Newspaper Page Text
•/*—
I; L ISBY & REID, Proprietors;
The Family Joubnal.—Netvs--Politics—LiTE ! kATiJBE-—Agbicultube—-Domestic Affairs .
GEORGIA TELEGRAPH BUILDING.
ESTABLISHED 1826.}
MACON, FRIDAY, JULY 81, 1868.
YOL/XLII.---NO. 41.
Written for the Telegraph.
jnSUNDEESTANDING.
BY WALTER WHIT. TONE.
CHAPTER I.
-Wiiy Miss Moilie, are you lost, or
.■rjyeil? Your partner liad better ‘bell’
r;il . What have you done with him ?
ji ‘gentlemen—and not ladies—to the
right’”
go ran on a dark-complexioned young
Kutlemon, about twenty years old, to a
! ^hing-looking girl of some fourteen or
seen.
.<1 would thank you to keep your ad-
rics to yourself, sir!” was the angry re-
plr, and a pair of flashing eyes sent forth
iiDsrerous scintillations.
••Don’t be angry, Miss Moilie, though
roa don’t dance quite as well as you
f cht,” was the teasing reply of George
Hartley,as he passed, and lost sight of the
Slushed fair one, never listening to the
blaring sur-rejoinder,that he knew would
lie ready for him.
George had been very intimate with
some of Moilie Arlington’s relatives, and
had been treated kindly, and somewhat
jjmiliarly by Miss Moilie herself, who was,
ns already stated, an impulsive girl, and
jjot a grown young lady—and when be
met her wandering about in the dance,
without a partner—-her dancing education
laving been neglected on account of the
peculiar opinions of those who had control
f her—I say, when George saw she had
•one entirely wrong, merry and excited
I, he was by the-music, and lights, and
bright eyes, and beautiful faces, and fairy
forms, and, it might he, by that extra
cla=3 of champagne, and being ignorant
of the fact that she had never taken danc-
iag lessons, and that, consequently, she was
very sensitive on this point, he did not see
any very great harm in bantering her a
little. He had sometimes been assailed
!»y her with all her powers of sarcasm;
therefore, he was considerably surprised,
oad a little vexed, when Moilie so totally
misconceived him, and answered him so
curtly. He concluded, however, not to
allow a mere girl to throw him off his
equilibrium, and for this reason, he an
gered bliss Mollie’s speech as aboye.
The dance was over, and George, hav
ing seated his partner, sought the place
where the impetuous girl who had spdken
I ■) sharply to him, stood, with a circle of
Ider fadies, among whom was a much-
I loved relative. The little rufHe in his
temper was entirely smoothed out, and he
ipproached gaily and confidently, sup
posing that Moilie, too; had forgotten her
momentary irritation, and would laugh
| with him over it. But no: the flashing
eve and heightened color warned him that
f dl was not over, and as he got within ear-
: hot, he heard,
“George Hartley has no politeness! He
is a fool!”
“ Why Moilie!” said Mrs. Winton,
"don’t talk so, child!”
The young man’s cheek blanched a lit
tle; but, though by no means a mature
man of the world, he had considerable
self-possession, and, after a second, a smile
lit up his features, as he bowed low to her
who had spoken so flatteringly of him, and
uttered these few, simple words:
“bliss Moilie does me too much honor;”
and with a light, mocking laugh, he turned
away. a .
But the moment his countenance was
hidden from the group, it assumed a harsh
and vindictive expression. He was not
old enough to control his feelings, although
he was tolerably successful in concealing
them; and he was far too polite to speak
rudely to a lady.
“Oh, if she were a man!” he exclaimed,
grinding his teeth. “ But she is of the
other sex. Yet they should not be allowed
to insult us with impunity. And is there
• no way to avenge this insolence, without
forfeiting my character as a gentleman?”
He mused a moment.
“Yes!” he said, brightening up, “and,
hv all the powers, I swear to—the balance
■“devote—efforts—.”
The rest was lost in an incoherent mut
tering, as Mr. Hartley sauntered along
the room. The fact is, he then and there
registered a little vow, the nature of which
may, or may not transpire in the course
of our story. He soon stumbled among
a bevy of such beautiful girls as only A—
ran boast, and he escorted them in his
usual manner.
“Will bliss Park,” said he, singling out
one, “ will Miss Park deign to make me
happy?”
“Perhaps. But how?” was the laconit
reply.
“Dance the next set with me.”
“ Volontics” % I2
The signal was soon given, the couples
took the floor, and by some means—was
it accident?—George Hartley was in the
some set with Moilie Arlington. They
■net, sometimes, of course, in the dance,
and while Moilie wore a defiant look,.and
tossed her head haughtily, George glided
through the mazes of the cotilion with an
air of perfect nonchalance, and a smile of
the most supreme satisfaction. He seemed
hardly conscious of the presence of any
one, besides his partner, and when he had
to “turn” bliss Moilie, he did it with an
absent look, and with eyes gazing on va
cancy, spite of the flashing orbs and dis
dainful manner of the young lady. The
reader will please recollect that I write of
a time when cotilions were fashionable,
and the Lancers, the German, et id omne
j-’uis had not quite driven the old-fash-
’•oned dance to the rural districts.
Owing to the fact that George Hartley
and Moilie Arlington had some relations
‘a common, they met pretty often, al
though the latter was not yet “ out.” The
urst time an encounter of this sort took
place, after that unfortunate dance, Moilie
'udulged in the tossing of the head, and
Something very like the pouting incident
t0 her age, while Mr. Hartley made her a
E Utely bow, and continued conversing
jPth others, as if no longer conscious of
attained by Miss Arlington, girls develope
very fast, and a year or so makes as much
difference with them as twice that length
of time does with the male sex. Hardly
a year had elapsed, before Moilie found
herself much less of„a girl, and much
more of a young lady, than she was at
the opening of our tale.
Hartley still continued, when accident
ally thrown into her company, to treat
her in his most gravely polite manner,
while she, beginning to suspect that she
bad acted childishly and pettishly, was
learning to blush a little on meeting him,
not from anger, as formerly, nor yet from
that other indescribable feeling, but sim
ply from shame at the rudeness she had
shown towards one who had been so kind
and polite—so like an elder brother to her.
And George, while never looking di
rectly at Moilie, and, apparently never
noticing her at all, after his first formal
how, really was in the habit of observing
her very closely, and trying very hard to
read her thoughts. He had a taste for the
beautiful, and it was a study for an artist,
that half-shy, half-indignant glance that
now occasionally came from Miss Arling
ton’s eyes; that faint blush that slowly
mounted to her cheek, when a sudden and
unexpected encounter with Mr. Hartley
brought to mind the girlish petulence of
which she had been guilty. It teemed as
if George took peculiar delight in standing
or sitting very near the once ‘angry fair
one, and conversing with others; either
for the purpose already indicated, or to
show his indifference, or—what?
Time wore on, and Moilie grew willing
to. show that she was no.longer angry
about the foolish jest in the dancing room.
She was so fast becoming a young lady,
thatTshe wished the whole affair forgotten,
and the shortest way to effect this was to
be again on easy terms with Hartley.
George saw all this, and the affair grew
the more interesting to him. He sought
more opportunities of being in the same
room; nay, in the very corner or group
occupied by Miss Arlington. Several
times he caught himself in the very midst
of an animated conversation with others,
stopping to listen to a voice close by,
speaking words not intended for his ear,
and to which he hardly had a. right to
listen. Occasionally this abstraction ex
cited notice and remark from others, but
a smile, an instant recovery of himself,
and some lively sally would dissipate any
suspicion that might naturally aviso in the
minds of those who observed him.
And such manifestations were not con
fined to him. Sometimes a glance out of
the corner of his eye would show him, on
the part of bliss Arlington, the same pen
sive abstraction that others had observed
in him—as if she were giving ear to voices
from afar off—-to sounds from dreamland
—perhaps to the
** Horns of Klf-land, faintly blowing”—
to tones that seemed to give her pleasure,
and which certainly did not come from
the yellow-haired young gentleman who
stood whispering soft common-places in
her ear; though it was very evident, from
his radiant expression, that he attributed
the faint flush and dreamy languor of his
fair companion to his own irresistible elo
quence.
At last, one day in the midst of a scene
of this kind, George ventured to look
straight at Miss Moilie, for the first time
in a great while, and he encountered her
full gaze, whieh'she happened, at the same
moment, to direct toward him. A sudden
start and a violent blush betrayed the
strength of the emotion awakened in each,
and both glances were withdrawn with
the rapidity of lightning. A single mo
ment, and, with a woman’s curiosity, the
lady’s eyes again stole toward the face of
the young man, when", horror of horrors!
their eyes again met, and a start, as if
they had* been caught in the commission
of crime, again announced the discomfit
ure of both parties. But this time the
gaze was longer, and, on both sides, the
expression was a singular one; indicating
pride and doubt, shyness and enquiry,
mingled with another feeling of which
perhaps neither was aware, and which, if
they had been, they could not analyze.
And then once more, slowly, and it seemed
almost sadly, and yearningly, each turned
away without speaking.
Oh, children! why did ye struggle
against that natural feeling—that power
which, the poet tells U3
presence. Matters went on in this
* a .v for some time; but at the age then
** Rules the court, the camp, the grove ?”
Perhaps it did so rule once, but now we
know that in every instance it does not—
nor even in the majority of cases. But
oh those early dawnings! That half-con
sciousness and great struggling between a
hatred that we strive to conjure up, and a
love that is really springing up and chok-
in g the other! The freshness, the in tense
ness of those feelings! How many are
there who exclaim,
dictory, conflicting sentiments, emotions
and impulses? I relate circumstances,
and you must draw your own conclusion.
I know this, that ere long, another change
came over Mollie’s feelings.
“ Is he so unyielding?” she asked of
herself. “ Can he not know that I was
a child, when I spoke so. rudely to him,*
and does he not see, that now I am a
young lady, I am ashamed of my conduct,
and know how to behave myself with
propriety ?” (she was a whole year and a
half older, then, than she was when she
called George a fool.) “ Really,” she con
tinued, “I shall conclude that the opinion
I formed of him once, albeit the language
in which it was expressed may not have
been very refined, was correct. Is he so
immaculate, so irreproachable in conver
sation and conduct, so infallible, that he
cannot forgive a little slip of the tongue
in others ? I do believe he imagines that
such is the case.”
And so she resolved that she would not
only refuse to speak to him, hut that she
would not return his “ ridiculous ” how,
or look at him, or notice him in any way.
The next time, then, that George made
his accustomed studiously formal inclina
tion before her, she elevated her eyebrows
in her most supercilious manner, and
turned hor hack upon him. It must he
confessed that Hartley, in spite of his ad
ditional experience, and his severe self
schooling, was almost startled out of his
propriety. An angry flush on his face,
and a gleaming of the eye betokened
that state of mind in which, at that young
age, if the aggressor were a man, lie was
accustomed to use strong language, and
a severe rebuke was uponjhis tongue; hut
the instincts of the gentleman prevailed
again, and again he mastered nis emo
tion, while a bitter smile wreathed , his
lip, and he mentally renewed that little
vow, as he turned and_spoke to some one
else. The consequence of all this was,
that Moilie and George hated each other
worse than ever.
CHAPTER II.
“ Thus, whether we’re on, or we’re off'
Some witching seeraS to await you;
To love you wa? pleasant enough.
But, oh! 'tis delicious to hate you.”
" Aye, give me hack the joyous hour.
When I myself was ripening, too!
Give me the freedom 01 that hour.
The tear of joy, the pleaaing pain;
Of love and hate the thrilling power I
Oh give mo back my youth again l
But the next time they met, the same
old reserve and cold politeness character
ized George’s hearing, while towards all
others, even in her presence, he was cor
dial and affable. Oh, how perverse he
was! It must be acknowledged right here,
that George Hartley, though not consid
ered vain, was one of the proudest and
most self-willed young men I ever knew.
He would not acknowledge even to him
self that he loved Moilie Arlington. In
deed, if he had had a confidant, he would
have said that he hated her, and would
have believed that he was telling the
truth; but, dear reader, he would have
been guilty of a most unmitigated false
hood, if self-deception can be characterized
so harshly. Though, really, he did not
know himself. If he hated Moilie Ar-
lington, it was the strangest hate ever
known before. , ,
“And Moilie?” asks the lady reader—
“did her hate change to love? ^TVhat
were her feelings towards George ?”
Ah, me! How can I tell what passes
in a woman’s heart?—that, to me, terra
incognita—that mysterious receptacle—
that unanalyzable synthesis—that strange
compound of various, inconsistent, contra-
About this time George Hartley left
home, and was absent nearly eighteen
months, at the end of which time he was
returning to his native place; and as Ca
toosa Springs lay not far from his route,
he concluded to go by and see how the
season was opening. He stood in the
door of the hall-room, watching the dan
cers, and as his eyes wandered over the
assembled party, they were suddenly ar
rested by a face familiar, yet changed.
Could it be? yes, it was our old acquaint
ance, Moilie Arlington, now three years
older than when she was first introduced
to the reader; now really a woman, still
full of -vivacity, as of yore, hut with an
air of dignity that, as a girl, she did not
possess. Gracefully did she move through
the figures, and pleasantly did she seem
to entertain her partner, Dr. Brice, a
young man, but also an old acquaintance
and friend of George. Occasionally,
though, that appearance of listening or
waiting—a look as if she were recalling
some scene in the past, would come over
her features; the slightest possible cloud
wouM flit over her sunny face, and the
faintest of sighs would" gently heave her
bosom.
And her new manner became her well
Those who had admired the girl, now
saw in the woman a realization of the
promise given in her early days. As
George watched her easy, polite and affa
ble manner now, and contrasted it with
the brusquerie that once characterized
her, he could not help thinking how dif
ferent might have been his intercourse
with her, had he not unfortunately in her
girlish days, placed a deep gulf between
his indignation, and strengthened his re
solve. He entered the room, and hovered
around the spot where Miss Moilie stood,
so that he might be near when the dance
was over. This was soon the case, and as
he sauntered slowly past, Dr. Brice
caught sight of him.
“GeorgeHartley, by the powers!” he'
exclaimed.- “Welcome home, Mr. Wan
derer;” and the two were shaking hands
most agonizingly.
Miss Arlington turned, taken by sur
prise, and once more those two haughty
spirits were face to face. It was a singu
lar glance they bestowed upon each other
—at least, it is not very, easily de
scribed, though many such are given by
young people. There was hesitation,
though, on both sides, and Dr. Brice,
who knew all about the old quarrel, deter
mined on a bold stroke, for the purpose
of putting an end, to what he called, their
“foolishness.”
“Miss Arlington,” said he, “allow me
to introduce my intimate friend, Mr.
Hartley;” and he turned on his heel,
leaving them "standing in the middle of
the floor, alone. There was no retreating,
and, after the salutation, George, who had
sought the interview, and therefore had
the advantage in being prepared for it,
commenced a conversation by enquiring
after old acquaintances in A., but, of
course, making no allusion to their former
difference. Thus they spoke to each oth
er, for the first time in three long years.
As they talked on," embarrassment wore
off, and they were just mentally congrat
ulating themselves on this fact, when the
next cotilion was called, and the couples
rapidly took their places on the floor.
One set, that nearest to where our ac
quaintances stood, wanted one couple to
make it full, for it was early in the sea
son and the hotel was not so crowded as
it would be in a week or two from that
time. Here was a new cause for embar
rassment. George'thought, “she conver
ses with me, because she is now a lady in-
tead of a girl, and she h&s too much, sense
to he impolite; but will she dance with
me ? It was in a dance she first became
offended with me.”. He owned, too, that
he had, ignorantly it is true, given her
cause for anger; tor he had learned since
that she was deeply mortified and irritated
because he had laughed at her mistake,
when she supposed he knew that she was
making her first experiment as a disciple
of Terpsichore. But there was no time to
to wait, for everybody was impatient to
begin, so he resolved to risk it
“Miss Arlington,” said he,“are you
revengeftil?” and he looked toward the in
complete set.
“ Sometimes,” she answered, well under
standing his meaning, and coloring a
little at the allusion. •;
“ But not always,” she added; not to
night, for instance.”
“Will you dance with me?” he asked
quickly, for the music was about to begin.
“ Certainly.” And the great difficulty
was over, as they took their places amid a
little fire of railery, and winks, aud
knowing looks from Will Brice, who had
been standing not far off, watching the
success of his little scheme..
“ You see I have been taking lessons,
Mr. Hartley, said-the young lady,*'with a
look half merry, half embarrassed, as
the dance began.
“ Yes,” I perceive; was the reply; but
no school can teach such grace. It comes
of nature.”
“A compliment from Mr. Hartley!
Was such a thing ever heard of?”
“ I do not oiler it voluntarily, Miss
Mol—-Miss Arlington. . It is extorted
from me.”
“Well, really,I am not accustomed to ac
costing gentlemen, and commanding them
to stand and deliver. You must confess
that you never knew me to seek for praise.”
“Not by words, certainly, but your ac
tions, your bearing, compels it. I mean,
not that you desire people to pay you
compliments, hut that those who see you
cannot well avoid it.” And so this self-
possessed young gentleman vent on, stu
pid and blundering, scarcely knowing
what he did. ' ■ 7i>
“All that you have said,” answered
Moilie, “but renders your compliment
less priceless.”
The music ceased; and a promenade on
the extensive piazza was the most natural
thing in the world; was proposed and ac
ceded to. What a place for flirtation
is that colonnade-, running, as it does, all
around the main building, and affording
facilities for a long walk, without the
trouble of turning around to retrace one’s
footsteps.
“How long do you intend remaining
here ?” asked, Moilie, after they had
been marching for some time in silence.
“I came, expecting to stop only twenty-
four hours,” said George, “but now my
stay will depend on circumstances.”
“And these circumstances?” said she.
“Are such, of course, as I cannot fore
see; for then I would know how long I
shall remain.”
“ Miss Mol- : ——I mean Miss Arlington,”
George began again. “But viay I call
you Miss Moilie, as,I once did?”
“Yes,” and a soft smile plainly visible
in the brilliant moonlight, broke over his
his countenance. " “ Yes, because it makes
me hope that—because it seems lass for
mal.”
“You are very much changed,” said
George, in a low, earnest tone.
“I hope so,” was the laughing reply,
“for when you saw me last, I was a girl,
and scarcely knew—but you, too,,” she
added, “ are not the same.”
“ No. I am not so harsh and vindic
tive as I #nce was.”
“ And I, Mr. Hartley, know better how
to behave with politeness and propriety.”
So they talked on, gradually nearing
the subject with which both their minds
were busy, to wit, their long-ago quarrel;
finally broached it, and then followed
hosts of explanations and regrets on each
side, and finally a full and free reconcili
ation. I cannot undertake to record all
the conversation, because it lasted during
the remainder of the dance, and the space
allowed me is limited; but when the mu
sic had ceased, aud the company were
dispersing, they took leave of each other,
Moilie bounding off to her room with
elastic step and beaming eye, and George
marching off to his quarters, wondering
bow so short a time could completely
transform a wild, capricious girl, to a
dignified, sensible, but still piquant and
fascinating young lady.
George remained at Catoosa for days—
a week. He could not disguise it from
himself that the society' of Mis3 Arling
ton had become necessary to his happi
ness, and he bit bis lip in rage at tne
thought, as he muttered to himselfj “and
what becomes of my vow? Where is my
revenge?” Still he could not resist the
impulse to seek Mollie’s side; to ride,
walk and dance with her. His manner
was variable and uncertain as the wind;
sometimes deeply respectful and devoted,
then impetuous and ardent; again coldly
polite and reserved, as of old. These
changes were the result of a violent strug
gle going ou in his breast, between vindic
tiveness and love, and they were often
manifested by the language he used.
“ I will remain a short while longer,”
he said to Moilie, on one •occasion. I will
yield myself to the’delicious intoxication
for a few more days;” and she knew what
he meant, and was silent.
She knew, for his eyes spake. Not in
the company of others, at least not so
that they could know and understand—
but, when no one was by, into her ear he
poured the voice of love; still; for a long
time, without using the word in a single in
stance. With a woman’s instinct, she
perceived the conflict that was going on
within him. She observed his moods, his
passions, his caprices, his anger with him
self, his love for her. And how was she
affected by all this ? Ah, how are young
ladies generally affected by such eccen
tricities on the part of young gentlemen?
George, we have seen, was impetuous, and
one night, he had lingered with Miss Ar
lington in the ball-room till the last guest
had left, the musicians had departed, and
the lights were burning low. Moilie rose
to go, also, and George offered his arm,
and led her into the hall toward the main
stair-way.
“I must speak out, Miss Moilie,” he
said suddenly, 'and he felt her hand trem
ble within his. “I must tell you that I
love you, or else I shall go mad.”
He took her hand in his, and she al
lowed it to remain, while he went oh, and
in burning words told her of his strug
gles; of his rash vow; his subsequent re
pentance; and'how, at last, every other
feeling as regarded her had been merged
into the single one of deep, uhcontrolable
love. A great deal he said, and he spoke
with a candor and scorn of concealment
that was characteristic of him in his mo
ments of excitement. She listened" to
him, with her hand resting in his, a soft
light beaming from her eyes, and a rich
color mantling her cheek. When he had
ceased, she was, for a moment, silent, arid
Dter expression remained unchanged, hut
at length, she seemed to rouse herself, as
if coming from a delightful dream, to a
painful reality.
“You have told me,” said she, with
drawing her hand, that you love me, arid
I believe that you speak the truth, for I
have found that, in spite of your attempts
to make yourself something else, you are
a gentleman, and the true gentleman never
tells a lie. You have acknowledged that
your pride has revolted at the idea of loving
one, who, when a mere child, yout think ot-
ered you an almost unpardonable insult.
Your aonfession but confirms what my own
observation has already revealed. I am al
most tempted to be as candid as you are,
so far as" regards my feelings,” and her
eyes softened again for a moment, and she
was silent; but she soon resumed again
with a sigh; “ yet it would do no good, and
might result in harm. It is sufficient for
me to say that I cannot, dare not trust
the love that is liable,-at any moment, to
he! overthrown by pride, or the remem
brance of old fancied injuries. I would
not consider iny happiness safe in yoiir
hands.” ....
“You cannot be in earnest Miss Ar
lington/’ said the young man in a low
husky tone. “Oh, Moilie! Think what
you do! You cannot Say that you dariot
ove me! It is only that you fear-1 wilt
ipnep +n lnvo Trim Ts Tint, fhis nil P 9 ^- i
cease to love you. Is not this all?*
a i“I ought to decline answering your
question, but it matters not. Yes,” said
she, softly, “this is all—hut,” she. added,
firmly, yet gently, “ this is : enough. Good
night.” .llHH
And she turned to Jeave him; but a|
most singular occurrence arrested -her
progress. -They were both standing .im
mediately at the foot of the stair-case,
when an awkward porter moving a heavy
trunk, let it slip, and it came thundering
down the steps directly toward Miss Ar
lington, with a force that threatened death
to whom it should, strike. Apparently,
Moilie was paralyzed by terror, for she
did not move, but gazed up with a faint
scream. It was no time for ceremony,
and George sprang in front-of the young
lady, giving her a violent push' that sent
her reeling against the opposite wall, just
as the trunk bounded high in the air; One
corner of it struct him on the head, and
he sank without a groan to the floor. He
lay motionless, while"a thin, purplish
stream emerged frdm under his hair, and
trickled slowly over his face.
■ Then rang scream after scream from
Moilie Arlington’s lips, as she knelt be
side the senseless body, trying to -stanch
the blood with her handkerchief. Her
screams subsided to a low wail.
“He died to save me,” she moaned.
“Oh, God, he died to save me! And I
rejected such love as this!”
The careless porter, frightened at the
dreadful mishap, had fled for a- doctor,
and was lending his cries to assist in rous
ing the house. A waiter passed along
with a pitcher of water, and. Moilie, seiz
ing it, sprinkled some of it -in George’s
face, then, dipping her handkerchief in it,
she bathed his forehead, and wiped the
blood from it. The doctor and a great
crowd were coming in the distance; but
before they, arrived, George slowly opened
his eyes and saw who was bending over
him. He smiled painfully, while Moilie,
obeying an uncontrolable impulse, placed
her hand in his. He looked at it eagerly.
“Have I won it,” he asked, faintly.
“ If I live is it mine?”
Yes,” was the response, “and my
heart, too. All yours.” ,
“Thank God!” was whispered, as he
feebly raised his head, drew her face close
to his, their lips met and sealed the con-
tract-thus made in the very presence of
death; then the exhausted man once more
closed his eyes, hut with a smile of the
most ineffable happiness beaming upon
his countenance.
He recovered arid—my tale is ended.
What Frank thought about Marrying,
BY MARY V. SPENCER.
~ And when are you and Kate going to
be married ?
The speaker was one of two young men,
smoking cigars in a private room.
If you mean Kate Kelso, never. It’s
all very well to dance with such a girl,
but no poor man would think of marry-
ing her.
Why not, Frank t She’s handsome,
accomplished, in the very best set, dresses
exquisitely, and will have a fortune when
Mr. Kelso dies.
Look here, Charles, do you think I’m
a fool? I can’t afford to marry. Miss
Kelso; and it is just because she is in the
fashionable set, dresses expensively, aid
has expectations from her father. I am
only beginning to succeed. It is a long
time, as you know from your own experi
ence as a physician,"before a large income
can be earned in a profession. As yet I
am not earning such an income. Miss
Kelso has been brought up luxuriously.
Her father keeps a carriage, goes to a wa
tering place every summer, and enter
tains constantly' when at home. Kate, is
so accustomed to the excitement of socie
ty, has been so much admired and flatter
ed, has had every wish so anticipated,
that the prosaic life of a wife, on a nar
row income, would soon destroy any little
romance with which she might enter the
married state. Her very dresses, my
dear fellow would ‘ eat up half my. earn-
mgs.
I rtiinV you are hard on her. Any
true woman, if she marries the man she
loves, will cheerfully submit to sacrifices
for his sake.”
“So it is said, and so, in justice to the
sex, most of them at least try to do. But
Charley, old fellow, you and I know, from
our own experience, that habit is stronger
than good resolutions. A man brought
up in luxury can never live as cheaply, if
he gets poor, as the son of a poor man.—
Nor can a woman either. A rich man’s
daughter is not the girl for a poor man’s
wife. It isn’t her fault"; its her misfor
tune.
“But you lose sight of the fact that
Kate will inherit a share of her father’s
properly.”
“Not at all. Mr. Kelso is only fifty,
hale and hearty. He will, probably, live
for twenty years yet. Nor, till he dies,
will his daughter get a cent. Meantime
she will spend as much extra, every year,
as will represent the interest of the fortune
she will inherit. At the end of the twenty
years, yes! long before that I should be
ruined, or else broken down in health, in
consequence of being in debt and over
worked.” -
“Well, that’s true. See what a scrape
Harry Smith has got into! ”
“Yes! He married the daughter of a
man said to be worth a million. Old Mr.
Cary did not give her a penny. She lad
her wedding outfit, hut that was all. Oh
Harry’s part, there was nothing to sup
port her with, except what he made out of
his business; and he was but a young
met chant, with very little realized wealth.
Sophy Cary was stylish and fond of mak
ing a dash. She had the reputation of
dressing better than any girl in her set;
winch meant that her wardrobe cost the
most. Harry took his wife to the Conti
nental Hotel, for even he had.sense to
know he couldn’t afford to go to house
keeping in the only way in which Sophy
would consent to go—that is, with a house
on "Walnut street, or at least on Chestnut
street/furniture from Paris, a ball every
winter, and all that sort of thing. Heav
en knows what he paid for his parlor and
chamber, but it was a fabulous sum; or
what would have been thought so in the
days of your father or mine. In the sum
mer they "went to Saratoga—?fbr Sophy
^wouldn’t s toop to country boarding f There
she had her pony-pHjeton ;and°a : dozen
Paris dresses. In the fall the hard times
caine/and failed, partly because he neg
lected his business to be at Saratoga, and
partly because he spent too much money.
I understand he owes twice as much as
he can pay. The principal creditor is re
ported to have said that it would, have
been cheaper to have given Harry the
salary of a hank president, and let him
do nothing. Now this is, I admit, ah ex
ceptional case. Susy was unusually ex
travagant, even more so -than Kate. But
she is a type, after all, of a large class;
and a class that frightens young men, and
keeps them from marrying ”
“But what is to be done? We all expect
to marry some day; and there are no girls
except girls like Kate or Susy.”
“I beg your pardon. There are plenty
of them. Of course, to find the right kina
you must, I am' afraid, generally go out
side of the fashionable set. For it is only
the daughters and wives of rich men that
can afford to he fashionable. Other women
havn’t-the time to waste in receptions and
parties, day "after day, and night after
night. Nor can any but the rich afford
to dress in the extravagant manner in
which fashionable women in great cities
like this, dress now-a-days. If you wish
a wife,, you must look elsewhere for one,
unless, indeed, you are a millionaire.”
“Where would you look ?”
“There are plenty of families, thousands
of them in Philadelphia, and tens of thou
sands in country towns and villages, where
the daughters are well educated, and yet
have been brought up to help themselves.
I know one whore one daughter, who has
a taste in that direction, makes all the
bonnets she and her sisters wear. Another
is a capital dress-maker. All attend to
household affairs. ' They make cake, pre
pare desserts, and could, I’ve no doubt,
bake bread. Yet they are quite as intel
ligent and companionable as. Kate Kelso
and her set. No man, with the right feel
ing, wishes to make his wife a drudge.
But we men have to work, and why should
not women take their share ?”
Well, since you speak of it, I can re
call such famines also. But they don’t
go to balls and dance German.”
“No. The daughters of such families
are taught to think home-virtues better
than mere surface accomplishments. Men
want true women for wives, and not mere
butterflies.”
“I shall be curious, Frank, .to see your
wife.”
“If you will come with, me, to-morrow
evening, I will introduce' you to the young
lady who has promised to fill that posi
tion. She is the daughter of a wic*>w,
and has been brought up economically,
brought up like the girls I have been de
scribing to you. She does not go out much
into society/because she cannot afford it;
though, from her connections, she could,
if she wished, go into the very brat of so
ciety. But I do not think she regrets it.
As for her real accomplishments, her
knowledge of literature," music, and art,
she is as far above Miss Kelso as heaven
is above earth. In fact, Charley, how can
merely fashionable girls become accom
plished; at least in the true sense of the
word? They'are up all night at balls,
and so have to sleep half the next day.
They’ve no time to read; even if they
wished to; but as.a class, they don't wish
to. • AIT they think of, or talk about, is
the beaux, or their dresses. It’s chatter,
and nothing else. We dance with them,
but we don’t pretend to love them. A
little is all they are up'to. Now and then
we make a morning call, but who thinks
of spending an evening with them ?”
“Come, come, you are too severe.. A
good many of them are really brilliant
talkers, at least I find them so. ’
•“Yes, the brat of them, and at a ball.
But if you marry one of them, you will
find, my daar fellow, that she keeps her
brilliant talk for society, and is as stupid
as can be at home. The champagne
foams for the public; for you the stale
wine only is left. I tell you, Charley, I
am not a bit more severe than the truth
compels me to be. I don’t wonder men,
in what is called good society,, marry so
rarely. A wife in such circles is too ex
pensive a luxury. A girl, instead of be
ing your helpmate, is a clog on you. We
have to do all the work, and they get all
the fun. That’s why young men don’t
marry, aud there’s the whole of it.”
So- ended the conversation. Harry
married the one to whom he introduced
his friend ; and that friend, after a few
months, married her sister. They cer
tainly are both supremely happy, happier
than if either had married Miss Kelso, or
one of her type. But still, as Charley
said, perhaps they were too hard on girls
brought up as Elate had been. We don’t
intend to decide. But we wonder some
times if mothers are not the most to
blame.
DIABOLISM.
Startling and Mysterious Perform
ances.
Correspondence of the RsueellviUe Herald..]
Rochester, Butler Co., Kv., 7
July 9,1868. j "
Do you believe in the Ku-klux, or the
Rochester Rappings at. this time; or did
you ever so believe ? If not, prepare .
yourself. For several months past, ah
old gentleman of this county, who resides
upon his farm, about five miles from here,
pn Mud river, with his wife and daughter
and her children, have been molest edboth
day and night by almost allkinds of noise,
from a hearty laugh to an unearthly groan;
bees swarming, wheels spinning, horses,
running in droves, and neighing—their
feet to be heard—and bands of music
playing. This thing has been kept a se* •
cret from all, from tear of the ridicule of
the neighbors; but it has now leaked out
—others have heard of it and have told
it... lav :
The old folks say that they have been
troubled night and day for . months past. *
One neighbor went to hear it—he being
determined to call it to account for its-
conduct. Well, he arrived at the house
and heard" nothing, and commenced to
make sport, when he was told that they
heard it coming. It came on through an
old .field like a drove of horses, their'feet,
were heard to strike the ground at every,
jump ; they-neighed, they snorted, and
appeared to come right up to the man
that was on guard, but he left his post,
and retreated behind the house to keep
from being run oyer. They passed *on;
search was made and no tracks were to he
A band of music commenced play-"
ing up stairs'; he went up and heard the
music, but saw no ohe^became frightened,
came down and went into the yard, when
a noise was?made as though some one was
striking on the side of the house with a
sledge-hammer. Nothing to he seen, he
being fully alarmed now, started to leave,
when he thought that some one had thrown
down a load of dry boards just at his back;
he turned around to see what it. was when
he heard a most unearthly groan just at
his feet, then at his head.
This gentleman is a man that stands as
fair as any man in. the county. He was
never in the army, hut he acknowledged
that the Federal soldiers did not retreat at
Shiloh (under Grant before Buell came
up) as fast as he left that farm—more than
double, quick. Others have been there
and heard the same curious goings on.
One visit satisfies all that have neard
them—none go back the second time.
One near neighbor who had made sport
of it went to speak to it, but lost the use
of his tongue when this (what is it?) was
present. After he had gone he was sorry,
that he had not spoken, and said that he
would if he had another chance.. Presto!
the words were hardly out of his mouth
when it was at his feet; Jie moved, it
groaned at his shoulder—he retreated and
dared not go back. It has also made its
appearance at a neighbor’s house, the
owner of which did not believe in any
carrying-on of this kind, being a man
that stays at home and attends to his
business. Well, he has an invisible brass
band up stairs in his house, sometimes in
one room and sometimes in another, then
down stairs, then in the yard, and then on
the top of his house.
I learned that he has left home and
given up his house to the musicians. It
comes sometimes like a drove of horses,
then music, then a wheel will spin, then
bees will swarm, loads of dry boards will
be thrown down, then groans at your feet
and head, as though a dozen men were in
a dying agony; sometimes in the garden,
field, at the spring, in the stable, house,
up and down stairs, on the house,, and
nwav in the distance to return, again to
away in the distance to return again
the- same place. Now, then, what is it
that makes all this commotion ? What is
it that scares so many people—grown
men and women, at different times ? Is
it imagination? . If so it must have had
a starting point—where was that ? It is
a ventriloquist! There is no known one
in this country. A lady told me, that at
the time of the groaning, she asked the
question, if it washed to harm any one
there, and she received a plain and em
phatic “No.” She became so weak and
frightened that she could not speak, as the
answer was so unexpected. A number
will visit the house in a day or two, and
if it is a trick it will be hard to hide it
from them. Trick or reality, I will give
you the result of the visit as soou as
made. .
Thirty years since the same neighbor
hood was visited in the same manner.—
That has never been satisfactorily ex
plained. .
The Chops.—Dispatches from a number
of localities in the States of Illinois, Wis
consin, Iowa, and Minnesota, with two or
three exceptions, announce the crops of small
grains unprecedented both in quality and
quantity, and the corn never looked better. *
It is asserted that, unless some blight should
come, both the small grain crop and the corn
crop will be the largest ever gathered in the
Northwest.
|gy Telegrams from a number of localities
in the States of Illinois, Wisconsin, Iowa and
Minnesota," with two or three exceptions, an
nounce the crops of small grain unprece
dented, both in quality and quantity, ana
the com never looked better. It is asserted
that, unless some blight should come, both
the small grain crop and the corn crop wil l
be the largest ever gathered in the North
west
Hi