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_ .. - ii 11»!■ imii—hrmnrtn**) -—~ ~ ~ - -- - ZIJ, ~ ii in i it-- ■— —— I—BiTiiimiinw-iwwniMwmwnrHiwiiiiiiiiiiirwMiiii1 — BiTiiimiinw-iwwniMwmwnrHiwiiiiiiiiiiirwMiiii ■w—ttw—mm i— nan iiiii imh n—Browu»ut»ns,m»iWiTrrrnwTiii-Tit««wi^»^- ro _ i VOL. 111. The Last Mile-Stones. BY PEARL RIVERS. Sixty years through shine and shadow— Sixty years, my gentle wife, You and I have walked together Down the rugged road of life. From the hills of Spring we started, And through all the Summer land, And the fruitful Autumn country, We have journeyed hand in hand. We have borne the heat and burden, Toiling painfully and slow; We have gathered in our harvest, With rejoicing, long ago. Leave the uplands for our children— They are strong to sow and reap ; Through the quiet Winter lowlands Our level way to keep. ‘Tis a dreary country, darling, You and I are passing through; But the road lies straight before us, And the miles are short and few; Xo more dangers to encounter— Xo more hills to climb, true friend ; Xothing now but simple walking, Till we reach our journey’s end. Wc have had our time of gladness; Twas a proud and happy day— Ah ! the proudest of our journey, When we felt that we could say Os the children God had given, Looking fondly on the ten: “Lovely women are our daughters— Our sons are noble men !” We have had our time of sorrow— Our time of anxious fears, When we could not see the mile stones Through the blindness of our tears. In the sunny Summer country, Far behind us, little May And Willie, too, grew weary, And we left them on the way. Are you looking backward, mother, That you stumble in the snow ? I am still your guide and stall, dear, Lean your weight upon me, so ! Our road is growing narrow ; And what is it wife, you say ? Yes ! I know our eyes are dim, dear. But we have uot lost the way. Cheer thee cheer thee ! faithful hearted! Just a little way before Lies the great Eternal City Os the King that we adore. I can see the shining spires; And the King, the King, my dear, We have served him long and humbly; He will bless us, do not fear. Ah! the snow falls fast and heavy, How you shiver with the cold, Let me wrap your mantle closer, And my arm around you fold. We are weak, and faint, and weary, And the suu low m the West. Wei mve reached the gates, my darling. Let us tarry here and rest. iMtUI Uff [From Lippincott.J STORY OF THE SAPPHIRE, [concluded.] “Mouths passed on, and DeGonrecourt and his friends were no longer a theme of conversation in society, when a fresh interest in him was excited by the an nouncement of his betrothal to one of the reigning belles of the beau monde , the beautiful, wealthy, and widowed Princess Olga Yasanoff, a llussian lady, whose peculiar personal loveliness and fascinat ing manners added to reports respecting her vast wealth, had rendered her one of the greatest social successes of the season. Her saloon was always crowded on her reception evenings, and it was hard to catch even a glimpse of her in her box at the Opera, so surrounded was she always by admirers and adorers. AUGUSTA, GUA-, SEPTEMBER 17, 1870. She was a frail, delicate looking blonde, pale, golden-haired, and petite in form, with great, dreamy blue eyes, and a voice of singular softness and sweetness. She always recalled to me the mist-veiled, shadowy heroines of Ossian. She was in truth a sort of northern Undine, born of the snow-drift, and not of the waves —a Lurlei whose home was the Frozen Ocean, and not the sunny Ilhine. This weird and witching being had not only been won by De Gondrecourt, but, what was stranger still, she had succeeded in win ning him. For the first time in his life the vicomte discovered that he had a heart, which was not till it had irrecov erably pass 'd into the possession of the Princess Olga. lie was madly in love* and had she scorned him or lured him into a hopeless and unrequited passion, even justice itself would have been satis fied with the retribution which would then have befallen him. But his good fortune with the lair sex did not desert him even in the dangerous moment of his own surrender, and Madame Yasanoff in the very flush of her victory was forced to declare herself vanquished. “ ‘And what of the fair Inez V I asked of Leon de Beaugency, one day, when we were discussing the approaching nuptials of De Gondrecourt. “De Beaugeucy shrugged his shoul ders. ‘Gaston does not take me into his confidence, 5 he replied. ‘But I have been told that there was a fearful scene be tween them when he first informed her of his proposed marriage. He offered her anything she might ask in the way of settlements or ready money, but she refused his offers with scorn. It is even said that she forced her way into the presence of the Princess Yasanoff one day when Gaston was visiting her. But the fair Russian knew perfectly well what manner of man her betrothed was, and I doubt if any revelation poor Inez could make would be of much weight or of great novelty to her.’ “ ‘And what says De Gondrecourt to all this?’ I asked. “He declares that he will forget that such a creature ever existed, so incensed lias he become at her persistent efforts to create an esclandre. Someone repeat ed that speech to her, and she has sworn to make him remember her all the days of his life. Mark me, De Sieyeres, we have not yet seen the end of this afiair.” “But I thought we certainly had when some weeks later I was present at the gorgeous wedding of the Yicemte de Gondrecourt and the Princess Yasanoff. The Madeleine was densely crowded, and I must confess that my eye roved uneasi ly among the glittering groups in search of the unhappy Inez, so convinced was I that she would seek in some way to in terrupt the ceremony. But she was not there, and I drew a sigh of relief when the pale, lovely bride, leaning on her husband’s arm, passed out of the portals, unmolested and unhindered.” Here M. de Sieyeres rose, and going to his escritoire drew forth a packet of letters, one of which he selected and re turned with it to his seat. “Here,” said he, unfolding it as he spoke, “is a letter from my sister, the Baroness de Liancay, written from Yienna a few months after the marriage of De Gondrecourt.and the Princess Yasanoff. An extract from it will give you sone idea of their happi ness and their mutual devotion. She writes : ‘Thefseason thus far has been un usually gay, and \ ienna was never more crowded with strangers than at present, I saw, at the christening of the Arch duchess Gisela, the other da} 7 , your pet aversion, Gaston de Gondrecourt, with his beautiful wife. Reports say they are most insanely and unfashionably in love with each other; and certainly they are the most devoted couple I ever saw out side the pages of a moral story-book. It is no small triumph even for the Xorth ern Circe, as Madame Yasanoff used to be called, to have won the heart of such a vaurien as Gaston, or rather to have caused him to find out that lie had a heart at all. They have just come from visiting the large estates of the bride in Russia (she was, as I believe you know, a wealthy heiress, when the sickly Prince Yasanoff married her,) and they intend ed to travel for at least a year, as it will take that time to finish their , new hotel on the Rue Bassompierre. I hear it is to be a perfect miracle of splendor and ar tistic decoration. Fiagot and Vivaro are to paint the walls and ceilings, and Lesueur is to superintend the carved work both in wood and marble. It is said that the mantlepieces in the grand salon are to be of malachite, a wedding gift frpm the Emperor Alexander, but I cannot vouch for the truth of the story. I asked De Gondrecourt why he did not occupy his hotel on the Champs Elysees while his new one was being finished, and his reply pleased me greatly. “I could not take my wife under that roof,” he answered in a very significant tone. I admired the delicacy of (eeling displayed in that answer, and I think you will join with me in agreeing that there is some good still left in the nature of a man who has shown himself capable of loving a pure-minded, high-souled woman as ten derly as De Gondrecourt undoubtedly loves his wife.’ “Nearly a year later I was in Brussels, whither I had gone to pass a few weeks, the festivities attendant on the marriage of the Princess Charlotte,to the Archduke Maximilian having rendered the little capital of Belgium unusually gay and attractive. One evening, being wearied of the continued round of balls and fetes, I decided to visit the opera, being tempt ed thereto by the announcement of anew ballet entitled La Heine des Brouillards, the heroine of which was to be persouated by anew danseuse, Madame Dolorez by name, whom rumor declared to be of ex traordinary excellence. “I reached the opera house rather late, but as a stupid little operetta had been played as lever de rideau , I arrived before the commencement of the ballet. I had one of the orchestra stalls on the first row, directly fronting the stage. The house was crowded, and I recognized many acquaintances, among the audience, all Paris seemingly having taken wing to Brussels to be present at the bridal fetes of the future Empress of Mexico. One of the proscenium boxes was occupied by M. and Madame De Gonrecourt, the latter perfectly dazzling to behold from the splendor of the diamond and opal paruae with which she was adorned, and looking as Gretchen might have done when decked with the jewel gifts wherewith Mephistopheles first tempted her. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful wo man present, and every opera-glass in the house was leveled at her and her handsome husband, who never left her side. I watched De Gondecourt narrow ly, and as his every look and movement revealed how real and intense was his love for his wife—a love apparently heightened, not impaired, by twelve months of matrimony—a strange, sad feeling of foreboding stole over my spirit, and 1 looked almost pityingly upon the gay, handsome couple who seemed so enviable in their youth, their beauty, their prosperity and their evident devotion to each other. “The curtain rose, a few preliminary scenes passed off without anything to re mark, and at last the Queen of the Mist, heralded by a brief expressive strain from the orchestra, bounded upon the stage, and was received by the audience with a stormy burst of applause. Her face and form were almost entirely con cealed by a flowing veil of pale, gray gauze, but before she had half finished her first passeul, I was convinced that Madame Dolores was not unknown to me. With almost breathless anxiety I awaited the moment when she should uncover her face. At last it came—the shrouding veil was cast aside, and I saw that my suspicions were correct, and that Madame Do’ores was no other than Inez Castro jon. “I cast an involuntary glance toward the box occupied by the *De Gondrecourts. No trace of emotion was visible on the fair features of the vicomtess as she leaned back in her chair, calmly drawing her point lace shawl a little closer over her white shoulders, while Gaston leveled his opera glass at the dancer as coolly as though she had been a total stranger. Yet the changes that were visible in the face and form of the once peerless beauty, might have moved even his cal lous soul to pity and remorse. She was thin almost to emaciation; and though her features preserved their perfect out line and her limbs their faultless sym metry, the brightness, roundness and freshness of youth had departed forever. Her danciDg, too, had lost all the bound ing animation which hud formerly distin guished it, and though her every motion was still graceful and mrial, in her art as well as in her beauty, she was but a shadow of her former self. I saw at once that she was aware cf the presence of De Gondrecourt and his wife. There was something fearful in the expression that crossed her face, something deadly in the fire that blazed in her burning eyes—and a premonition of some terrible tragedv which was about to be enacted, caused my heart to sink within me. Yet after the first glance at the prosce nium box—a glance wherein I read re cognition and desperate determination— she looked no more in that direction. But through all the changes of her role her face never lost that look of fatal, ter rible resolution—such a look as I have seen Rachel wear in Phedre when the guilty queen comes to denounce Iloppolyte. “I could not divest myself of the idea that some awful event was about to take place. I strove to shake off the impres sion. I tried to direct my attention to the other actors, the audience, the piece itself, but in vain. I could see nothing but that white, set face, those burning eyes; I could think of nothing but the ghastly energy, the desperate resolu tion which were painted on that pallid countenance. The showy scenery, the spangled and silk-garbed actors, the brilliant audience, all seemed to me a mockery, and I sat as a spectator at the Coliseum might have done in the awful hush which preceded the entrance of the wild beasts and the Christian captives. “Yet the ballet progressed smoothly, though languidly, the evident pre-occupa tion of the principal danseuse having tended to mar the protection of the rep resentation. It was with a feeling of relief that 1 saw the last scene disclosed, and I began to hope that my fear and forebod ings had been without auy foundation. This last scene represented a wild 'Moun tain landscape. A lofty rock towered in the foreground at the side of the stage directly opposite the box occupied by the De Gondrecourts, and I learned from the play-bill, that it was upon this peak that La Reine des Broudillards was to make her appearance to denounce her faithless lover, and to summon up the mists which were to surround his path and cause his destruction, by con cealing from him the abyss into which he was consequently to fall. The hero and his followers made their appearance, went through the usual pantomime ex pression of distress and dread, a wild wailing strain sounded from the or chestra, and the Queen of the Mist rose up, a splendid, but threatening vision, before them. Inez was enveloped in a flowing robe and veil of pale gray gauze interwoven with silver—a light but voluminous garb adapted to be worn above the usual ballet costume, and to be easily and quickly cast aside. She wore no rouge, and her pale face and large, dilated eyes looked even more strangely than before, when seen under the shadow ot that vaporous drapery. Before the hurried, expressive movement played by the orchestra was ended, a sudden crash startled the au dience. Inez had pushed away the lad der by which she had reached her lofty elevation, and it had fallen heavily to the floor. Before the last echoes of this sound had died away, another and still more startling one rang through the crowded theatre; it was these words shrieked rather than spoken: “ ‘Gaston de Gondrecourt ! do you think now that you will ever forget me?’ “And then I say Inezgafheiel teg t er the folds of her silvery drapery with one hand and thrust them deliberately into the blaze of one of the gas burners that illumined the side scenes. In an in stant the unhappy girl was enveloped in flames. The uproar that ensued was something indescribable. Screams, shrieks, cries of ‘Fire! save her !’ were intermingled in a wild commotion; many gentlemen (one of whom was myself) sprang upon the stage; ladies fainted or went into violent hysterics; while in the nr'dst of that awful blazing a figure stood out upon its lofty pedestal, erect, silent and perfectly motionless. “In less time than I have taken to relate the incident the ladder was raid ed, and one of the actors rushed up it, tearing loose one of the stage carpets, with which he enveloped Inez and suc ceeded in subdueing the flames. But during those few instants the fire, fed by her light and combustible raiment, had done its work effectually. “She was borne to the green-room, and a physician was instantly summoned. But there was nothiug to be done— nothing but to cover the poor, scar red body tenderly and wait for the end. “She lived scarcely half an hour after the flames were extinguished. When the brief medical examination was ended she requested that I should be summon ed, having apparently recognized me during the performance. I came at once, and she whispered to me with a failing |voice to take her sapphire ring (which the physician had already remov ed from her finger) to Gaston d*e Gond recourt- ‘He gave it to me to recall the hue of his eyes; let him keep it iu re membrance of this night.’ she murmured. I promised to do her bidding, and she added, T think now I have stamped my image on his soul. I have burnt . ii in II ne m'oubliera jamais ’ “Those were her last words. A few minutes latter the sobbing breathing ceased, the moaning lips were still, and Inez Castrejou, slain by her own desperate hand, had ceased to exist. “And now, my friend, I fear that you will think that I committed a doubly dis honorable action. I never delivered her message to De Gondrecourt, and I kept the ring. “I set out in search of him the follow ing day. I found that he had taken apartments at the Hotel de l’Europe, and I pioeeedcd thither at ones. But on reachiug the hotel I fouud myself face to face with anew horror—another terrible calamity. Madame de Gondre court was, as I have before said, of an ex tremely delicate and sensitive organiza tion, and the fearful scene she had wit nessed at the theatre had proved her death blow. She was taken home iu a state of total insensibility; a premature confinement ensued, followed by an at tack of prostration from which she never rallied; and twelve hours after the death of Inez Castrejon, the beautiful, brilliant, idolized Yicomtesse de Gondrecourt by a corpse in the arms of her hr If frantic husband. Thus terribly, though un wittingly, had Gaston’s victim avenged herself “I could not bring myself to plant i another thorn in the already lacerated heart of the wretched De Gondrecourt, by delivering to him the ring and the last message from Inez. I sought out her only Mtrviving relative, a little actress No. 27.