Newspaper Page Text
A DEAR LITTLE SCHEMER.
From 't- XU hnlnt for Prcembei.
Tbre '.v t .< a little daughteropec.
Whose feet were -oh, so small'.
That when tho Christ mas Eve came round,
They wouldn't do at all.
At least she said they wouldn’t do,
And so she tried another's.
And folding her wee stocking up,
iShe slyly took her mother's.
“I'll pin this big one here,” she said,
Then sat before the tire.
Watching the supple, dancing flames,
And shallows darting by her.
Til! silently she'drifted otr
To that queer land, you know,
Of ’’Nowhere in particular,”
Where sleepy children go.
She never knew the tumult rare
That, came upon the roof:
She never heard the patter
Of a single reindeer hoof;
She never knew how Some One came
And looked his shrewd surprise
At the wee foot and the stocking—
So different in size 1
She only knew, when morning dawned,
That she Was safe in bed.
“It’s Christmas! Ho!” and merrily
She raised her pretty head;
Then, wild with glee, she saw what dear
Old “Santa Claus” had done.
And ran to tell the joyful news
To each and every one:
“Mamma! Papa! Please come and look 1
A lovely doll and all!"
And “See how full the stocking is!
Mine would have been too small,
1 borrowed this for Santa Claus.
It isn't fair, you know,
To make him wait forever
For a little girl to grow.”
morning news library no. as.
ROMANCE OF RICHMONIi
BY WALTER M. RICHMOND.
Copyrighted , 1887, by J. H. Estill.
CHAPTER XVII.
Life is a burden: bear it;
Life is a duty; dare it;
Life is a thorn crown: wear it;
Though it break your heart in twain;
Though the burden crush you down,
Close your lips aud hide your pain;
First the cross aud then the crown
—Father Ryan.
Three days bad elapsed. It was late Sat
urday afternoon. Most of the day Pauline
had spent in a home of poverty, by the bed
side of a little boy that lay ill of typhoid
fever, aud now, as the sun was sinking
slowly in the west, bathing the seven-hill
city in floods of golden glory, the noble
girl was wending her way toward her home,
on West Grace street.
The last three days had been the saddest
of her young life. The hope of winning
Virgil’s love, which for months had been
growing dimmer and dimmer, had at las t
expired, leaving her heart sad and desolate.
Virgil’s manner toward Florme three even
ings since had brought Pauline to a full re
alization of the painful truth that Virgil’s
affection for her was only of a brotherly
nature. But no one knew of her sor
row. The proud girl had thus fa* con
cealed her suffering even from her par
ents. She was a Christian. Long ago she
had abandoned the comfortless form of
prayer and learned from the depths of a
“broken and contrite heart” to cry “Abba,
Father,” aud now, in the first real sorrow of
her life, she found unspeakable comfort in
carrying ner trouble “to God in prayer.”
Unceasingly there arose from her heart a
silent prayer that in time she might truth
fully say, as did her Saviour in Gethsemane
more than eighteen hundred yeai-s ago,
“Not my will, but Thine, Oh, God, be
done.”
As shß entered the yard of her home, a
sweet feminine laugh, wh'ich she recognized
to be Florine’s, floated through the open
windows of the parlor. Pauline’s counten
ance darkened with vexation.
“I don’t want to see her!” she muttered
to herself, as she slowly made her way up
the walk. “The false coquette t 1 don’t
want to see her, for she is doing every
thing in her power to win the heart of the
man I love—one of the purest, noblest men
living—only to gratify her insatiable van
ity ! She suspects I love him—indeed she
has told me to my face that I do—and. like
the unscrupulous flirt she is, she is trying to
arouse my jealousy! Oh, I don’t want to
have anything to do with her —the design
ing hypocrite! I have a great mind to en
ter the house by the rear way and quietly
pass up to my room and there remain until
she leaves the house.”
But almost instantly the girl reproach ed
herself for such bitter thoughts.
“Such thoughts are unbecoming a Chris
tian,” she said. “I ought to love my cousin
and pray for her as I would for a sister!
She may yet become a good Christian
woman. “ She is not a bit more heartless or
frivolous than her mother used to be, and
only think what a wonderful change has
come over Aunt Nannie! One can scarcely
find a sweeter or more lovable woman than
she is now. Though she has been home only
a few days, I feel that I love her already!
Heaven knows 1 never loved her before she
went to Europe. Yes, I will love Florine
and pray for her, too, despite her heartless
ness. I will stiflo the serpent of jealousy
and treat her kindly. I will bear my cross
bravely, unmurmuringly, looking to God
for the strength to enable me to bear it.”
And, forcing a smile to her lips, the
brave girl ran up the front steps, carolling
Auld Lang Syne.
“Here comes papa’s little bird,” said Mr.
Morriss, who, hearing liis daughter’s voice,
bad come out to meet her.
“How is Willie, now, my dear!” he in
quired.
“He isn’t any better,” replied the girl, the
smile she had forced to her countenance fad
ing as she spoke, and tears coming into her
eyes.
“1 am sorry. I hope the little fellow will
recover,” and, passing his arm lovingly
around his daughter’s waist, Mr. Morriss led
her into the front parlor, where his wife
was chatting with Mrs. Woodbury aud
Florine.
Pauline shook hands with each of the visi
tors, and then, after an allusion to the
iieauty ofttho afternoon, took a seat on a
divan beside her father.
“Nannie, did you know that there were
two sisters of charity in this house?” said
the tobacconist, turning to Mi’s. Wood
bury. "Yes, 1 have two sisters of charity
Bertha and Pauline—who go about doing
good in that unostentatious manner in
which the Master did.”
‘ ’ Do you think it becomes you to stylo your
wife and daughter sisters of charity!” asked
Mrs. Morriss, her motherly face wreathed in
smiles. “Ought you not to leave it for
somebody else to bestow upon us that
title!”
“Perhaps so, my modest wife,” and the
gentleman indulged iu one of his good
natured laughs.
“I understand, Pauline, you have spent
most of the day on Belle Isle,” said Flo
rine, contemptuously. “I would sooner ex
pose myself to a lot of bears than to trust
myself among the filthy, low-bred working
People who live in that, abominable locality.
How a woman of our family could so de
grade herself as you have done is beyond
my comprehension. Pauline Morriss, I foel
as if I wanted to repudiate all relationship
with you, so unspeakably ashamed am I of
you!” *
“I think, mvdi<ar, Pauline has more cause
to be ashamed of you than you have to bo
ashamed of her,” said Mi's. Woodbury,
deeply mortified at her daughter’s scornful
language.
“if we would follow the meek and lowly
Jesus,” said Mr. Morriss, glancing reproach
fully ot his neice, "we must lay aside all
foolish pride, my dear.”
“Is there any improvement in Willie's
condition, Pauline?” asked Mrs. Morriss,
turning to her daughter.
“None, mamma; the doctor entertains but
little hope of his recovery.”
"The child you speak of is a member of
your Sunday school class, is he not?” in
quired Mrs. Woodbury of Pauline.
_ “No, ma’am; he attends the Methodist
Sabbath school, his parents being members
of that church.”
“Willie is a boy of about 18—the oldest
of five children,” said the tobacconist. “He
is of humble but good parentage. About a
year ago, Willie became anxious to help his
family, the wages of his father, who is only
n laborer on the Isle, being barely sufficient
to keep the wolf from the door. The bov
applied to me for something to do, and,
pleased with his frank, good face, I em
ployed him in the capacity of errand-boy.
We all took a fancy to him, particularly
Pauline, who, you know, is passionately
fond of children.”
“Provided they are of the male species,”
interrupted Florine, laughing.
Her uncle, with a frown, continued:
“About two weeks ago the child was
stricken with typhoid fever, and during his
illness Bertha aiid Pauline have been inde
fatigable in their attentions to the little fel
low.”
“Kindness, I presume, is the bait by which
you hope to draw this urchin and his pov
erty-stricken set into the fold of your
church," sneered Florine, turning to her
cousin.
“You wrong me deeply,” replied Pauline,
her eyes flashing with indignation. “I
would as lief you should think me a thief
as to think me a proselyter. Tho person
who is kind to the poor ot other creeds only to
gather them into the fold of his own church
is, in my opiiuon, a religious sneak thief,
and the person who sacrifices his religious
convictions to gratify someone who has
lieen kind to him in trouble is a most con
temptible, weak-minded creature, and does
not deserve the respect of a penitentiary
convict. I take it for granted that those
who differ from me iu matters of religion,
do so conscientiously; therefore, it would not
only be un-Christiantly, but also dishonora
ble of me to expect a person in return for
some little kindness I had shown him to
join my church when he could not conscien
tiously accept its tenets.”
Florine made no reply; but, with a curl
of her lips, turned and looked out of the
window.
“I wonder if Virgil has really fallen in
love with her,” thought Pauline. “Surely
he could not love such a womffn!”
“We had a visit from your friend last
night, Pauline,” said Mrs. Woodbury.
“My friend!” asked the girl, turning
quickly toward her aunt. “To whom have
you reference, aunt Nannie?”
“Mr. Paine,” answered Fiorine, her eyes
ablaze with exultation.
“Ah! I couldn’t imagine of whom you
were speaking,” said Pauline, with charm
ing indifference.
“How do you like Virgil, Nannie?” asked
Mr. Morriss.
“Splendidly. I never was in the society
of a more agreeable or cultured gentleman
than Mr Paine. I teasingly told Mr.
Woodbury last night I had fallen in love
with the young gentleman.”
“Hush, mother!” said Florine, raising her
hand, “Mr Paine is coming up the walk,”
and a blush overspread her face.
Footsteps were presently heard in the hall,
and a second later the young lawyer ap
peared in the doorway.
“Any admittance?”*he inquired, glancing
smilingly about the room.
“Certainly. Come in, my son; come in,”
said Mr. Morriss, hurrying forward to wel
come the visitor.
When he had shaken hands with the to
bacconist, Virgil bowed gracefully to each
of the ladies. Then, passing a remark or
two of a playful character with Pauline, he
took a seat at the window beside Florine,
and soon he and she were engaged in low,
earnest conversation. Florine was now the
personification of feminine loveliness.
Around her lips, which but five minutes
ago had curled with contempt, hovered
now the most winning of smiles.
“The artful, two faced piece!” mentally
exclaimed Pauline, her jealousy aroused by
the intimacy between her cousin and Virgil.
“I wish ho had come ujxin her unawares a
few minutes ago! But he will see her yet
in her true colors!”
“Msss Paulie! Miss Paulie!”
“Isn’t that Milton calling you, my dear?”
inquired the tobacconist, turning to his
daughter.
“It sounds like his voice. I will go and
see ’f it is he. it’s strange he doesn’t come
in;” and, glad of an excuse to escape from
the room, Pauline arose and went out into
tho hall
Milton, with an expression of utter de
jection on his face, stood in the front door
way. Pauline perceived at once that the
child had been crying. She passed her arm
around his shoulders, and, looking down in
his tear-stained face, asked tenderly:
“What is the matter, darling?”
“Oh, Miss Paulie, lam so miserable. I
wish I iva.i in heaven with mamma.” an
swered the child with quivering lips. “I feel
as if my heart will break,” and he placed
his little hand on his left breast. “Miss
Paulie, I have got something to tell you.
Come, let us go to one of the honeysuckle
arbors. ”
As the boy whispered these words in Pau
line’s ears, he stole his arm around her
waist. The two passed down the steps and
across the yard to the arbor west of the
house. When they had seated themselves,
Milton nestled his heal on Pauline’s bosom,
and burst into a fit of weeping. The young
lady, touched deeply by the little fellow’s
grief, laid her cheek against liis, and thus
the two sat together in tearful silence for
several minutes.
At length Milton, regaining his voice,
said:
“Miss Pauline, what do you think?”
“What, Milton?”
“Brother slapped me last night!”
“Slapped you?” cried the girl. “The ty
rant! He ought to be ashamed of himself.
I am surprised.”
“Yes, he slapped me,” repeated Milton,
“and it was the first time he ever did such
a thing in his life, and it was all on account
of that black-eyed cousin of yours. You
know ho called on her last night, and left
me at home with Uncle Jerry. I sat up
waiting for brother until after 10 o’clock.
Then, tired and sleepy. I undressed and
went to bed. Just before 12 o’clock I woke
up, and what do you think I had dreamed,
Miss Paulie?”
“I cannot imagine, Milton.”
“I dreamed that brother and Miss Florine
were married, and it made me feel so
wretched I burst out crying. Presently
brother came in whistling. I stopped cry
ing and lay perfectly still, and, thinking I
was fast asleep, he sat down by the bed and
began to take off liis shoes. Presently I
heard him say to himself:
“ ‘What a beautiful, fascinating creature
she is! Ido believe she has won my heart
already!'
“Oh, Miss Paulie, when I heard him say
that I thought of what I had dreamed, and,
unable to keep quiet, I burst out crying
again. Brother came up to me a .<1 asked
me what was the matter.
“ ‘I thought you were fast asleep,’ he said
‘Are you sick, Milton ?”
“ ‘No, I ain’t .rick,’ I yelled at the top of
my voice. ‘Let me alone! If you love that
cross old thing so much, that’s all I want to
know of you.’ Oh, Mias Paulie, I never saw
brother look so mad in my life! His face
was just as white as one <if those roses yon
der, and his eyes flashed like fire!
“ ‘l’ll teach you while you are young how
to speak of ladies,’ he said. ‘That cross
old thing! That is a gentlemanly manner in
which to speak of a lady, isn’t it? If you
ever speak of Miss Florine in such a way
again, I will box your ears as sure as lain
living!’
“ ‘No, you won’t either,’ I said.
“I won’t,’ he replied. ’I will show you
what I’ll do,’ and, raising his baud, he
slapped me on my cheek three times. ‘Take
that for your impertinence, sir! Btop your
crying and go to sleep, you young rascal!’
“Oh, Miss Paulie, that nearly broke my
heart—brother’s calling me a rascal! But ‘I
tell you wliat he soon got sorry for his
meanness. An hour afterward, thinking I
had gone to sleep, he stooped and kissed me
several times ana stroked my hail-.
“ ‘Poor little fellow!’ he said. ‘What a
tyrant 1 was to treat him so! If I ever dq
such a thing again, 1 hope God will paralyze
mv ariul’
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1887.
“As soon as I got up this morning he be
gan to make up for his meanness. During
all the time I was putting on my clothes he
was pinching my ears, tickling my neck,
and pulling my hair; but I never noticed
him in the least. As soon as I was through
breakfast, I took up my hat and left the
room, and 1 have not been home since. I
have lieen away up the canal all day, bath
ing aud fishing by turns."
“Bathing!” exclaimed Pauline. “Aren’t
you afraid of being drowned?”
“I wouldn’t care if I had been drowned
to-day! I feel so mad with brother.”
“It would have broken your brother’s
heart,” said the girl, “and I think it would
have broken mine, too. I love you so
dearly, Milton, and it grieves me to hear
you talk as you did just now. I hope you
didn’t go bathing aton ?”
“Oh, no; 1 went with a lot of big boys.”
“Where did you get your dinner?”
had 5 cents in my pocket and I
bought a pint of cherries. Lor! Miss Pau
line, look yonder. They are coming here as
sure as I live! Sh—sh—”
Cautiously, breathlessly the two peered
through a small opening in the vines, and
beheld Virgil and Florine coming toward
the arbor. Florine’s arm was linked in her
companion’s, and, with her beautiful face
raised to his, she was describing the
grandeur of some place she had visited iu
Scotland, while he, with smiling counten
ance and sparkling eyes, was regarding her
in blissful silence.
Pausing suddenly beside a rosebush sev
eral yards from the arbor Florine placed
her hand upon an exquisite white bud, and
was in the act of culling it, when Virgil
gently removed her hand, saying:
“Allow me, Miss Florine, if you please, to
cut the bud for you. You might bruise
your hand by one of those thorns.”
And, drawing from his pocket a small,
pearl-handle knife, lie severed the flower
from the parent stem and laid it in her
hand.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, with one of
her fascinating smiles, “you are very consid
erate.”
Going to a flower-bed several feet away,
she culled a rose-geranium leaf, and, tying
the stems of the rosebud and the geranium
leaf together, she approached Virgil and
said:
“Allow me, Mr. Paine, to fasten this little
bouquet to the lapel of your coat.”
“I thought you were gathering those
flowers for yourself, Miss Florine.”
“Oh, no,” she returned, smiling, “don’t
you see lam well adorned with flowers? I
have roses at my throat and waist and also
in my hair.”
“I trust you will not be offended if I de
cline to wear those flowers,” he said. “I
like to see a lady adorn herself with them,
but I think it most disgusting in a man to
have a bouquet fastened to his coat.”
“That is your opinion,” she said. “Mr.
Paine, will you not, after all my trouble,
wear this little bouquet. For my sake, you
will not refuse?”
He hesitated a second. Then, unable to
resist the pleading of the beautiful creature,
he meekly allowed her to pin the little bou
quet to the lapel of his coat.
“To please you, Miss Florine, I have
yielded to a custom I most heartily abomi
nate.”
With these words, he drew the young
lady’s arm in his own. The couple then
moved slowly toward the gate and passed
out into the street.
“Oh, Miss Paulie, I do believe my dream
is going to come true,” cried Milton, as his
brother and Florine sauntered away. “Oh,
I shall die! I shall die!”
And the little follow threw himself pros
trate on the ground.
“Oh, I shall die! I shall die if they ever
get married!” he moaned, burying bis face
in the grass.
“Get up, darling!” said Pauline, bending
over the boy. “Get up, Milton. Don’t
trouble your mind about them! They are
not worth it! If they ever get married, you
shall come and live with me, and we shall be
as happy as the days are long. Only think
of the delightful evenings we shall spend to
gether! And then every summer we’ll go
to Louisa, where from sunrise to sunset,
we’ll romp and run, go blackberry hunting
in the woods, and Ashing in the creek.”
“And riding, too?” added theehild.
“Yes, riding, too. Get up now, for my
sake!”
He obeyed.
"Miss Paulie, I really believe I am sick! I
have got a terrible headache!”
“No wonder. You have cried until you
have made yourself sick.”
“How could I help it? I feel so sad and
miserable. Just feel my head, Miss Paulie.
It feels as if it will burst wide open.”
Pauline placed her hand on the boy’s fore
head.
“If you cry any more, you’ll have a
fever. Come, let us go in the house, and I
will bathe your face and comb your hair.”
With these words they left the arbor and
entered the house by the back way, and
passed noiselessly up to the young lady’s
boudoir. Commanding the lad to sit down,
she bathed his face and combed his hair.
When she had done this, she kissed him on
the cheek, saying smilingly *
“Now, you are my sweet little Romeo
again. Now, come with me aud I will give
you some dinner.”
Milton arose and followed her down to
the dining room, where she placed before
him a tempting dinner, to which he did full
justice.
CHAPTER XVIII.
My heart is like a lonely bird,
That sadly sings.
Brooding upon its nest unheard,
With folded wings.
—Mrs. Welby.
More than half the summer had glided
by; yet, owing to the mildness of the
weather thus far, neither the Morrisses nor
the Woodburys had yet left the city. They
proposed, however, to leave in a week or
two.
A rumor was afloat in aristocratic cir
cles that Virgil and Florine were engaged,
and that their marriage iu the fail would be
one of the events of the season. And no
body doubted Dame Rumor, siuce Florine
was seen in the society of no other gentle
man except that of the young lawyer. To
both morning and evening service he ac
companied her regularly every Sunday, for
saking his own church almost entirely, and
every evening during tho week they were
seen together either riding or promenad
ing.
A great change was coming over the
girl. Virgil’s manliness impressed her
deeply. It was the mirror in which she be
held the hideous deformity of her own
character. W ithin her breast hod been kin
dled an intense longing to become a woman
worthy in every sense of the man she loved.
Daily she lamented her shallowness and
haughtiness; daily she grow gentle Rud
more lovable. No foolish or unkind words
now passed her lips.
“Association with Virgil has wrought a
most wonderful reformat ion in F.orme’s
character. Do you not think so, mother?”
asked Charlie, lato one afternoon in the lat
ter part of July, as he and Mi's. Woodbury
were returning tfonfe from a visit to the to
bacconist’s,
“Yes, Charlie ” replied the lady. “A
marked change has come over Florine. She
is growing really lovable, and I attribute it,
as you do, to the ennobling influence of Mr.
Paine. I think, my son, your long-cher
ished wish will be gratified. 1 think you
will soon have Mr. Paine for a brother.”
“Then Virgil and Florine are engaged,”
cried Charlie. “Oh, how could you have
kept silch good news from me so long,
mother?”
“Ob, he hasn’t yet declared his love,” said
Mrs. Woodbury, laughing. “But I don’t
think it will be long before he does. Char
lie, 1 have set m v heart upon a match be
tween him and Florine. I dolike Mr. Paine
so much—l love him—and, oh, I would be
so proud of such a son-in-law.”
Mrs. Woodbury and Charlie were now
within a few fe :t of their gate, before
which Air. Woodbury stood laughing and
chatting with a group of children.
“Now Mr. Woodbury, if you tell him
what I said,” cried a mischievous, brown
eyed miss of al>out ten summers, holding
the geutlemau’s hand. “I’ll uover. never
speak to you again. Mr. Charlie is my
sweetheart, and I love him so—so much,
but I don’t want you to tell him so, ’cause
you know he might think me very bold.
Now, don’t you tell Mr. Charlie, you hear,
Mr. Woodbury?”
Charlie crept up cautiously behind the
speaker, anil, as she turned around, be
caught her in his arms and kissed her.
“Oh, my how could you do such a thing,"
she cried as she vigorously pulled away from
his embrace.
Mrs. Woodbury smiled, addressed a few
words to a little cripple boy in the group,
and then passing up tho walk, took a seat
upon the porch. Through the open win
dows of the parlor came the sound of fa
miliar voices:
“They have returned from their ride,”
said the lady, aud just here the door of the
front parlor opened softly, aud Virgil ad
vanced toward her.
“Mrs. Woodbury, Miss Florine and I de
sire your presence in the parlor for a fow
moments, he said, bowing. “Will you
thus favor us?”
“Certainly,” and rising, she accompanied
him into the parlor.
The entrance of her mother seemed deeply
to embarrass Florine. Instantly her eyes
sought the carpet, while her slender fingers
toyed nervously with her watch-chain. Vir
gil paused at her side, and, placing his hand
upon the back of her chair, turnod to h&r
rnothor and said:
“Mrs. Woodbury, for five weeks I have
spent a part of each evening in your
daughter’s society, and during that time 1
have grown to love her very dearly. This
afternoon for the first timcl made a confes
sion of my love and asked her to become
my wife, and such she has promised to he,
with your sanction. What do you say,
Mrs. Woodbury? Clan you iutrust your
daughter to me for life?”
As he ceased speaking, Mrs. Woodbury
placed Florine’s hand in bis, und looking
proudly up into liis handsome face said:
“Yes; I can intrust her to you. There is
no man to whom I would more cheerfully
give the hand of my child. Take her, sir;
she is yours; and may God’s blessing, as
well as mine, always rest upon you both. ”
Here Charlie, ignorant of what was going
on in the parlor, unceremoniously opened
the door and walked in.
* ‘ I thought you were alone, mother” he said.
“Pardon my intrusion, Virgil and Florine,”
he added, glancing mischievously toward
the lovers. “I dicTnt know you had re
turned from your ride."
“We have been bade nearly half an hour,”
said Virgil. Then pausing a minute, evi
dently embarrassed, he continued:
“Charlie, your mother has just promised
your sister’s hand to me in marriage. Now,
I want your consent, too. What say you,
my friend? Does our betrothal meet with
your approval ?”
“With my heartiest approval, Virgil,”
said the young minister, squeezing his
friend's hand, while his eyes (lanced with
joy. “Florine,” turning to his sister, “let
me congratulate you on ihe wise choice you
have made. You could not have given your
heart to a better, a nobler man. For years
I have laved Virgil as I would love a
brother, aud often wished that such a tie
really existed between us.”
And here the impulsive young nmn, bis
eyes ablaze with the merry twinkle they
had worn in liis boyhood, kissed his sister,
and would have kissed Virgil also had it not
been for the ludicrousness of such an act.
The evening passed pleasantly away. At
10 o’clock Virgil bade his betrothed and her
family good night, and, with a heart over
flowing with hope and happiness, turned his
face homeward. All the way down town
he seemed to live in the future, which never
before had appeared so bright.
As he entered the building in which were
situated his rooms, he muttered to himself:
“Soon I shall bid farewell to these quarters,
about which such an air of dullness has
come within the last five weeks. A few
months hence, and I shall have exchanged
this abominable bachelor's abode for a de
lightful home uptown, with my queenly and
beautiful Florine as its mistress.
And, softly humming a tune, he inserted
his latch-key in the door of his chamber,
and quietly passed in. Stretched upon the
floor, side by side, in peacerul repose, lay
Milton and his Newfoundland pet. It was
a beautiful picture. The little fellow’s right
hand rested upon the animal’s neck, his left
upon a broad-brimmed straw hat at his left
side, and on the lovely, innocent face was a
smile of ineffable sweetness, as though his
pure young spirit might have been holding
intercourse with angels. Virgil stooped and
kissed the youthful sleeper, saying gently:
“Get up, Milton, and go to Bed!”
No answer came.
“Milton! Milton!”
The boy’s blue eyes opened slowly; then
closed again. His brother called him again,
The child arose slowly, aud, rubbing his
eyes, said:
“Brother, I thought you never would
come. I thought I would wait for you, but
I got so sleepy I dropped right down on the
floor and went to sleep. ’’
With these words, uttered in a dreamy
voice, with his eyes half dosed, the lad pro
ceeded to disrobe himself. His pants he
tossed in tho middle of the floor; his shirt he
dropped at his feet; and his coller and neck
tie he threw on a table. Dreamily he went
through his prayers. Then, rising from his
knees, he kissed his brother, as he had
nightly done since he was a baby, and
quietly went to bed, to which Virgil soon
followed him.
After breakfast the next morning the
young lawyer motioned his brother to sit
down beside him, and, when Milton had
done so, Virgil passed his arm around the
boy’s neck and said:
“Milton, how do you like the idea of hav
ing Miss'Florino for a sister?”
“I don’t like it at all!” replied the child.
“She is so mean and cross. Brother, yon
are not going to marry her sure enough, are
you?”
“She and I are engaged, and will bo
married about the middle of October or the
first of November,” calmly and coldly re
plied Virgil. “By that time I hope you
will have conquered the groundless preju
dice you are cherishing toward her. She
has never harmed you that you should act
toward her as you do. The manner in which
you avoid her hurts her deeply. She tells
me that on yesterday morning you nnd she
were coming toward each other on Frank
lin street, and that as soon as you saw her
you deliberately retraced your steps and
hurried around the next corner.”
“I reckon when yon and she are married,
she will be telling tales on me all the time.
Brother, I haven’t a bit of use for her, and
I don’t want to hear anything more about
her,” and the speaker placed a hand over
each ear. “Yes, I dodged her yesterday,"
he added, “and it isn’t the first time I have
done it either. ”
“But yon will not dodge her again!” stern
ly replied Virgil, as he removed Milton’s
hands from his ears. “Listen to me! I
want you in the future to treat Mi s Florine
with as much courtesy as you do Pauline,
and never pass the former again without
speaking to her.”
“I didn’t pass her yesterday,” broke in the
boy.
“Well, then, you shall not dodge her to
avoid speaking to her. You know what I
meant, sir. Why you dislike her so much I
cannot imagine. She is certainly a lovable
girl.”
“Over tho left she is!”
“None of your public school slang! Vul
garity is something I cannot tolerate, espe
cially iu a child.”
“If it is public school slang, I mean what
I say. 1 cannot bear Miss Florine. I tell
you what, brother, before I would live in the
house with that woman—that lady I mean
—I would drive a dirt cart or stem tobacco
with the negroes in one of Mr. Morriss’fac
tories.”
“You would, sir?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Well, then, if you would rather stoop to
work in a factory with a lot of negroes, or
drive a dirt cart up and down the streets
rather than live in the house with the beau
tiful, refined and lovable woman I propose
to make my wife, yon are at liberty. Mas
ter Paine, to follow your low inclinations. I
shall riot offer the least OpporiHw.”
With these words the speaker arose and
descended to his office ou the floor below.
“Umphl lam used to his airs!”and, with
a becoming pout of his lips, Milton put on
his hat and bounded out of the room and
down the stairs, whistling as he went.
Late in tlio afternoon of the day on which
the above conversation between Virgil and
Milton occurred, Pauline sat alone in the
library, her parents had goneoutinto Hen
rico to visit some friends. The girl held in
her hand an open volume of Tennyson’s
Poems, but, from the vacant expression of
her eyes, it was evident that her t houghts
had wandered far away from the contents
of the book.
Suddenly the book slipped from the little
hand to the floor; wearily the golden head
dropped upon the window-sill; slowly the
sad, beautiful eyes were raised toward
heaven, and from the bleeding heart withiu
arose a prayer to the Father above.
Rising, at length, she seated herself before
the organ, which was used for sacred
music only, and presently she was playing
and singing the prayer of her heart.
The sweet voice died away, and, rising,
Pauline proceeded to put down the lid of the
instrument, when a hand was laid gently on
her shoulder. Turning quickly, she beheld
Virgil standing before her.
“Sit down, Paulie,” he said. “I want you
to favor me with some more music. 1 was
enchanted just now. I knew you possessed
a wonderfully sweet voice, but I never
heard you sing with so much feeling as you
did just now. You seemed to throw your
whole soul into the hymn. You have a far
sweeter voice than Florine has.”
“It is a wonder you admit the fact, if fact
it lie,” replied Pauline, with a forced smile.
The young lawyer laughed.
“Then you thought I would be loth to
acknowledge the superiority of your voice
to Floriue’s because of my love for her?
Ah, you wrong me deeply, Paulie, if you
think love could so bias my mind,” and here
the speaker placed his hand under the girl’s
chin, and, scrutinizing her face closely, ex
claimed: “Pajilie,.you look so sod! What
is the matter? There is such a mournful,
weary expression in your eyes! Your lips
are destitute of color, and as I speak they
are ac tunlly quivering. What isthe matter
with my little sister? Can you not confide
in one who loves you as dearly as your own
brother does?"
“Oh, Virgil, I was so struck awhile ago
with the beauty of a stanza in Tennyson’s
‘May Queen,’ ” evasively replied the girl.
“Is that the cause of your sadness? Can
you repeat the passage?”
Fifing her eyes upon the floor she repeat
ed the following stanza, which indeed had
impressed her with its beauty:
“Oh, sweet is the new violet that comes beneath
the skies,
And sweet is the young lamb's voice to me that
cannot rise.
And sweet is all the land about, and all the
flowers that blow.
And sweeter far is death than life to me that
long to go."
“I have oftpn been struck wTth the beauty
of those lines,” said Virgil; “but surely the
sentiment expressed in them is not the sen
timent of your heart, Pauline? Surely
death is not sweeter than life to you—you
who have so much to live for and so much
to make you happy—you who are blessed
with grace, beauty, a fine mind, wealth, lov
ing parents, and hosts of devoted friends?
Perhaps my little sister is not feeling well.
You do look pale; though it doesn't become
me to tell you si . The invigorating breezes
of old Louisa will soon bring the roses back
to your colorless dimples. Cheer up, Paulie.
Don’t throw a gloom over my heart, for I
am one of the happiest men in the world ”
She raised her eyes mechanically to his,
but made no remark.
“You don’t ask me the cause of my hap
piness, Paulie? Have you no curiosity?”?
“Well, what makes you so happy, Vir
gil f’ she asked, dropping her gaze upon the
floor.
“Can you not guess? Florine has prom
ised to beeom. my wife. Now, isn’t that
enough to make a man happy? Am I not
lucky to have won the heart of one of the
most charming and beautiful women in
Richmond? By the way, Paulie,” he con
tinued, after a brief pause. “How do you
like the idea of having me for a cousin?”
“I should like it very well,” she answered.
“I hope you and Florine will live happily
together. Ido hope she will make you a
good wife, Virgil."
“Of course she will," was the prompt re
ply. “Don’s you hope also that I’ll make
your cousin a good husband?”
“Oh, I haven’t any'doubt about that.”
“Thank you, little sister, for the exalted
opinion you have of me,” he said, as he ten
derly stroked her hand. “Then if any
thing should occur to disturb our wedded
felicity, you will lay the blame, woman
like, upon my beautiful Florine?”
The footman, at this moment, appeared in
the doorway.
“Mr. Paine,” he said, bowing and grin
ning. “Miss Florine says your three min
utes have expired.”
Pauline looked from the negro to Virgil,
and from Virgil to the negro as if bewild
ered.
“Florine,” she said. “Where is she?”
“Oh, she is in the buggy,” promptly an
swered the young lawyer. “I wanted her to
come into the house with me, but she re
fused. She gave me permission, however,
to come in, but limited my visit to throe
minutes only, anrl as the time has expired,
I must hasten to join my lady love. Come,
are you going with me to the door*”
He playfully drew her arm in his, and led
her out iuto the hall.
“Paulie, 1 wish you and Dr. Evans would
make friends. VV ouldu't it lie capital to
have a double wedding in October or No
vember? Wouldn’t it, little sister?”
Paulino only smiled—at least she tried to
do so.
As she and Virgil reached the porch,
Florine leaned out of the buggy and be
stowed a smile and a bow u[k>ii her cousin
“I wish, Pauline, there was room enough
for you in the buggy, I would take you out
riding with us,” said Virgil,
“Thank you, 1 dont’t care about riding
tins afternoon. If I had wished a ride, 1
would have gone out with papa aud mam
ma. ”
“Where are your father and mother?”
“They are gone out into the country.’^
“it is a beautiiul evening, isn’t it?”
“It is indeed.”
“Good evening, Paulie.”
“Good evening, Virgil.”
He pressed her hand warmly. Then, with
a smile and a wave of his hand, ho leaped
from the porch to the walk.
A low ripple of laughter broke from
Florine’s lips.
“Mr. Paine, you are as active and as hap
py us a school-boy,” she said, as he satdown
lieside her in the vehicle and took the reins
from her hands.
P.tuiine wat hed tho buggy until it dis
appeared around the next coiner. Then the
poor giri turned and entered the front par
lor, and throwing herself into a chair
moaned out in tho anguish of her love
stricken heart.
“What is all the world to mo without his
love?” she sobbed. “Oh, it is so hard—it is
so hard—to know that he —my first audoniy
love—is betrothed to another! Oh, Lord,
comfort and strengthen me in my sorrow 1
Teach me to be submissive to Thy will!”
Several ioet from her lay a card. Me
ciianT ally the picked it up, and, upon ex
amination, discovered it to be a pictorial
card she hud received from Sabbath school
ten ol‘ twelve years since. The picture
represented a dove holding in • its bill a
scroll, ou which were written the words of
tho Psalmist; “Weeping muy endure for a
night, but joy cometn in the morning.”
A smile of almost seraphic sweetness
lighted up the girl’s face, for the words had
tilled her soul with a sudden divine peace.
ITO BE CONTINUED.]
Cashington, the millionaire,
Married a lady tar from fair;
hut when smiles lit up her lace,
You forgot tier want of grace.
80Z011UNT gave brilliant teeth.
These won her a bridal wreath.
Misses’ and Children's School Shoes, the
best in the city, at lowest prices, at Rosen
heim's Shoe Store.
For choi<* Prunes, Dried Figs, Evapor
ated Apples, Fancy Crackers, go to D. B.
Lest-ir'a,
DRY GOODS.
We are too Busy to Say Much,
But we will say Such Facts
that will cause you to
spend your Money
with us provided
Money is an ob
ject to you.
"We have determined not to wait until after Christmas,
when nobody wants Winter Goods, to make a closing out
sale, but wo will do it right now, while tho public stands in
need of such goods. We positively have reduced prices on
all of our Winter Goods fully one-third, and therefore offer
such bargains as will do you all good. We will close out at
these reductions.
Our elegant stock of DRESS GOODS.
Our magnificent stock of BLACK SILKS.
Our excellent stock of COLORED SILKS.
Our beautiful stock of Priestley’s MOURNING GOODS.
Our immense stock of English tailor-made Walking
Jackets, Our Plush Jackets and Wraps, Our Newmarkets,
Russian Circulars, and our huge stock of MISSES’ and CHIL
DREN’S GARMENTS.
The same reductions—one-third off—we offer in Blank
ets, Shawls, Flannels, Ladies’ and Gent’s Underwear, Hosiery
of all kinds, Comfortables, Housekeeping Goods, Gold-Headed
Umbrellas, Silk and Linen Handkerchiefs, etc.
NOW IS YOUR TIME FOR REAL BARGAINS.
GOODS FOrTcLI RISTMAS PRESENTS
AT OUR BAZAR.
Tie Graiesl, Most Extensive, Tie lost Elepnt,
AS WELL AS THE CHEAPEST
To be found anywhere in the city, Wc can’t enumerate the
articles because the variety is too large.
Do not fail to examine our stock; we simply offer you
such a lino as can only be found in a first-class house iu
New York.
Special Bargains This "Week:
A 25-cent full regular GENT’S HALF HOSE for - - - - 10<*.
A 25-cent full regular LADIES’ HOSE for -10 c.
A 25-oent DAMASK TOWEL for 10c.
A 25-oent CHILDREN’S UNDERSHIRT for 10c.
A 25-cent GENT’S UNDERSHIRT for 10c.
A 25-cent NECK SHAWL for - - - - -10 c.
A 35-cent HAIR BRUSH for sc.
A 25-cent RED TWILL FLANNEL for 16c.
A PURE LINEN DAMASK NAPKIN for sc.
A 5-eent PAPER NEEDLES for lc.
A 5-cent PAPER PINS for lc.
A 50-cent JERSEY for - -- -- -- -- -25 c.
DAVID WEISBEEXT,
- STREET, SAVANNAH, GA.
MILLINERY.
KROUSK O FF S
Optiing (tie Fall Seal 1881.
However attractive and immense our previous season’s
stock in Millinery has been, this season we excel all our
previous selections. Every manufacturer and importer of
note in the markets of the world is represented in the array,
and display of Millinery goods. We are showing Hats in
the finest Hatter’s Plush, Beaver, Felt, Straw and Fancy
Combinations. Ribbons in Glacee, of all tho nov el shades.
Fancy Birds and Wings, Velvets and Plushes of our own im
portation, and we now offer you the advantages of our im
mense stock. We continue the retail sale on our first floor
at wholesale prices. We also continue to sell our Celebrated
XXX Ribbons at previous prices.
TO-DAY,
500 dozen Felt Hats, in all the new shapes and colors,
at 35 cents.
S. KROUSKOFFS MAMMOTH MILLINERY HOUSE,
BROUGHTON STREET.
WATCHKS AM> .(KWKhttY.
THEUS BROS.,
Successors to S. P. Hamilton.
Diamonds, Watches. Jewelry. Fancy Goods.
Open at Night for the Next Two Weeks,
AITE Invite the attention of our friends who cannot leave their places of business durimr thi
v v day to an examination of our stock at night, feeling that they can be as well suited as t*
qtiAi.rnr of the stock at night as by daylight.
We have added duriug the post week many pretty things, particularly In WATCHES ano
JEWELRY.
OUK FANCY GOODS DEPARTMENT has not been forgotten, an Invoice of choice pieces o t
CUT-GLASS for table use, rich in cut. artistic in every way, now in price.
In FANS and OPERA GLASSES we hare an elegunt stock.
FREN CH CLOCKS.
We have always lieen headquarters. MAKBI.E CLOCKS of first quality, costing but littl
more than ordinary American Clocks.
SASH BOOBS, BLINDS, ETC. “
Vale Royal Manufacturing Cos.
President. SAVANNAH, GA.
LUMBER.
CYPRESS, OAK, POPLAR, YELLOW PINE, ASH, WALNUT
Manufacturers of sash, doors, bunds, mouldings of all kinds and descriptions
CASINGS aud TRIMMINGS for all classes of dwelling ;. PEWS anil PEW ENDS of our own
design and manufacture, TURNED and SCROLL BALUSTERS, ASH HANDLES for Cotton
Hooks, CEILING. FLOORING, WAINSCOTTING, SHINGLES.
Warehouse and Up-Town Office: West Broad and Broughton Sts
Factory and Mills; Adjoining Ocean Steamship Co.’s Wharvef 1
5