Jamais !" so ho wenton.painting,setnetimes
talking to her, sometines In a silenpli which
lasted for hours, and, wfich she neve f f attempt
ed to break.
At length, after the ifth positive last ,ap
pearance of the troupe,they prepared to col
lect their scanty propeties and decamp, and
with more than one havy sigh, Claude bun
dled his baggage intt his knapsack, armed
himself with his stick, nd started on the road
to Paris; for his sumner wanderings were
over, and he was goingback to his -quartier
Beaujon to vitalize then, fruits.
his way laid throui the woods—a part
of the forest where he a first met Edmee,but
quite in _the opposite dvection. At first he
was thinking of her, sally and pityinoly, and
with . many cOnjectureess to the fut ure fate
of so strange a nature tti , strangely placed.
Then, by degrees, theartist again came up
permost. He thought' of the pictures he
would paint, in all of %ilia' some hint, some
fimovement, some—exprosion taken from her,
could be introduced wih precious effect. He
opened his sketch beak, and as he walked
slowly on, he contemphted the innumerable
studies of her with whtb it was filled. He
looked up at last; before him stood the orig
inal—trembling, her goat eyes rivited ()Otis
face, with - a 100 at dice fearful,. so earnest,
so beseeching.
" You, amee!"
Her breath came fast and thick, and her
voice was hardly intelltible ; but as ate wont
on, it strengthened.
" Yes, it isme : let ire go with vou—any
where, I will be' your servant—l'll do any
thing on earth for you; (I , sri't be angry—l
c.ould not stay with teem any longer—she
beat me worse than eves, because she knew I
was happy with you, tad you were kind to
me. Oh; let me go wits you—Jet me go with
you!"
" But, child—your mother. I hare no right
to take von from her."
"She's not my moth she's only my step
mother, and niy father dead. I belong to
nobodynobody cares for me. Even what
I do for them, they only curse me for, and
beat me when I can't de the work they put
me to. Oh, let me - go with you ]et me go
with you!"
Claude's hesitation' vita gone, and taking
her little -trembling hand in his, he led her
on.'
At the next town they approached, he gave
her money, and sent her to a shop to purr
chase some decent clothes; then he went td
little cut of the way inn, stopped: to give her
rest and food, and made her go and perform
her toilet. In half-an tiony, down nhe came
--all traces of poverty, fatigue, and. emotion
, UGT uk qi
gritoefully,lie.
bandeaux beneath her trim cap, her little At ,
ali feet and firm slender ankles so symmetri
cal in high shoes and well drawn striped
stockings ; and, above - all, her ova face so
radient with beautiful joy and gratit / nde.
Claude felt very proud andlappy.
"So there you are, little . one,; you think
yourself smart do you I Well, so . do
think you look charming." • .
She stood before him, smiling, bolding out
her skirts, as children do when their dress is
admired. She broke into a short gleeful
laugh of joy arid triumph.
" So you're happy now !"
"Oh ! Monsieur ! .She seized his band and
covered it with kisses.
The tears sprang into Claude's oyes ; lie drew
her towards hire, and resting his chin on her
head, he began, in a TOICO of deep and quiet
emotion.
" Edmee, ,I do not know if I have done
right in taking thee; at all events, it is done
now ;—never, child, give ma eause — to think I
have acted wronglyeven foolibhly, and with
God's help I will be a father and protector
to thee As long as I live. Kiss, me, my
child."
She flung her arms around his neck and
citing to him long and in silence; and he felt
it was very sweet - to hold such communion—
to claim such love, and trust, and gratitude
from a human creature—sweeter than to hold
imaginary unloving converse with the shad
ows of dead heroes and heroines.
Claude Lucent was once more installed in
his painting room. 'As of old he dreamed
and painted—painted and dreimed ; but when
the shadowy company was not sufficient to
fill his heart and brain; he half woke up from
his reverie and went to thellittle sitting room
at the back that opened into a bit of a gar
den ; and there—in winter by the sparkling
fire and clean swept hearth; in summer at
the open door, round which trailed a vino, a
climbing rose, and gay, vulgar nasturtiums—
he relighted his pipe and half dreaming, half
listening, beard the prattle, childish, yet
strangely wise, of Edmee, who as she fluttered
about, or sat on a stool at his feet, thOUght
aloud in her own wild, suggestive, conjectur
al way, hitting on singular glimpses of great'
truths that could only come to her intuitive-
Why not r'
, .
Y•
By degrees Claude began to dream less and
think more.
Edmee 'was now fifteen. He felt:that she
Lad become something more than a child and
a ,plaYthing, and that a certain responsibility
weighed on him in the care of her, in the
provision for hei future. She had learnt,it'is
hard to say how, reading and writing since
she had been with him. . . One day, when he
entered the sitting room, .he found Edmee
with a book on- her knees, which she was
stalying with a puizled.:_air.
" What are you reading, ChM I" he in
quired, carelessly.
She held up the' book. It was a volume
of Voltaire.
"The - devil ! where did you fish out that
book t• But you don't understand it?"
She shook her head.
"Mind this; when you want to read any
thing, you must show it to me first—do you
hear, little one
She arranged his pipe, and sat down at his
feet in silence. Claude's eyes were wide open
and full Of erirnestsreflection. Once or twice
she looked - up timidly, but,'-ineeting no re
ply to her glance, she dropped het eyes
again. -
She said Ott last, " you 're not atigry with
Mel"
" With you I Never 1"
" You sea; I am not afraid of bathing Oft
earth but vezins you. j flare LOT nothing on
- - -
earth but pleasing you. Between these two
thoughts lay all the cares of my life.
Strare ! the pain and the 'pleasure Claude
felt. lie stroked her shining hair, kissed her
forehead, and fell to thinking harder than ev
er.
Istext day, instead bt putting on his dres
sing gown, cap, and slippers, and retiring to
his atelier, he for the first time for many -a
long year at such an hour, donned coat, boots
and hat, sallied forth, and returned with a
small library—books of hisiory, biography,
religion, and some poetry ; all works the most
perfectly suited to the purpose they were in
tended for.
"There 1 . you -'want to read—there are
books enough for you. What do you say to
that t"
"She bounded round him and the books,
laughing, skipping, clapping her bands, in
wild, beautiful delight:
For months, between her light household
duties, so quickly nnd happily performechand
the frequent sittings she still continued to
give - him, the books were studied with earn
est attention. Some of them Claude already
knew ;- the rest he now read, and constanty of
an evening questioned his pupil, drawitz out
and c'rrecting her impressions with a pride
and interest strangely new to him. •
As he had anticipated . , Edmee grew before
his eyes into striking beauty. Ele noted the
progress with alningling of pleasure and un
easiness, and watched over her with a jealous
care. Few visitors came to hie paintieg room,
but at the sound of strange footstep a look
warned Edifies to retreat, and she fled
through the back door like a monde into its
hole. ,
Another year and another passed by," and
tltriee was seventeen . .
"It is certain," said Claude to himself,
"this cannot go on forever. lam not hn
ruoital, and if some day a misfortune happens
to me, what - will become of the child! I must
find a husband for her!"
•This is the French mode of settling allsucly
affairs, which are conducted as any other mat
ters purely of business might be. , „/
The idea was a good one, certainly"; yet
many difilcuhies presented th'etTelves.—
Claudes mode of-life and unworldly, unbusi
ness like habits, made him the last man in the
world to set about match maktag. Ile knew_
of nobody who in the least degree suited his
notion of the sort of husband to whom he
would confide the happiness of his adopted
child. Ile had a raga() consciousness, that,
in matrimonial affairs, there , were trouble
some details of/ money matters, to be gone
through, and/on this part of the question lie
felt dreadfully incompetent to enter. Ile waa
quite willing to give &Irmo anything and
everything / he possessed; but how. much that
might be,' or how he was to find it out and
-get it in a train, and what were likely to - be
the pretention and arrangements on the oth
ligiAlltzut him into a state of hopeless des
himself;
but e did not admit—for the thing
was too vagu and unformed for-admission or
actual contemplation—that a little aching
jealousyo,numb pain lay at the bottom of
his heart, when he thought orgiviog to anoth
er the treasure that for four years had light
ened his life, -- and given him new and human
feelings and a hitherto unknown love and
sympathy with his race. _
. _
F, thuee was eighteen, and still Claude had
ouud no husband fur her.
Hither - to ho had worked alone; now, the
thought and care of her, the time he deioted
to her education and to her amusement, ren
dered it impossible for him to do all he had
wont to do in his painting room. _lle resolv
ed, therefore, to look out fur a student—a
good student —who might never in word or
deed break on the cloistrel strictness and pu
rity with which Claude's. jealous care had
surrounded his pet.
After long search the wonderful student
was discovered, and installed, in the painting
room. Paul was essentially a pattern student.
The son of a rich farmer, .he found painting
the fields infinitely more to his taste _than
plowing them—drawing his father's oxen to
driving them. The father, another pattern in
his species, considered that his laborers might
perform, the plowing and driving work, and
that his son would not be wasting his time in
spending it as his taste dictated.
It was the fete at St. Cloud, and Claude
went there in the omnibus, with Paul at one
side and Edmee at the other. •
Arrived at the park, the sight of the people
made him shrink a little.
"Go on, children—lll follow you."
Arm-in arm the joyous children went on,
laughing and chatting gaily.
" Yes," said Claude to himself, " they are
young, they aro happy, happy in themselves,
happy in the - Scene, happy in each Other's so
cietv—if—"
A thought for the first time flashed across
him with a thrill of such strange 'mingled
contradicting, sensations, that he passed - his
hand across his brow and stopped ) then quick
ened his steps—he, hardly knew why. But
the thought that had struck into his brain,
stayed there, and he-took it and handled and
examined it and familiarized himself with it.
Strange it had' never presented itself to hiru
before! Here was the husband he had been
looking for, for Edmee during the last two—
three—years. Here under' his band! Yes;
it was the thing of ail others to suit. If the
father ® would approve, he saw no obstacle.—
Paul!—he would be but ‘tocrhappy—wbo
would not ?—to marry Edmee t and Edmee
—she liked Paul, she certainly liked him ;
how gay they were, what friends, how happy,
together! Yes; he would go bravely into
the thing, money matters
_and all, and pre
sent the thing to his father. He did so, and
.before the week was out, received a reply in
the affirmative. The pattern farmer had
looked favorably at the -thing from the . first:
All he heard of Claude and his adopted child .
-perfectly satisfied _him. lie gave the least
possible amount of mystification to Claude's
brain about the question of-finance, and ex
pressed his readiness to the match taking
place as son as Claude and the young pesple
thought fit.
Claude was sitting at work with Paul.
-There was a long sileue ; and the student
'hutmade One Or two attempts to. break it,
but the rabnosyllable replies or the Inastet
Led .iiscoeraged these, and they were &ban..
doped. At last Claude opened the 'patter
lying heavy at his heart. •
"'Yon - have never thought - of itarryink,
Noir' „ „ , I
Peril :shifted- 'hie 'position alittte, 'colored
very teluiusently, and replied that he nevbr
had seriously. •
"You 'ought to think of it, however, my
good boy—why not. now I"
Paul replied, "That's true.° • -
There was a pause; Claude cleared his
throat. 0
"If I found you k wife—a good, nicer,
charming little wife would that suit you l"
" Well,"perhaps so."
"Do you know any ono you could like!"
"Oh, yes!"
Claude 's heart fluttered.
" Who I '
"Youllon t tluess I Who could I like but
Edtneeel" -
"And, do you think she likes you f"
"Ahl:-.that'a - what I want to know. Some.
litnes. I hope so; at other times, not."
"We'll find out my lad."
Claude sat by the open door of the garden,
h the warm summer twilight—Edmee, in her
old place, br his-keees.
"My child, I have-been thinking a great,
deal ihout.you." . /
She looked up hastily.' i•
" Do 'you know that you aro of ark ado to
think about gdtting married'!" ' /
Heedless of the start she gave- 7 for l elaude's
speech was all made up, and he feared that
if he stopped it might stick in hi throat; and
he would break down—he, Went on.
Ile told her how long,helfad thought of
this, how he felt the lonelitiss of the life she
led ; how.little a man like him was fitted to
be• the sole instructor/ and protector, and
companion ore young girl; bow be dreaded
that a clay would_ come—must-come—when,
if she were nOt/married, he would have to
leave her alcine / and unprotected in ,the wide
world ; how drreadfully this thought weighed
upon hire uhow, until he was thus provided
for, he( never could feel happy or assured con
cerning/her. Then he Spoke of Paul; of his
affection for her; of all his good' qualities;,
,Of what peace and , joy be would feel in seeing
h / er united to him; and.then feeling he could
not wait for her answer, he took her to his
heart, kissed her, bid her think of all he bad
said; and took refuge in his painting-room,
where be smoked five pipes without stopping.
So, the affair, was settled, and,the prepara
tions for the marriage, which was to take
place in a fortnight, went on. Claude made
himself very unnecessary busy-nay, perfectly'
fidgety—when he might have kept quite still,
and let other people manage matters infinite
ly better than he could possibly do.
It was the night before the wedding. Claude
had been out, occupied with the last arrange
ments, and returned home towards eleven
o'clock.
As usual, dm opened the door with his
latch-key, and entered the quiet little dwell
ing, whose silence 'struck upon him with a
feeling of disappointment; for he had secret
ly hoped that Edutiee would have been up to
greet hiru„after the occupation of his busy
day. Ile listened,' But there was no -quick,
dight step—no sound to indicate her cons-
took up the dim light'that had been left burn
ing against his arrival, and, instead of going
to his room, turned into the studio. low
deadly still it was ! how . deserted The wan;
quivering flame of the little lamp only, made
the gloom it could not pierce more Leavy, and,
as its wavering light flashed and faded over
the faces of the pictures, they seemed to
shudder on him while he passed.
And so it was all over, and she was already
gone from him, and the old, lonely, loveless
life was Co begun again, now that he was so
much less able and fitted to lead it than for
rrkerlv. Art is great, and novel, and elevated,
and he who pursues it with all his energies,
cannot fail, to profit thereby. But art is not
enough to fill man's life alone. Art will bo
worshipped as a sovereign, and, if courted in
right guise, sometimes condescends to let the
votary-kiss the.hem of her garment, and now
and then bestows on him a smile. But she
gives him no more than this; and though for
a time it may satisfy hint, there comes a day
when-he would resign all the favor she ever
accorded him, for a little human loVeolnd a
little human sympathy. Claude had felt Ibis
before ho. had attained these. Now he bad
known them, and was about to lose them—
forever.
The perfume of flowers—tbe flowers she
had placed there that morning,-before he
went out—drew him to ,the table. A note
lay oii it--a note • in her , hand writing, and
directed to himself.
A mist passed over his eyes, as he opened
and sought to read tho contents, written in a
trembling hand, and here and there blurred
and blotted—how. ho know.
"My dear, dear friend; my only friend— ,
forgive me if you can, for the pain I am
causing you, and above ! above all—
do not think your poor child ungrateful. But
I cannot marry Paul; my heart reyolts from
it. Indeed, indeed, I have done everything
I could ‘to — t&toncile myself to it, because you
wished it; and I know he deserves a better
wife than I could make him. It is not any
foolish, wicked pride or self conceit, on my
.part, that turns me fiom him! but• I cannot
love him, poor Paul.! nod when he knows
this ho will learn to forget me, and marry
some-one better worthy of him. So I am
going away, because I know all the anxiety
you have concerning me, feeling how little'
lam fit for any other line than the happy
one I. have led with you, these last years. Do
not be afraid for the; I am young, and strong,
and able, and willing to work, and God will
not desert me.
• "And lame when lam quite a woman, and
have got used to‘mike my way in the world,
and learnt to obtain a living, I will come
back to you, and we will be happy again in
the old way, and you will see that your child
only left you for awhile, becauip she loved
you so dearly that she could make this great
and terrible sacrifice now, tIS insure your future ,
comfort. I am going into service ; and. when
I have got, a place, I will; write to, you, my
own dear friend; but I will not tell you
where] am E fOr fear you will come to take
.me back again, and if you did I know that I
am not- strong enough to refuse to go with
you.'
"God bless yoU ;'and 0, my dear, best,
only friend, believe that I love you, now I am
Icaving you better than ever 'I did in all-my
life, and that the on happiness that I look
to on earth is the ides of coming back to you.
• And I will come back to you before long:
God will bless my work, and we-shall meet
again, and.forget this _heave) , trial ; I am side
of it. Once more blessings on you..
"Your poor child, _ Erostas."
Ilia-heart, then, had not misgiten him in
vain : she was gone, actually and positively:
- Whither and to what I The thought nearly
tiotumt Z gitmttr
drove him wild ; that little, young„helplessi
beautiful creature, unsuspicious' and-inexpe
rienced as an infant; gone:out; alone and un-.
protected, into that greik '6i world of
guile, and sin, and suffering; nd tempation,;,
under every form, and eter treacherous OP.
guise!
He knew.her courage- her resolution, bet
high_heart ; 'but were these enough to gaurd
her, alone, against the / danger. whose name I.
Legion! And ; would' not those very quaff
ties, aided by - the/wild spirit of independence
and adventure/her gipsey blood and early
training had infused into her, tend to induce
her to, bet/ up against \ s very difficulty, to
brave, every hardship, in e pursuit of the
aim she gad imposed oa _herself! • •
And/now, where to look for her! •, •
Poi,three days, Claude Lafodt, aided by
Paul, sought her, sorrowing, through, every
part of the Metropolis, and sought zn.iqua.
The fourth, Paul proeeeded, on his mission -
alone; for_Claud lay on his nick-bedi racked
with pain and grief, and fever, but insisting
on remaining alone, that the quest, might not
be for a day interupted.
Slowly the evening reddened and paled,
and the hush and dimness of twilight fell
upon the sick room, and for the first time
since Edmee's departure, Claude slept.
Presently the doof opened, and a shadow
stood on the threshold, noiseless and breathless
as' shadows .are; then it glided tierces the
room, paused, and stood ; and filially kneeled,
by the bedside. The Sleeper's labored breath
ing stopped suddenly, he was not , yet awake,
and still he was listening—semething-.—%-a
-sciousness, a hope, was rising in him, cont.
batting the numbness of slumber; he started,
stretching out his arms, and, pronouncing
Edmee's name; it - was Edmee's voice that
answered him • they were. Mimeo's-tears that
fell on him, ? Edmee's kisses that pressed his
hot brow. Long • and silently he held her
close to his embracer -
"Thou wilt never leave me again I"
"Never, never, never,! Oh! forgive me—lt
you know one-half of what I have suffered!
—not of hardship merely—l had got abun-•
dant mears fo secure me from that—but from
the separation from you! Oh, I could not live -
longer without 'seeing you! I thought just to
steal back—:have one glance at you, and then
—then I knew not, cared not—what might
become of rrie ; and I find-you—thus 1"
"Edmee, tell me what was the reason you
would not marry Paul! You did not love
him'. Did you—do you—love any other!"
She clung to him, hiding- her face ittd
weeping silently.
" You will not tell me." , •
"I cannot."
A wild, trembling, thrilling hope traversed
,the obscurity of Claude's -•-
" Is it--11
" Who could it be but you r
• And so Edeneo was untrried-4ut, not to
pattern student, son of tbei;attern farmer.
•
reirißflter"
SPICY-COR,R,ESPONDENCE.
A True Wife.
We are assured by a friend who is person•
ally. cognisant of what he states, that the folc
lowing piquant correspondence is genuine.
A gentleman whose business calls him a good
deal from home,
,is acustomed to give the ,
custody of his correspondence to his wife, AP
intelligent lady, who, in obedience to instruc
tions, opens all letters, that come in her hus
band's absence t answers inch of them as she
can, like a confidential clerk, and forwards
the rest to her liege lord at such places at ho
may have designated at his departure. *Dtir- -
ring the recent absence of her husband, the
lady received a letter, of,which the fallowing
(omitting dames, dates and places,) is a true
copy
. -
"My Dear Sir: saw a fine picture of you `;
yesterday, and fell in love with it, as Ildid
with the original in W— last winter, when
I saw you more than an hour, though I sup
pose you did not see me ainonr,,so many. I
fear you• will think me forward in thus admits.
ing you; but I trust you are so noble and un
suspecting as you are handsome and brilliant.
Perhaps you would like to know sothething
about me—your ardent admirer ! Well, I am
not very good at description, but I will say I
am not married, (though. you are, I lain told.)
My friends tell me I have not a pretty face,
but only a good figure. I 'am rather peak,
have black eyes, black hair and dirk com
plexion—that is. I am what is called "a bru
nette." lam stopping for a few weeks with
my brother-in-law and sister in this town, and
I dearly wish you would meet; me there efore
I return to W—. At any rate, do not fail
to write me at least a few words to tell me
whether I shall ever see you again, and kiwi
you more intimately. Forgive my-boldness,
and believe me. Your friend..--•--"
To this letter the wife, who, by the by,
has not the least knowledge orthe person to
whom she was writing, mad the following
answer:
"Mademoiselle i YOur lettei of the buts
addressed to Mr. ----, was duly received. •
Mr. —, who is my husband, directed me,
when he left home some days ago, to open
all his letters, and to answer any of them that
[ conveniently could, As you seem to be
rather impatient, I will answer your letter
myself. Ido not think your description of
yourself will please Mr. --. I. happen 'to
know, that he dislikes black eyes, and hates
brunettes most decidedly. It is quite true
(as you seem to suppose) that le Judges of
women as he does of horses; but I do,not
think your inventory of your ipoints' is com
plete enough to be satisfactory to him. i foo
omit-to mention your heif.r,bt,- weight, wind,
speed, and (here the word is-illegible) . Tak
ing your charms at your own estimate, I
doubt that they will bo sufficiently attractive -
to draw him so far as B— merely for the aa-.
tisfaction of comparing the m with the eche
(lute. You say you trust my husband
"unsuspecting." “hink .that is his natured
but yet_ho is used to drawing inferences,
which are sometimes as. unkind as suspiciiiue.
You-say you are unmarried. My advice to
you is that you , marry sombodY, as soon Jut
possible. In most cases, I wcailiknot
mend haste; but in yours, I am ; convinced
there is truthin the proverb "which , speaks
of,the danger .of delay. Should you be so
fortunate as to get a husband (Ojai' may
God merciful grant !) my opinion is that
you may consider any woman, who should
write him such a lettnr as this °flours, lin
riertinent, and, perhaps,iumituiest.
"I will deliver your uotn to Mr. whon
he-raturns, able; copy of my reply which I
am sure, he , will approve.' am, With aifinucli,
respect as yob perMit, . Mrs.
This .vas the eud of the corrtibrondence.