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THE SOUTHERN WORLD, OCTOBER 15, 1882. 10 l§om§ <£ir L clq. BEAUTY AND TBUT1I. From the white womb of ancient Truth The Beautiful waa born, Invented with Immortal youth, And radiant aa the morn; With blazing atars about her brow, Alt nature her domain, Enthroned In the eternal Now, Blie ahares her mother’a reign. Inacparateand celestial pair, They tench the human heart Through their sublime Interpreter, Divine, Immortal Art I —Chablkh W. UunwKB. Written specially for The Bouthern World. “ KOY’M WIFE.” BV KNTEKAY, LEXINGTON, KY. It was more like November tit an still early in October—such a heavy dampness |>ervaded the scene out of the narrow little window of the narrow little house of the narrowest town of New England. A young man, look ing moodily out upon the gathering dark ness, seemed in no way capable of a philo sophic acceptation of the situation into which chance, rather Providence—we must not grow sceptical if we do live in an age of doubt—had suddenly placed him. The fact was, Mr. Edward Benedict was heartily dis gusted with the >whole surroundings; the miserable little boarding-house, which was the only lodging he could secure for so short u time, hud proved itself a snare and a delu sion, at a total variance from the glowing description which had entrapped his youth ful imagination; and then, that querulous old gentluman, Mr. llermau Benedict, who so unceremoniously demanded the instant attendance of his nephew, grew daily more obstinate and aggressive in liis requests. It was rather hard on a young fellow just out of college to bo called away from the city at the most delightful of times when he' felt himself about to create something of a sensation, in a social way, and it is depress ing to one’s spirits to have only a stack of musty law books for company. However, eveu in the most monotonous of existences, there sometimes glows a ray of light, and in tho life of Mr. Edward Bene dict this illumination took the form of the afternoon mail, which certainly was some thing to look forward to. Frequently there was a letter from Haywood, one of his old colloge chums, which would set a fellow up f his thoughts were black as ink; hcnlways said that Haywood was a genius, though he did hide his light under u bushel. On this eventful afternoon the mail was somewhat retarded, and the young man was becoming impatient; it had grown almost quite dark when he returned from the ollicc with the precious “bundle of letters.” There was one from Denham, another college asso ciate, one from his tuilor, (“ pestiferous don key ”) one from his mother, Mrs. l.e.ewaril Benedict, and one, which he meant to keep, like the good wine, for the lust, from his cousin, Grace St. Clair. Being a dutiful son he first opened his mother’a letter, almost knowing before he broke tho seal what it contained; he knew that she hoped her dear boy would be re spectful and affectionate to his uncle and not take offence at his. irritable ways, and that he could reflect upon the advantage he would gain by a sacrifice of his own pleasure in feeling be hud conferred his presence upon ono win* really needed his assistance,—all very fine indeed, but not genuine, the con sciousness of a prospect of a half a million or so in the future being in her case, as well us his, a far more iiowerful Incentive to unsel fish action than the promptings of religious duty. It was after tea, when ho returned to liis room, that in dressing-gown and slippers he applied himself to the perusul of Grace's most acceptable missive. “Dear Ned,” it began in the large angular hand-writing which fashionable young wo men affect, “ you poor boy, I think of you every hour in the day,” (Urace was really quite patronizing—a man does not wish to be called a boy wlieu he is tweuty-three.) “It is perfectly lovely at this great old country place, and the Haines’ are such very charming people that I have never once re gretted that I accepted their invitation, though at the time 1 was sorry to leave the city, it was giving up a delightful reality for an uncertainty, as everything was starting off quite gay and festive. As this can only be a short letter, I must tell my news in brief. To begin—there are about forty, more or less, of us in all. Mr. Frederick Haines,(Bessie’s younger brother,) and his seven college friends, Bessie, and myself constitute the young people; Bessie and I are the only girls, and we like it. I must tell you how we amuse ourselves— we have been having charades, and with great success, if the applause we received from the audience was not more compli mentary than genuine; last week, embold ened by former triumphs, we attempted theatricals. One of our number, gifted with a talent for writing plays, produced one for the benefit of the household, and another equally remarkable personage, (you see we are agiftedset,) took the leading part, that is the part of Roy’s Wife, which is the name of the play. Enclosed you will find a picture of the star of the troupe as seen in the fasci nating role of “Roy’s Wife.” Here there was a sudden break in the let ter, the writer evidently having been called off suddenly before the completion of her subject, there were only a few more hastily penned words, as a close. Bdt there was a P. 8., of count. “ Bessie has agreed to spend the month of November with me, do ask your uncle to get well, Bessie wants to know you.” Mr. Edward Benedict tossed aside this in teresting missive with afalntsmileofamuse ment, it was so thoroughly characteristic, and then turned his attention to the small, card-size photograph which it contained. If any one had been present at the moment, his very sudden change of expression might have awakened conjecture. He arose with an alacrity which had hitherto been most pathetically wanting in hiB movements, and stirred the fire into a brighter blaze, then, with a look of puzzled interest depicted upon his aristocratic features, he returned to the picture. He ran hastily over in his mind the list of his acquaintances, especially those he had recently met in crowded ball-rooms, but the look in the laughing gray eyes took hold of him as a mystery, and for the life of him he could not tell when and where he had seen that face before. He thought it a, strangely fascinating face, not hecause of its beauty, he did not altogether like the style; there was a gay carelessness in the turn of the head, and a reckless profusion of golden locks which did not accord very harmoni ously with the fustidious taste of the young man, but from that moment, on through the long dreamy days that followed, itseemed to have a strange power over his thoughts and to counteract in no small degree the utter stagnation of his existence. He would have been ashamed to confess even to himself how it grew into an almost life-like reality, and enveloped bis thoughts as a mist At times the expression seemed to change, and the look of suppressed laughter transfused itself into a tender, glowing interest, but when he had come in from one of those lonely tramps in which he spasmodically indulged, ho would laugh at his own foolish fancy. I feel it my duty to offer some explanation for the remarkable conduct of this young man ; the fact is, though he wus the victim of an unusually imaginative disposition, he would never, I know, under ordinary cir cumstances, hnve been guilty of such a poetic weakness, but close confinement in a dark ened room, with a feverish invalid, for six or eight hours in a day, has a rouiarkable power of producing morbidity of ideas, and Mr. Edward Benedict under this depressing in fluence, was another man. So it came to pass that he awoke one morning in October to find that he had been doing a very foolish thing, and awoke to find that be had no longer the power of extricating himself front a fancy, which he still had sense enough left to know, was utterly idle. After that lie made no further effort to battle with his fate, he hung the picture up over his mantel as the most convenient place to which his eyes might turn. If he had been a sensible man, which I am grieved to confess he was not, he would have thrown that smiling little piece of card-board into the flames and thought no more of it, but, as it is hardly necessary to relate, he was not a sensible man, and so he went on dreaming and think ing and wasting a great deal of valuable time, indulging his imagination in fantastic rev eries, changeful as the summer air. One morning he received a letter from his cousin, Miss St. Clair, announcing ber return home, and requesting the pleasure of his company the following week. “ Bessie wants to know you,” she said, “ I have told her so many pleasant things about you, you really must come,” and Mr. Ed ward Benedict felt the fates had grown sud denly propituous when on the morrow he took the afternoon train for the city. He thought it the most natural thing in the world that she should want to know him, had he not been thinking of her every day for a month past, and calling her Bessie in his thoughts ? why they were old friends. He arrived a day earlier than he was ex pected, and his cousin, Miss St. Clair, had not yet come in from her afternoon walk when he called. It had been a damp, cheer less day enough, and the richly curtained, fire-lit room seemed warm and inviting; there were shadows lurking in the corners, it was like the picture of a room. Mr. Ed ward Benedict felt as if he was once more himself, now that he was back in his old sur roundings, he thought with a shudder of the dreariness which had been accompanying (his hour for the last five weeks. A slight movement from a young woman sitting in the opposite part of the room, sud denly disturbed his thoughts, and caused .him to turn, surprised in his pleasant con templation of the scene about him ; in that moment the young lady looked up from her book, and a faint flush came into her cheeks, but she arose and greeted him formally in spite of her momentary embarrassment. She was rather a -mall personage, with light hair very smoothly arranged, and a clear blonde complexion of exquisite freshness. She wore a wnite neckerchief quaintly folded across her chest; there was an air of Quakerish simplicity amounting almost to primness, in her whole appearance. The young man made his bow and intro duced himself iu an exceptionally graceful manner, but the elegant composure of his bearing seemed suddenly to desert him when she said very quietly, with a winning smile: “I am Miss Haines.” Then she added, “I believe your cousin has told me everything about you. We ought to be quite good friends.’’ Afterwards, Mr. Edward Benedict ap peared strangely preoccupied and as uninter esting as he was uninterested. Miss Haines seeing the utter futility of her efforts soon ceased in her endeavor to be agreeable, and relapsed into a dignified silence, not with out a slight tinge of resentment and injury depicted upon her dainty features. It was all a mystery, but he could find no explanation. The thought suggested itself that this might have been Grade's idea of a joke, but he instantly rejected the supposi tion as absurd. He did not believe there was any one else in her acquaintance by the name of Miss Bessie Haines; in fact, he was quite certain there was not, and yet not even all the effects of the most heightened stage costume could have transformed the elegantly refined young lady into the care less, golden-haired beauty he had been wor shiping so devoutly for the past five weeks. He suddenly became conscious that he was being asked a question in a cold, inqui ring way, and recollecting himself, he turned with a spasmodic determination to the present. There was a slight coquetry in her man ner; as she looked up, an expression, a swift glance, which instantly disappeared, brought back the old memory with a more perplexing force. He was quite relieved when the door opened, and Miss St Clair appeared on the threshold. She was agree ably surprised to see him, and held out both her hands in a cordial welcome. “Do sit down. You have been ill,” she said, regarding him intently, os she unbut toned her gloves, “and it is a mercy you aren’t dead, down there in that stupid old town. And how is your undo? Do you think the prospect is brightening?” she said, with a perceptible elevation of the eyebrows and a low laugh. “Well,” she continued, not waiting for a reply, and with a suddenness of manner peculiar to her, "we have been wanting you here awfully, haven’t we, Bessie ? But you have taken an unfair advantage. I meant to introduce you myself. Did you get my letters?” “I did, and I shall always feel an undying gratitude for your remeiubVance. Is there anything you would like to have me do for you? But for those interesting productions, I think I would have fulfilled your encour aging prediction and come to an untimely end." “Oh, that would have been sad. Don’t you think I am a good correspondent? No one else does?” “Then It was just a delicate little compli ment to me ? The weight of my obligation has grown oppressive.” Miss Haines arose and left the room very quietly. It was then that Mr. Edward Bene dict for the first time really noticed her graceful beauty, and with remorse reflected upon the unoourteous lack of interest into which he had been betrayed. “Have I misrepresented things?” asked Oracle, glancing after her. “Is she not pretty? And is she not everything I have “Not exactly.” “Not exactly I" Oracle stared. “Not unless she numbers among the many accomplishments you have attributed to her the power of metamorphosis,” he said. “I don’t understand. Can you reconcile it to your dignity to stoop to an explana tion ?” Mr. Benedict arose and handed her a small card-size picture which he took from an inner pocket, and as her eye fell upon it, Miss St. Clair seemed much amused. “Why, Edward Benedict,” she said, when she had ceased laughing, “did I never ex plain that to you ?” “You certainly never did, and I was not aware that it required an explanation until to-day.” He was trying to look unconscious, but I don’t think he succeeded very well. “It is easy enough explained,” said Grace, still looking at him and smiling. “Do you remember Bessie’s brother Fred?” “Perfectly; but I really ” “That picture which you have been so ten derly guarding is——" Mr. Edward Benedict arose and walked to the window. He thought they kept their rooms uncomfortably warm. “You know he is extremely handsome,” said Grade, coming to his side, "and every one thinks it was a misfortune he was not a girl because of his youth and beauty. He is pretty as a girl." Grade waited, but Mr. Benedict seemed absorbingly interested in the vehicles passing in the street. “When we got up those wonderful theatri cals I wrote you of,” she continued after a short pause, "we wanted a girl for the lead ing part Bessie would not take it, and I was not equal to the occasion, and so—it was a farce, you know, in every sense of the word—and-so,” with a laugh, she said, “we dressed Fred up as a girl. He is a perfect boy and did not mind.” The young man seemed still deeply inter ested in the scene without. “Isn’t Bessie pretty?" asked Miss St. Clair as she stirred the fire into a brighter blaze, and Mr. Benedict answered mechanically, “Very pretty." When a man has made a fool of himself, he is rather uncomfortable. I make the as sertion with all confidence, knowing that in most coses it will be corroborated by ex perience. Mr. Benedict returned the next day unex pectedly to that quiet little village, which had been despised and so joyfully taken leavo of twenty-fonr hours previous. I think he was a sadder and a wiser man. The first thing he did on entering his room was to take forth an envelope and without so much as a glance at what it con tained, he consigned what had been its pre cious contents to the furv of the flames. In the days that followed he was so re markably silent and civil that his uncle, Mr. Herman Benedict, noting the absence of the old petulanco which had hitherto character ized his nephew, took courage and began to entertain serious hopes that the “young scapegrace” would turn out something worthy after all. As his uncle continued in ill health, young Benedict did not return to the city for some months; but when the spring opened, hav ing been asked by his friend, Mr. Frederick Haines, to spend a fortnight with a party of young people in the country, he accepted the invitation, and gladly bade farewell to the dispiriting scenes which had surrounded him for months. He could now look back with amusement —for he had quite outgrown his foolish fancy —upon the tender memories of the past He felt the monotony was going to be de lightfully changed, and was conscious of a bright anticipation for the future, which is but the very essence of youth. They were a gay party when they all as sembled in the merry springtime at the old mansion. When Miss Bessie Haines came in to re ceive her guests, there was one among them who sent a worm glow into her cheeks as he pressed her hand, and Mr. Edward Benedict no longer manifested a want of interest, or appreciation of her girlish beauty. As she moved away he smiled, perhaps at a certain recollection which her presence had recalled. They resorted to every means of amuse ment in the happy days that followed, and one evening they represented, with a slight change of actors, a play which had been written on a former occasion by one of their number. And it came to’ pass that not long after wards, those who had witnessed the closing scene of this delightful little comedy were called upon to be present at a genuine mar riage service, and so lavish were the good wishes bestowed upon the two united souls, that if there be power in the predictions of friendship, the future must have brought them “all the joy that they could wish."