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THE SOUTHERN WORLD, MARCH 1,1882.
Conducted by Mrb. Fanny Farmey.
TIIK NIIADEIilWN MIIORK.
We liave a niueli lovod friend; a few brief year*
We walk him down the path of life;
And then ala over, and he .steps In-fore
Ur elite we see our friendship changed to strife.
Thunk Uod! amid the dying loves of earth,
We can behold a land where deathless love has birth!
We have a home; a circle round our hearth,
And merry sounds and pleasant sights are there;
The year goes round—there Is an empty place.
The lire Is ont, the festive hoard Is hare.
Hut o’er death's river, on the shodeless shore,
A home Is gathering to be destroyed no more.
The eye Is bright, the cheek Is warm and fair.
Youth, health, and pleasure rush through every
vein—
One day's sharp agony, or months’ long woe,
lilds beauty how down in the shrine of pain ;
Thank (loci! no dire mischance, no cropping 111,
With anguish and with woe our Father’s mansions
fill.
We bask ourselves In wealth’s luxuriant court,
Darkness and hardness are to us unknown;
Then suddenly we wake from our bright dream.
And riches and their fairy train are down.
How sweet to know that on the changeless shore,
Diadems of fadeless gold ure laid for us in store!
And oftentimes on life’s tempestuous sen,
When our frail hark Is tossed by wind and wave,
We should he carried down the whirlpool there,
J)ld not a vision from afar oil - save;
A hay where our fragile boat shall moor,
The dreary voyage past, the raging tempest o'er.
There nrc no scatter<*d homes In that fur land,
No riven friends, no agony nor pain,
No broken hearts, nor treacherous fortune there;
No darksome graves, where liredong love Is lain
'No trial, no temp|atton, and no sin;
The ransomed race of men to angels are akin.
Heed not the thorns that strew thine heavenward
way;
Pr»*ss onward, upward, glorious is the prize;
Forget thy sorrows; o’er thy ruined home,
Beyond thy lost friend’s grave, lift up thine eyes,
To lilm. who, when life’s troubled dream Is o’er,
Will welcome thee at last upon the shadeless shore.
—N. O. Independent.
MlHH HIIITO MlVK KXI’KKIILWK.
“I am glad you like him. 1 knew yon
would. Yes, lie is a good deal like his boots
—strong and substantial. Hut you should
see Mrs. Profe^gior. I wonder what you’d
think her like?”
“Her bonnets, may he.”
"There, you've hit it exactly—pretty ex
pensive, to he handled with rare. Have you
seen her? No? O, I know, Prof. Helton wns
Ned's teacher, lie told you about them, of
course. They are such an odd couple.
Haven't a single thing in common, have
they, Charley?"
“Well, yes, love, it strikes me they have.
1 believe they are both a little behind time.”
We laughed, and then my friend said,
“But yon are always willing to forgive the
Professor for keiqring you waiting; ho is
such good company when yoh do got him.”
I was always willing to pardon his wife
for her dilatoriness,” put in the husband,
"and wish she had been another lmlf hour
lute.”
Ned had told me, 11s my friend, Mrs. Brack
ett, surmised, about Prof. Helton, He Imd
been married about three months when Ned
left Ashwood. (lenerally speaking, hoys
rather take to pretty women, and, generally
speaking, also, they don't particularly ad
mire old maid school touchers; and so it had
nlwuys seemed a little odd to me that Ned
should dislike the Professor’s wife, and be
so enthusiastic over Miss White, the precep
tress.
“Tell me about Miss White,” I said. “Do
yon think she cared for him?”
“Cared for him! She just wnrshi)>cd the
man. I was there through it nil, and I
know. She fought against it fora long time,
but when Prof. Sclton married, it broke Miss
White’s henrt; and slio was forty-live years
old, and the Professor only thirty. Sounds
funny, don’t it, to talk of a woman of forty-
live breaking lior heart for a man full fifteen
years her junior? But if you’d known Miss
White you’d lmvo pitied her. You couldn’t
hnve helped it!”
"But what made her so foolish ? I should
have thought her henrt had gotten pretty
flexible by that time."
“Perhaps it grew brittle with age, like
your china tea service you won’t allow any
body to touch, Clara,” put in Prof Hmckctt,
“because it’s un heirloom, and so old and
fragile.”
“Hadn’t she ever had any beaux f" I asked,
“She must have been a very charming wo
man, hy all accounts. Queer she had never
married, wasn't it?”
“I’ve hoard her childhood was unhappy.
Her father and mother were both from good'
families, but it was a money mutch, and, as
It proved, a money match with very little
money in it. Her mother was sick and ner
vous. Her father was a hard man; one of
those men who never manifest any affection
for anybody. Perhaps lie would havp been
different with a wife who loved him. It
must have rattier a hardening effect upon a
man to feel tliutliis wife only married him
for his money. Both were quick tempered,
and, well, I don’t know anything about it.
Miss White seldom alluded to her family,
and then only in a general sort of a way.
However, I imagine the first twenty-five
years of her life were not running over witli
happiness. Her only sister married a scamp
who never more than half supported his
family. After tier mother's death, Miss
White went to take care of her sister, who
was an invalid. That is, shortly after her
mother's death, for her father married again
in less than a year. I think going to her
sister must have cost Miss White a hard
struggle, for if there was any person in the
world shecordialiy hated, it was her brother-
in-law.
“I know him ; he’s a scamp, but that isn't
the worst of It, liy half. I’ve seen scamps
whom one could manage to love very well;
but this brother-in-law of Miss White was
not one of the engaging scamps. Hisstingi-
ncss was worse than his rascality. He was
wlmt one might call a two-cent scamp. But
tlie sister did not live long, and at last, when
she was nearly thirty yenrs old, Miss White
had a chance to try life for herself. She had
11 good education, which site hud acquired
almost wholly alone. She wns aline linguist.
Soon after her sister's death she had some
money to full to her; not a great deal, hut
enough to give tier the advantages of travel
und private instruction in those branches
she had been unable to acquire by herself.
Then she came to Ashwood; she had been
there eight years when we knew’ her, and
wns past forty. You’d never iiave thought
it, though. Site was just as gay and jolly us
any of the girls. Not a bit of the ‘Mrs. Gen
eral’ about her. She didn’t affect juvenility.
She was one of those women who are always
young. The scholars all liked her, the pro
fessors all liked her; everybody liked her—
yes, it did seem funny that she was un old
maid. I’m sure it couldn’t hnve been from
necessity. She wus one of the linest scholars
1 ever knew. You know you always said,
Charley, you didn’t believe there was a man
in the State could heat her in Greek. Site
could spenk French and German, paint and
sing, and O, I don’t know wlmt all! Her
scholars used to suy, ‘I wonder if there is
anything Miss White don’t know?” Perhaps
you think she was pedantic. She wasn’t;
not the least hit of it. Site Imd seen too much
of the world for flint.
“Prof. Seltou cuiiic to Ashwood soon after
we did. The old professor of Natural
Sciences imd died, and Prof. Sclton was
called to tils clinlr. You have seen Prof.
Sclton. Well, lie looked just the same five
years ago us he does now; wore the same
rough, stout boots, Imd the same firm look
nliout the mouth, and the same honest eyes.
It isn’t put 011. I never blamed the Profes
sor, nltliougli some of tlie teachers did. He
never intended to make Miss Wiiitc love
him, never had an inkling of tier rent feel
ings toward him, unless, perhups, when it
wus too lute. Tlie mere fuel of her being
fifteen years his senior made him feel per
fectly safe, I siipiiosc. He was always very
guarded in his intercourse witli thegirls. 1
imagine she seemed more like a mother to
him."
“How did tiiey come to lie sointimntc?
Were their tastes alike ?” I asked.
"0, yes; it seemed to come about of itself.
Miss White was an enthusiast in geology
and botany. She imd a title herbarium, and
every summer when she came hack from her
vacation, she would bring n box of speci
mens for her cabinet, with her. The Profes
sor was writing a series of articles on the
Flora of the State for a scientific magazine,
nnd quite nnturally would drop into Miss
White’s room to talk his subjects up with
her. She was all interest. I always thought
tlie Professor got some of his best ideas from
her. Indeed, lie thought so himself. They
came out in hook form a few months ago.
Please get the book, Charlie. It’s on the
third shelf, right there by your Homer; you
see the dedication: ‘To tlie memory of my
true friend and co-worker.’ At first, he’d
only run in for a half hour or so, but his
calls kept on lengthening until it soon came
to be quite understood if anything were
wanted of Prof. Selton between 7 o'clock in
the evening and the retiring bell, that lie
must be sought in Miss White’s room. He
never seemed to think anything about it,
but would say, Til leave my papers here
and come back when I am at liberty,” witli
quite tlie same matter-of-fact voice he would
have said, 'I’ll cotne bock and finish my
cigar,' to a gentleman friend. I was very
Intimate with Miss White, and evenings,
when Charlie was with tlie Greek Professor,
I always went to her. Prof. Selton was
almost always there. Her little sitting room
was just tlie coziest place! There were two
canaries; she used to let them fly about as
they pleased. Don’t you remember, Charlie,
how one of them used to percli over the
lambrequins? We called him the ‘Baron,’
and 0, say, Charlie, don’t you remember
that handsome fellow that we named ‘Nar
cissus* becuuse lie was so fond of admiring
himself in tlie mirror? We found a young
turtle in tlie brook one day, and brought
him home witli us. Miss White kepthim in
her room in a glass snucedish behind a pile
of books in tlie corner. We use to get bits
of raw meat to feed him on, and the turtle
got to be quite tame, nnd would go sprawl
ing about tlie room with an air of perfect
comradeship. In the winter, Miss White
always bad an open fire, and it was such a
wnrm. cheery place to toast one’s toes. Her
fires never had the sulks."
Here Mrs. Charlie gave her own fire a sug
gestive poke with her antique firetongs, as
much as to say; “Go thou and do likewise;”
then she held them high up above the fire
and clapped them smartly together to shake
off tlie ashes before putting them back by
tlie tall, sliiny-lieaded fire-shovel. A very
tidy body is Mrs. Charlie, and not a little
proud of her pretty home; she gave a satis
fied glance around tlie room, then leaned
buck aguin in her easy chair and went on:
“What a difference there is in rooms, isn’t
there? Some rooms seem ns unfitted for
nice little chats as Westminster or Notre
Dame for a modern sermon. Some rooms
hnve no suggestiveness about them, unless,
indeed, they suggest a funeral or something
of the sort. Anyway, all your ideas die the
minute you sit down on—for one can't say
in—one of tlie stiff chairs, and there's noth
ing left to do hut study tlie figures on the
carpet in a vacant sort of a way, and say
something idiotic about tlie weather. We
never talked about tlie weather in Miss
White’s room. We never were at a loss for
something to say. Tlie walls would seem to
open and let in so much of the out-door
world. Everything suggested something.
There was, I remember, a plate of rocks and
sea shells in one corner hy the fireplace;
stones from tlie beach, witli barnacles cling
ing to them. Before you knew, you’d be
back hy tlie seashore, listening to tlie com
ing in of tlie tide, recalling bits of life and
odd types you met there, comparing notes.
But I was going to tell you about tlie Pro
fessor. He hoarded in tlie hall, and wits Miss
White’s opposite at table. Charlie and I
were in the same division. Of course you
know Charlie was tlie Professor’s assistant
in Greek and Butin tlie first three years after
we were married. It was at table that Miss
White first got acquainted with tho Profes
sor. Now, Charlie, please do keep still. Yon
needn’t tell Miss Cary that foolish story of
yours nliout tlie meat. I know it was very
silly in Miss White, but a woman is always
silly when she is in love. I don’t mind ad
mitting tills much, for n man is a fool in the
same situation.”
There was a twinkle in tlie Professor’s eye
which seemed to promise a hearty laugh for
three. 1 didn’t like to lose it, so I said :
“Mrs. Charlie, by your leave I would like
to hear the story.”
“ O, well, lie’s dying to tell it, of course.
Go on, Charlie, but do confine yourself to
facts.”
“As my dear gossip—I use this word in its
primitive sense, my love—‘God, sip, alli
ance,’ consult your Webster if you doubt
niy definition—as iny dear gossip was say
ing, Miss White and tlie Professor were vis-
a-vis at tlie table. The Professor, as I have
already suggested, was given to being a little
late, and it was charming to see Miss White
trot out into the kitchen and presently come
out with a steaming plateful of soup for the
delinquent. If the rest of us were late we
had to eat our soup cold. You never went
utter hot bouilion for me, you know you
never did, Clara, and you the bride of less
than a twelvemonth." •
"You never gave me a chance. I never
knew you to cat a spoonful of soup all the-
time wo were at Ashwood.”
“Too suggestive of tlie ghosts of departed
dinners, you know. However, we were all
rather jealous of the'Professor, for Miss
White was a remarkable woman; really the
most remarkable woman I ever knew, wtth
tho two present exceptions, of course. But
to my story of how Cupid made one remark
able woman behave in a remarkably foolish
manner. It was at dinner; we were all pret
ty hungry. If you’ve ever boarded in a sem
inary boarding house, you know how dis
consolate and sort 0’ down at the heel one’s
stomach gets to feeling between meals. It
was Wednesday, and there was a nice roast
on the table. We’d had baked beans Mon
day, pork steak Tuesday. I never eat ponk,
you know, and of course you can imagine
that joint looked very appetizing.”
“Now, Charlie, you needn't pretend yon
can remember the bill of fare for tlie week
before. We both know what your memory
is. ”
“Please don’t interrupt—I remember it
distinctly. Didn’t we always have warmed
over beans Mondays, pork steak Tuesdays,
and didn’t the boys alway say: “If you
want a favor of Prof. Brackett, you must
ask Wednesdays. As I was saying, it was
Wednesday, and the roast was particularly
fine, Miss White always presided over tlie
tea urn, and of course the Professor carved.
Tlie meats were always carved before grnce.
The Professor was late. I was about to take
up the carving knife,
“ ‘Ah, sighed Miss White, ‘how I do wisli
Prof. Selton would come, ho does carve so
beautifully!’
"I drew back my band. You will admit
it was rather hard on me, for, us you know,if
there’sany one thing I particularly pride my
self upon, it’s my skill in dislocating a tur
key, or carving a joint. I glanced at tlie
other fellow in our division—Tom Adams—
he was a senior. There was a queer look on
his face.
“All the other divisions began to carve,
finished carving. Neither Adams nor I so
much as looked at the carving knife. Grace
was said, tho other divisions were served,
eating had commenced. Tlie attention of
the whole table was divided between tlie
dinner and us. Miss White began to look
rosy. Slie wasn’t so far gone as not to be
conscious of her maladrcsse. I hope my ac
cent is Parisian, Miss Cary? Adams and
myself kept up a brisk conversation about
trout fishing, and tlie joint remained un
touched.
"At last hunger began to get tlie better of
Adam’s wounded susceptibilities. His right
hand moved, but notin tlie direction of the
carving knife. It was down undertlie table,
there was a scraping motion of tlie right
foot, lie leaned backwurd a little to tlie left
side, as a man must who seeks his right
trousers pocket. Outcnmea handful of cop
pers.
•‘ ‘Well, Professor which shall it be? lieuds,
I carve’—just then a very welcome head
loomed out from behind a pillar, by the
door, and Prof. 8elton bore down upon us.
The light that shone overour countenance!
was something more than a reflection of tlie
broad sunshine on tlie face of Miss White.
We were so confoundedly hungry, you see,
and after waiting so long, it would have been
rather hard to have curved that joint in the
eyes of tlie whole tablo. I hope you appreci
ate the situation. Mrs. Bracket tlie story
is in your hands.”
“At that time Miss White was dead in love
witli tlie Professor, and we all knew it—by
wel mean all her intimate friends—nnd Miss
White knew it herself. She didn’t at first.
I think she was blinded as to tlie nature of
her regards for the Professor at first. How
ever this may be, she never was blinded ns to
his feelings towards her. When she admitted
to herself that she was in love witli a man
fifteen years tier junior, she knew as well as
she knew afterwards, that his affection for
her had nothing of a lover's fondness about
it. I think when she found out how tlie
case stood with her she contemplated going
away. She was very sad tlie first of the
winter—not a bit like herself. As the Christ
mas holidays drew near she said to me one
day:
“ ‘Mrs. Brackett, what do you think tlie
girls would say if I were to leave ?’
“ ‘I think they would be highly astonished
and very sorry,’ was all I said.
“But8he didn’tleavc,Iknew she wouldn’t.
Of what use would it have been? As long
as she lived, she never would cease loving
Prof. Selton. I watched her and in a few
days I saw that she had given up the struggle.
I think she stopped trying to deceive her
self, that she frankly admitted her lovo to
herself, and mode up her mind to enjoy his
society as long as she could. She onjoyed
life too much to put out its sunshine with
her own hand.
“ He’s a good man and I love him. To
love a good man is nothing to be ashamed of.
What if he Is fifteen years younger than I
am. That don’t change my feelings toward
him. I know he will never love me other
than as a friend. I'll enjoy his friendship os
long os I can, and when he marries, why,
then it will be time to go away I’
“I think she said something like this to
herself, and after saying it felt better. She
never said anything about it to others. It