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„Y' ~l~l~ilyAy m 1 JS o
]From the United States Service Magazine.]
GRAY AND BLUE.
"The only difference in your war,"
I heard a Briton nay,
"Is that one side is dressed in blue,
The other clad in gray."
I wont into it Federal camp :
I heard the soldiors cry,
"Hurrah ! here come the ncni.papors,
And saw them rush to troy. '
I went along the Valley road,
And met upon my tray,
Ton of Lee's straggling infanlry,
All clad Iu Rebel gray.
One held a proclamation out,
And, as I stopped any steed,
Said : "Tell us what this paper says
Fbr now of us Clint read."
And I replied : "It you ( ~ ,Ida real
And find out what is true,
Instead of wearing Davis gray,
You'd bear the. Lincoln Hue."
Gray 18 the rotor of the doet
in which the serpent crawls ;
And bite the lone of Heaven, which look,
DOWII 011 earth's prison mulls.
~~I~~,~i~l~~r~~~:~iz~a
FAST AND FIRM
A ROMANCE OF MARSEILLES
I was at the Marseilles railway station:
-why I was there, or where I was going,l
don't exactly remember, so much having
happened since, and I, just at the time
having no special reason to go to one
place more than to another.
The express train from Paris had just
come in
She was standing a little aside, just
out of tho crowd and bustle, looking on,
scanning every face as it passed and re,
passed: mine among others, and, as I fan
cied, with more interest than others.-
11cr face was very pale, and her eyes
were anxious, but she looked calm and
self-possessed, her manner had no bash
fulness, no hardihood. •
Was she waiting for her fellow passen-
ger to rejoin her?
People hurried to and fro, each ono in
tent on his or her business. No one ap
proached this little lady.
Band-by I saw her speak Loan elderly
woman, who, for a few moments, stood
near her, a matured specimen, apparent
ly, of the genus 'unprotected.' Of her I
think she asked some questions. From
her she received, I fancied, a hurried, a
not over-courteous answer. I saw a flush
rise to her face as she turned away.
By this time the platform was almost
clear. Such passengers as were by-and
by going 00, had departed to refresh
themselves; others bad gone to their rest,
ing places ; the railway officials began to
regard this solitary figure curiously.—
Raising my hat,speaking to her in French
with as formal a oourtsey as I could com
mand, I ventured to ask if she was wait
ing for anybody; wanting any information
if I could be in anyway of any service
to her. A shade as of perplexity or dis
appointment cAsSed her face, when I
thus addressed her.
She answered in better French than
mine, while her eyes seemed : . to read
mine with something more than curiosity
—with interest.
"I was to have been met here. I see
nobody who is looking for anybody. I
am disappointed. I must wait here,
some one will perhaps, come yet. Thank
you very much for your kindness, but I
must wait."
Again lifting my hat, 1 left her ; but
only to pace the platform and think about
her. Wait ! what had she to wait for?
Any one meaning to meet her would
have' been there when the train came in.
Alone there, and; ost likely, strange to
the place, what could she do? Meanwhile
there she stood, waiting, composedly,
patiently.
As the minutes passed by, I though
she looked paler and paler ; at last, as .I
approached her nearer than in my other
turns, she came a few steps towards me.
"Will you be so kind," she began in
English, then, correcting herself she
spoke in French.
I smiled. Tam English as you are.'
"Oh I am so gladl" she said quite
childishly. Then she added, "I can of
fer no excuse for troubling you, but will
you tell me what to do? I came direct
from London. I am going to my brother,
who is Rip Rome. Some ono was to
have mot me at Marseilles, and I know
nothing about the route beyond this.—
My brother is very ill. I must travel
quickly, or—" here she paused, or rather
her 170100 failed her.
'Were you to go by land?'
Yes, my brother forbade me to travel
by water. Sea-travelling half killed him,
and he won't let me try it.'
But,' - a - n - grily, it is an
impossible journey for you to undertake
alone by this route. What were your
friends thinking of?'
I was to have been met here, you
know. I was quite dependant upon that.'
4 But you have no business here at, all.
. If you want to go by land, and quickly,
you ought to have gone by Chambery,
across Mount 'Cenis, by 511134, Turin, Mil-
an—'
She turned so pale that I paused. She
lookod about for somo resting-plaoe;
gibe her my arm, led hor to the waiting
robm, got ",her a glass of .water and a oup
of coffee, begging her to drink, the latter.
She :;ob , 4yed
~1 4 9! ,0 1 0 49. P .113
'ootila ~opettkiit was,. 'You wi11.4011.,m0
BEI
25 00
4 00
7 00
VOL. 65.
A. K. RHEEM, Publisher
what to do now ? My brother is very
ill, perhaps dying. Will it be best to go
—to the place you spoke of, or, as 1 am
here, to push on by this route ? Which
way is the quicker ?'
' Where is your luggage ? The train
starts for Nice in five minutes. I am
not sure what better you can do than
push on by this route now you are here.'
She rose directly. I had no luggage
but what is iu that bag,' pointing to one
I had taken from her when I gave her
my arm.
What a charming travclling-compan
on she would make I thought to my-
She added, as we hastened towards the
' I left London at an hour's no-
p at orm,
tie° in consequence of a telegram.' As
I hurried her along, she asked, ' Are you
going any further by this route ?'
' Yes.'
Would you kindly, while you are
travelling the next stage, write me down
directions ?'
' Certainly.'
The ladies' carriage into which I look
ed was full ; so I handed her into another,
and got i-n myself, and as that small hand
rested in mine, a curiously strong con
viction entered my mind. and rested
I seated myself opposite to her, and
having said, ' We shall have plenty of
time to talk it over before we get to Nice,'
I feigned to be fully occupied with route
books and maps in order to leave her
quite time to recover herself'.
All the-while that I. seemed thus oc
copied, I was thinking intently. I was
not very young or . green.' I had heard
of bewitched and bewitching widows and
of childish-looking little adventuresses
lying in wait, at such places as the Mar
seilles railway station, for men's hearts
to ensnare them and men's purses to
make use of them, and I considered my
self a man not likely to be imposed upon.
Many a calm, investigating glance of
mine rested on my opposite neighbor's
face, her dress, her ensemble.
She did not speak to me ; she turned
her face to the window. I thought her
earnestly interested in the fascinating, ro
mantic scenes past which we were flying
—the rocky heights, castle looking rooks
and rocky looking castles, the blue bays
and gray olive-hoary plains, which she
was seeing now probably for the first
time. By-and-by, a gentle, stealthy move
ment of hers, a little hand slipped into
her pocket, and then her handkerchief
lifted to her face, assured me she was
crying.
I am always afraid of a woman who is
crying. A man is a brute who can speak
a harsh word to a weeping woman, and a
kind one often changes a mild trickling
of the salt water to a deluge, so I left her
MEM
She kept her hand, and her handker
chief in it, over her face, and her face
turned toward the window as much as
possible. I began to hope she would fall
asleep. I believe I did fall asleep for a
few moments. By-and-by I was roused
by the falling of a book from my hand ;
when I opened my eyes I found my op
posite neighbor's fixed upon me, with a
look of waiting2for the opportunity of ad
dressing me. She had left off crying
then ; that she had cried a good deal her
face told ; her lids were reddened in tiny,
spots; she was looking very wan and ill.
She had her purse open in her hand.
Shall I have enough money ?' she
asked me, holding it towards me, when I
gave signs of being fully awake.
I took the poor little poorly-furnished
purse in my hand. ' Oh, yes, if you don't
get cheated , and as I am going to Rome
by this route, I will see to that, if you
will allow me.'
' You aro going to Rome ?' Such a
light in the oyes, and such a pretty tran
sient flush over the delicate face. ' You
are going all the way that I have to go ?'
( Yes.' It was the state of her purse
that had finally decided me.
She put the purse I returned to her
back in her bag. After that, and when
I pretended to bo looking in another di
rection,,l saw her small hands folded to
gether, and was confident that her lips
formed the words Thank God !' Some
how I was more touched than I could
have told reason for by this.
4 Have you slept at all on the road ?'
I asked presently.
4 No ; I have been too anxious.'
Try and sleep now, or you will be ut
terly worn, out. I am going to do my
best to take care of you. Try and fancy
lam the friend your brother sent for
you. I will try and take as good care of
you as if I was' It was not a case for
half-measures, you see: I leant forward,
not to be overheard, and spoke earnestly.
4 You are very good,' she said, and her
eyes filled.
I put my hat-box for her feet, and
throw my wrapper , over her; then I im
mersed mysel7 in my books again.
Two old ladies and one old gentleman
were nodding in the other compartment
of the carriage. For a
,long time I did
not stir hand or.foot or look at my neigh
bor, hoping that, her mind more at ease,
she might eateh the infection of their
drowsiness. She did ; when I did ven
ture to look at her she was asleep. Her
bat lay , on her knee : her head was leant
jinek in the angle of the cushions: The
„. .
Q
0 1
1 - - • ( ! t'
I_ } _
light of the carriage-lamp--it had grown
dusk now—slanted down from the bright
hair, throw a shadow of long lashes on
the pale cheek, fell on the pretty round
white throat : but it did not look easeful
sleep; the mouth retained - lines of anxi
ety and depression. I did not 100k - it
her long ; I was afraid of disturbing her,
and besides it seemed to me that it would
be a piece of unehivalrous audacity and
profanity to take that advantage of the
unconsciousness of one so strangely thrown
upon my protection. Her hat slipped off
her knee and fell to the floor of the car
riage : I picked it up reverently and laid
it on my own, which was on the seat be
side me. I fell to considering it.: it was
a modest little hat, pretty, but not in a
coquettish way ; simple , tasteful, and free
from any of the grotesque and unsuita
ble excrescences (I can't call them orna
ments) I have wondered at on other
women's headgear. Her whole dress
had struck me, as I first noticed her at
the station, as having a special appropri
ateness, a neat completeness, an absence
of all superfluity, and yet no absence of
feminine gracefulness.
' Who is she ? What is she ?' I pon
dered, and as I pondered my eyes, for the
first time, fell upon a card fastened to the
handle of her bag, which I had put on
the seat beside me, to give her more room,
when I begged her to try and sleep.
The name—not a common one—was
not unfamiliar to me, and yet the famili
arity of it carried me back into the past.
Harkness ?' I kept repeating I ques
tioned and perplexed myself to no pur
pose, but, by and-by, when I had given
up, or imagined that I had, thinking about
the matter, it all came to me.
Harkness was the name of an old draw
ing-master of mine. Harkness was the
name of a young schoolfellow of mine.
Harkness was a name that for two or
three years I had seen in the Royal
Academy's Catalogue as the painter of
pictures which had struck my fancy—
mostly scenes in the country round Rome,
cattle and peasants of' the Campagna.
For the sake of the name as much as for
pictures themselves, I had purchased some
two or three, I forget which, of these
works (I bought up many more of them
afterwards, for her sake) at the ti me, won
dering if that young artist Harkness was
my young school-fellow Harkness.
I now determined that the two should
certainly be one, and that one the brother
of my little companion, who must as cer
tainly he the 'sister Ruth' of whom he
had often talked, a baby girl then and
the object of his almost adolatrous affec-
While she slept 1 furbished up my
memory as to all matters regarding the
two II arknesses, fattier and son ; it was
seine time before I could remember the
son's ('hristian name, much to my vexa ,
tion ; but, at last, that came too, Harold
—llarold Harkness. I was triumphant,
almost anxious the tired little sleeper
should wake, quite resolved that Harold
Harkness should have been my very
dear friend. I could remember, happily,
hat I had sometimes been of service to
tim ; that I had been fond of the boy ;
that ho had been a bright, beautiful-
faced, fair-haired little fellow, who had
nourished a romantic and grateful regard
or me
My charge, so I now regarded Ruth
llarkness, moaned in her sleep in a faint,
distressful sort of way.
I bent towards her : we were stopping
at a station, Cannes, I think. She roused
herself.
Could you get me a glass of water ?'
she asked ; ' I am so sorry to give you
rouble.'
" You feel ill, faint, ? I'll be back d
rdctly.' I sprang out : I brought her a
glass of water into which I had put a
little cognac. You needn't be afraid,
it's not too strong, it will do you good.
I'm a sort of a doctor.'
She took it with a grateful, confiding
look, and drank it. Having paid a pot , :
ter to return the glass, I was lingering on
the platform, near the carriage door, re
gardless of warnings to get id, amusing
myself by watching the eager hurry of
others, wishing in that manner to show
myself an old, experienced traveller, per
haps, when she looked out,
If you should be left behind; or get
hurt in getting in in a hurry,' she said.
I was in the carriage before she had fin
ished speaking, her -anxious face was
enough. It was now
- to me to feel myself
of paramount importance to anybody; a
very novel and pleasant sensation. -
I broughther a small nosegay, of Prov
ence rosebuds, jasmine, and violets; but
1 took it .away. from_ her almost_ directly,
saying, The perfume is too strong.'
She let me do as I pleased, but she
looked at the flowers lovingly.
' You aro bettor now ?'
'Oh yes, thank you 1 I had been
dreaming painfully about Harold, my
brother.'
I wondorwben you ate anything lit.'t
have eaten some biscuits I had with
me; ,they .told, me I should have plenty
of time to get refr shment` by the way,
but I was afraid to lose iny.placC, and the
bustle confused me.'
4 Then you have lived on bisouits since
you left, London ?'
/ I have not been hungry.'
s I lave ti very pleasant 'diselev:
Carlisle, Pa., Friday, February 23, 1866
cry while you were asleep, Miss Hark
ness,' I said, pointing to the card on her
bag. This is your name ?'
EIN
It is a well-known name to me. A
favorite schoolfellow of mine was called
Harold Harkness, a favorite artist of mine,
whose works I have greatly admired, is
called Harold Harkness. Now don't tell
me you aro not the little sister Ruth' he
used to talk about.'
I am only too glad and proud to tell
you that I am."
You don't ask who I am, or seem sur-
prised at•my discovery.'
no," she answered, slightly smiling
knew before.'
Yes; 'Harold used to talk to me about
you enough to make me remember the
name very well ; and while you were
walking up and down the platform at
Marseilles i road your name upon your
uggago.'
But how did you come to associate the
luggage with its right owner? I did not
go nelr it.'
'By instinct, I suppose, partly, and
partly because Harold once tried to paint
a likeness of you from memory, and you
are still enough like his picture to have
made me notice your face before I no
ticed the name on the luggage.'
When we reached Nice—how wonder
fully lovely under the moonlight' some
parts 6f that route looked I—the sharply
lined sea alps against a clear, large-starred
sky, the smooth-flashing little bays, the
crystallized slopes of olives, the roman
tic and significant looking black files of
cypresses, like a mournful, mourningf
funcreally•draped procession—when we
reached Nice, I wondered what it would
be best to do with Miss Harkness. I
studied the faces of the old ladies, our
travelling companions, but they had a
sour, grim way of looking at me and my
charge; they spoke together about us,
and shook their heads. I did not ven
ture to ask them to be charged with the
cares of her till morning, as 1 did not wish
to own to them that I was not her legiti
mate protector—her brother or her hus
band.
As I handed Miss Harkness from the
carriage, I felt that she was trembling.
' You cannot go on till the eight o'clock
diligence in the morning. I shall secure
a room fur you at a hotel where I can re
ly upon your being sate and comfortable ;
I shall engage your place in the diligence
to-night, and call for you in the morning.
This as I led her to a cab.
How can I ever thank you for your
kindness ?'
It is nothing lam very idle, un
occupied fellow, at anybody's service—
especially at the service of your brother's
sister.'
If only he is alive to thank you
You think I cannot go on to-night?'
I know you cannot.' I did not know
it, but I knew she ought not.
The mistress of one of the Nice hotels
was well and favorably known to me. I
committed Miss Harkness to her care,
explaining in few words the object. of
ier journey.
Then I ordered—and I remember I
took great pains with its selection—a
little dinner for one, of soup, game, cut
lets, sweets, choice fruit and coffee, to bo
served as soon as possible to No. 99; and
after I bad done that, I went about my
own business. I secured the coupe of
the diligence and one place in th l e ban
quette as far as Genoa. I sent a tele-
gram to Marseilles to request that My
luggage, which I had left unowned there,
should be taken charge of till further
notice. I dinod at a hotel close to the
diligence office, drank coffee, smoked,
lounging on the esplanade and lookiri'g
towards the windows of the house where
I bad left Miss flarkness, - and wondered
dreamily what would come of this very
strange adventure of mine.
Suppose a wife should come of it ?
Pshaw I most unlikely ! What proba
bility was there that a sweet girl like this
should be - disengaged.
To what sort of a follow, however, if
he lets her run such risks as these ? Sup
pose she had fallen into bad, hands as
completely as she bad fallen into mine—
which shall be harmless for her, God
knows!
She would not Wive fallen into bad
hands.
There is judgment, discernment, wis
dom beyond her years in that sweet little
face, with its serene brow and clear eyes,
its firm, rather sad mouth.
I was sorry she had seen my name,
otherwise I could have laid the flattering
unction to my soul that it waa my face
which-had -inspired- her•with - confidence.
But what on earth could she have done
had I not ben there What in the
name of heaven would have became of
her? Well I heaven, guards its own.
Beavenknows , what would become of her.
When I tired of my moonlight ramb
ling by the shored of that wonderful Bay
of Nice, and went to my hotel, I found
it was too late to be .worth while going
to bed' that night, ,so I watched till
mornleg...
I.,,vas at her hotel pretty early, anxious
to Ottle ppx,aQoount, before she should be
troubled rabeut .'l,‘'or(tered breakfast
to be . takon:to her in-,ber room, auk ' sent
aipenoillod message to her, telling:her
hitctarringell ' '
I shan't easily forget the earnestly
grateful look she gave me when we met.
As I tucked her up snugly in the coupe—
' Had she been comfortable ?' I asked .
' 0, yes, I had thought of everything.
I had been most kind," she answered,
her eyes full of fears. And then—
"where was I going ?" with a half alarm
in her tone and her face, as she found I
did not take my place beside her.
To the banquette, up above ; I am
your courier, mademoiselle : one sees bet
ter there, but this fitter for a lady.'
It was an early February morning :
the sun and sky as bright as only a
Riviera sun and sky could be; the Med
iterranean blue, as only the Mediter
ranean could be.
Tlint, wonderful Cornice Road ! I had
often travelled it before; but that only
made me better . able to admire it then.
Now high on the hills, where you seemed
to have glimpses of a whole Switzerland
of snow-mountains ; where you had be
low you bay after bay glittering azure of
violet; town, village, and tower, and dis
tant expanse of sea; where you looked
upon little castellated cities sitting on
their natural fortifications, secure, im
pregnable :—then down to the shore,
through the queerest and quaintest of
small ports, past new-built and building
fleets, between boughs loaded with lemons,
through orchards of lemons, past the
palm groves of Bordighera—what an en
chanted world it seemed ! Medieval and
romantic, northern strength, southern
grneP ; but it is not of these things I care
to talk now.
We did not stop more than a few hours
at (lenoa. Ilow long we were upon our
route altogether T cannot distinctly re
member. We had bad weather at one
time, cold and rain, snow, wind, and hail;
that was, I think ) in crossing the Apen
nines between Sestris and Spezia She
never complained, though she got so be
numbed with cold that she would have
fallen, but that I caught her in my arms,
one evening as I was helping her to
alight—she never complained.
Caught her in my arms! yes ; and be.
fore I knew it had given her a sort of
compassionate hug, exclaiming, " You
poor, tired, 1 atient child !" I couldn't
help it.
Rail from Speak to Leghorn ; past the
marble quarters of Carrara past Pisa
rail and diligence to Civita Vecchia, rail ;
to Rctne, Our journey was not long
since, you see.
When we reached Rome, in full bright.
ness of sunny mornning, she (1i(1 look
travelwom, fagged, and jaded. The
night before, in a crowded diligence—l
had not been able to secure a coupe for
her—she had slept great part of the night,
her head upon my shoulder—a sleep of
such profound exhaustion as had half
alarmed me. I had ventured to put my
arm around her, to draw her to me, in
order to support her better—what a slight,
fragile feelingform it was! As I held
thus, and she slept this (lead sleep, my
eyes never closed, and my mind was very
busy.
What would be the cod of this journey?
Should her brother be already doad ?
Friendless, moneyless, homeless, alone!
When we stopped once she half roused;
she looked up in my face as I bent down
to her.
I am afraid I weary you,' she said.
I cannot help it; I'm so tired !' she was
half stupefied with fatigue ; almost before
she had finished speaking her head droop
ed on my shpulder
I presSed her closer for answer—that
was all.
' Your wife, poor young thing, seems
quite worn out," said a kindly, half quak
erish-looking lady sitting opposite. I had
noticed how pleasantly and compassion
ately she glanced at Ruth. A fev l ic days
ago I should on this have told Ruth's story,
and claimed a woman's protection for a
woman but now—well, I was jealous and
selfish. L wanted her all to myself,
wanted her to be cared for with•my cares
—all mine, only mine
I answerd simply,
she has travelled from London almos
without stopping : she has a brother dy
ing in Rome.'
'Poor, poor young thing L But she is
happier than many ; she will meet sorrows
with ono by her who loves her with mare
than the love of a brother.'
My conscience was roused ; none of
our other follow-travellers ouuld hear us;
l, briefly told her Ruth's story, and fin
ished by asking, Are you going to stay
in Rome ?'
Yes, friend, ,and shall be glad to 'be
of service to the young lady.'
'llotrmay perhaps bo—of the—greatest
service.' I gave her my , card and she
gave me hers, penciling on it her address
in Rome.,
This is yonF,broiher's address ?' I ask
ed Ruth, as wo approached Rome, read
ing a card she, gave me.
' Yes ; you are surprised. May
This is such a miserable quarter.'
Oh ! ,he is very poor, and always sav
ing, saving, to be able soon to,give me a
home,' she ''He says I never shall
be happy as;ti governess, nor he to know
•me one.' -
Ituth, l I said, taking her hand 190. I
drove through the areets. Letine call .
yeu,ao, J, ncp il4t, atrangnr_ no,w ; t am,
tamother to you, wishing to be to you
more than any brother; but I am not go
ing to speak of that now. Are you pre
pared for a great shock ? Can your phy
sical system bear it ? I know that brave
mind will. I mean if your brother
should be very, very ill, dying—dead.
She shuddered. ' You have said the
word ; T could not. I having been think
ing day after day that he is dead ; that
is why
' Why no one here met you ?'
' Yes.'
I fear, poor child, you may be right.
You will try to bear up bravely; and—
you will let me be a brother to you till '
Now our cab stopped.
' This street is enough to have killed
him,' she said. ' Surely it is not here ?'
We had stopped in one of the narrow.
filthy, as a matter of course foul-smelling
streets of which there is plenty in Ronio:
clt is here,' I said, as the cabman
opened the door.
I gave the word, ' Wait,' and lifted
her out
Up the dark, chill, dirty stairs, up and
up. At last we reached a door on which
the poor fellow's card was nailed.
She seemed to gather courage now.
She led the way, through a small dark
ante-room, in which I paused.
I listened.
I hoard a smothered exclamation from
her; form a cry so shrill as to be almost
a scream—' Ruth!'
I walked to the head of the stair-case
and waited there, perhaps half and hour ;
then she came to me; came close up to
me and laid her head upon my arm—
the expression of the piteous eyes lifted
to mine told me there was no hope.
With a caressing word I drew her to
me she leant her forehead against my
arm a moment, then—
'Harold wants to see you ; Harold
want to thank you,' she said in scarcely
audible voice.
I followed her into the room.
The full light of a small square window
from which one could see the the Tiber,
the Castle of St. Angelo, and the line of
Mons Janiculus, was streaming on a low
couch where my poor young schoolfellow
lay.
I saw directly that life with him was
a question of no more than days, perhaps
of only hours.
Yet what a beautiful bright faoe it was
sou waat a lignt streamea trom Loose ra
diant eyes as..he, without rising—he was
past that— stretched both hands towards
me.
Ruth was crouching by him; one hand
soon clutched her again, the other gras
ped mine as I sat down by him.
In this strange world how often
,are
simple deeds, that. cost nothing to the
doer, most richly rewarded! What had I
done? What sacrifice had I made? And
how they thanked and blessed me ! lle
with his difficulty spoken, faint words;
she with her blessed eyes confirming his
praises.
A few words explained the case.
He had rallied after sending the first
telegram, and had thought it needless
that Ruth should come ; he had not cal
culated on the possibility of her starting
as immediately as she had dono ; and the
second message which bid her not come
had not reached her.
A few days after—two days since now
—he had broken a blood vessel, and had
been pronounced beyond hope
"If only I had known of all this soon
er!",l thought, as I looked at the miser
able room, and thought of my idle hun
dreds and thousands.
When by and-by, Ruth for a brief
while absent,—a woman living in the
rooms below, who 'had been very kind to
Harold, had taken her.away to give her
some refreshments,—l stammeringly ex
pressed something of my regret, he an
swered—
"lt is better as it is; for myself I am
well content. I believe in another
working world, where there will be a bet
ter light, a truer sight, mute beauty to
.perceive, and,purer senses to, receive it.
"Is your sweet sister free ?" I asked ;
'free from any engagement—free hearted?'
I spoke low and hastily, and felt in all my
being how much hung upon his answer.
"My little Ruth?''—oh yes : as far as
I know; and she has never bad any
' She is worn out
secrets from me."
"I love her," I responded. 'lf she
can love me, I will do what a man can to
make a woman happy as a wife."
He did not immediately answer: he
lay with closed eyes; but I felt the tight.
erring pressure of his hand.
"I may tell her by and by, that I had
your good wishes?"
"You may. tell hor,"."_ the -radiant eyes
unclosing on me, 'that in my last hours"
drank a full cup of happiness,, believing
that my darling, my little Ruth, my ewe
lamb, my pet sister, would be happy
among happy woman as your wife,"
"You have not lost your' generous
. liCartedrthusiasm for a very unworthy
fellow," I answered.
"Nothing I, have heard of my old
frietid; my protectory my benefactor, has,
tended to lessen those feelings," he said
word of yOnrs in your sister's
ear will make, *:
She came in at , that, moment. was
going to 'nay.) thein,tedetber, but heibed-,
,god .mo,not•to• go ; and Jwhile'lm spoke`a
mortal faintness surprised him.
L -(, [(
TERMS:--$2,00 in Advance, or $2,50 within the year
It passed, however. He asked to be
lifted up : the recumbent position was
painful to him : he lay with his head on
Ruth's shoulder, bright hair mingling
with bright hair.
The doctor came and went, and the
woman who had nursed him : they both'
foreboded that the last hour was near.
It was an afternoon not to be forgotten
He said he he did not suffer much : now
and again he talked; and when he talked
wisdom not of this world was in his
words
Ruth did not shed a tear : she seemed
absorbed in him beyond consciousness of
self or sorrow: she moistened his lips or
wiped his brow continually, and her eyes
seemed to cling to his.
Thn sunset enterinr, the room tounhna
hose two. She was watching him in-
entl3 , : his eyes closed, half-opened,
seemed to look at her dreatningly, like
the eyes of one who dozes off to sleep.—
The light faded; the dusk gathered : we
did not stir, believing that he slept.
By-and-by through the gloom, the near
hush and the distant noise of the great
city, Ruth's voice, low and awe-struck,
reached me. asking for light. 1 had fal
len into profound thought—life, lova,
death and immortality, failure, success,
he world's vanity,—l do not know what
did not think of as I sat motionless in
hat dusky room.
I procured a lamp : I set it down on
e table, where the light fell on those
faces. I found that Ruth had sunk lower
and lower as the head on her shoulder
grew heavier. A glance told toe the true.,
he was dead
She sawe it : she knew it. She sank
down lower yet, till his bright head was
on the pillow, hers beside it. She moaned
softly, lying thus cheek to check I heard
a few words :
'Brother, take me, take me with you ;
I have none but you.'
Then she lay quite still, half on the
couch, half on the floor, face to face with
to dead.
What did I do?
I stood and looked at them
As I stood and looked at them, I went
through one of these experience that it
is no use to try and record; that are writ
ten in the life of life, upon the heart o
heart, forever.
By-and•by I fbund that she was Ivine
❑ a aeaa noun
I disentangled them and laid her on the
floor on as good a couch as I could make
of my wrapper and of the cushions of an
old chair.
I had told her the truth when I told
her I was a sort of doctor. That had
been the profession I had not loved well
enough to follow, after a large fortune
loft me had made the pursuit of a profes
sion needless. I could treat her as well
as another. I did what I could for her,
and saw her revive. My entreaties pre
vailed on her, after a time, to leave the
room for a few hours, going with the wo
man of the rooms below : but before the
night had half passed, she was back again
Do not be angry with me. I wan
to sit and look at him. I W - on't cry
Soon shall lose him for P v p.r '
Sho took her station by hit» : she beg
ged me to go away somewhere to get some
rest. I pretended to yield, but found
myself too anxious to go beyond the ante
room : she was not in a state to be" left
alone.
The dawn brought the horrible and
harrowing business—of putting away,
out of sight, out of roach, the mortality
that has been so dear, that we have clutch
ed so close,' and never could keep too
near—to my wind.
I talked to her as little as I could and
as gently. Gently !if words could have
floated on the air like eider down, or
touched her with gossawer-light touches,
they would still have seemed to me too
rough to be cast at her then. Still I
was forced to try and ascertain her wishes.
You know what is best, you will do
what is most right,' .she answered we
gently : but don't ask me to leave the
house while he is in it. Think of the
long years that I have not seen him, think
of the long yeses that , There she
paused, burst into violent weeping—she
had not cried before‘ Oh, I feel as if
my heart was breaking l' she said, press
ing her hand over it.
I clasped her to me ; I comforted her
as well as I could, reminding her, as well
as I knew how, of how well things must
be with her beloved brother. I spoke
too, of the place where we would lay him
to rest, of the country quiet among the
roses, the violets, the cypresses. _
She lay quiet in my arms, and-by.and
by lift up tier face to listen. To see
that sweet, sad face resting against my
breast, to lock down upon it, and. meet the
trustful eyes, 'Med me with over-master-
ing emotions.
If you can love me,' I said ; then„f,you
,need never feel alone or .unsheltered,
never more,while I live. This, is no un
fit place or time to tell you , this, for he
knew I loved you, and• was glad in know
ing it; bo“,do..not ask . or. expect or de
sire any Answer, not knew/
I karfibiknew that she then took in
the sense of my words; sorrow and ex
haustiop.llad; drained her life No tinge
df color.' came to her .oheek ; -she •,iu..et
~,,,,, • •
listened.
How good yfin are 1 how good you
arel"Ae 'What could .T have done
but for you?'
I arranged everything for the best as
far Its I knew.," 1 teMpted her from the
room to gO with, ii?e 'to .the Protestant
graveyard bey,Ond - the walls, to choose
where he should lie. seldom spoke;
she said afterwards it was all like a dream
from which she expected at any moment
to awake_
The next day we buried him.
When all was done we lingered near the
NO, 8.
place. A spring-breathed soft wind was
blowing; spring,voiced sweet birds were
singing; the cypresses were swaying to and
fro ; the mild spring sun was shining ;
the place was very soothing and peaceful
—towered over by the great monumental
pyramidal tomb of some forgotten great
one, with the wonderful city of the dead,
of memories, and surviving art lying in
sight.
That was a day to be remembered.
I promised her that the grave should be
cared for better than any other in tb,e
place ; that flowers should always blossom
on it, and its head-stone never be moss
encrusted.
When we wont away I took her to the
care of that motherly, kind, quakerish
lady of the diligence, whom I had pre
pared to reoei - ve her.
I did not see her again for some days,
she was:too exhausted, when the reaction
from long over-tension set in, to leave her
bed.
I called every day, and always found
sonic gentle-worded, grateful mesage ready
for me; but day after day.l. did not see her.
At last a bright day came, when I did.
She was more altered, more broken
down looking than I bad anticipated; the
meeting me agitated her very greatly; her
black dress, too, increased the delicacy of
her look. Mrs. Norrison stood by her,
smoothing her hair and petting her with
loving deeds and words till she was calmer
thee, good woman, she left us together.
h - ad no idea what lay before me. Our
interview was a long one. More than
once I left her ide, and paced the room
in despair, stood at one or other of the
windows that looked down over the city,
and pondered how 1 could convince her
of my love, that is to say, of the selfish
and interested nature of it.
She met my definite offer of my baud
and heart (as the novelists phrase it)
with 'the most meekly, humbly firm re-
Iler gratitude was so full and so lowly
her agitation so great that I could not
be angry) with her, but I was grately ir
ritated, and turned my irritation against
myself; cursed myself that I could find
no words strong enough to convince her.
She had set me on a pinnacle, and she
would keep me there, and I wanted to
be no higher than the level of her love.
It was just like me, she told me. Just
like what she had always heard of me.
She would always love me with the most
me in her prayers, but be my wife—no.
It wa,s 4 long before I could get a reason
wtis ; but at last I tortured it from her.
She believed that I was sacrificing my
self, that I loved her because she was
friendless and alone; but she was not fit
for me, she told me; she had not the
accomplishments, the education, the tal
ent, the beauty, the anything that my
wife should have. As for her future I
need - not be anxious, she assured me.
Morrison had told her that here,
in Rome sho could procure her a suita
ble situgion.
At last, when I had exhausted every
argument. or thought I had, and des
paired, at all events, of present success,
I grew hurt and angry ; I turned from
Cr to a window. :Ind stood looking out,
A yell ($f black tic:, y,a.thol bct.vvecti
Jne and all L looked on. I was ill with
anger, disappointment, and thwarted
will.
I don't know how long I had stood so
(hut I believe it was a long time) when
the softest of finiall hands entered mine,
which hung down beside we. I started
and looked round. She was looking
up into my face 'so wistfully, her own
face strained with pain and earnestness.
You look so pained, so displeased,'
she said. I must seem to you so
thoroughly heartless and ungrateful. I
cannot bear it.' •
Before I knew what she was going to
do she was kneeling beside me; before
L could prevent her, her soft fingers
were raising my hand to her softer lips;
T lifted her up ; holding her by the
,:l pd her, Tani afraid almnst
fiercely. Can you tell me that you do
not love me ?'
No, I cannot ; I do love you: I love
you very dearly.' tier tears began to
fall, and she, tottering towards me, shed
them on my breast.
I held her there, fast and firm, and
never since has she disclaimed the right
o be there
En.sry.u. IN —AU Russia breaks
out now into an Oriental exuberance of kisses.
What arithmetic shall undertake to com
pute the osculatory expenditure ? Every
member of a family salutes every other mem
ber with a kiss. All acquaintances, however
slight, greet with a kiss and a Chrisiohs
vosskress. Long-robed mujiks mingle beards
and kisses, or brush their hirsute honors over
the faces of their 'female acquaintances: In
.the public offices 'of all the employees salute
each 'other and their superiors. So in the
,artnY. • The general embraPed and kisses all
the Officers of the corps ; the colonel of a re
giment those beneath him, besides a deputa
tion of the soldiers ; and the captaiirsalutes
all the men of his company. The Czai does
duty at Easter. He must of course 'Salute
his family and retinue; his court and atten
dants. •But this is not all. On•parade
goes through the ceremony with his officers,
and a selected body of privates, stand
as representatives of the rest, 'And' even with
the sentinels at the
,palaCe•gales: So amid
smiles and handshaking., and excla'mations
of " Christ has arisen pass on the dupla
the Easter. festival.' Ample amends aro made
far-the long abstinence of the Great`Fuet, by
unbounded indulgence in the; coveted animal
fired, tei.say.nething, of •the copious libations
of brandy- 7 evidendes of which, are visible
epough'in groaps Of Amateur itreet4Weepers
v}hoSubsequenitly:are seep' plYing theill4nige
brooms in the early morning hours. Such
is at: Pptorsburgh, when most Russian.