Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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