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[For The Sunny South.] SACK-CLOTH AND PURPLE. BY MBS. ADA B. MURRAY. Dead! yen, that brief record encloses Just one little word you let fall, As I bent sick and stunned on the roses That crush'd out their wealth on the wall. Dead! what should I care for such losses ? Well, he was my lover—that’s all. My lover, as true and as tender As he who bent low at your feet Last night, when your smile in its splendor Made all of life’s bitter seem sweet; Yes, mine by his heart’s own surrender, And mine by love's compact complete. For you beats the heart of a nation; And I—well, that one heart was mine; I loved him right well for my station,— No passioi. so queenly as thine; Yet I think that love’s rich consecration Makes even a clay cup divine. You smile as your voice says demurely, “Hweet maiden, this grief is in vain; Your heart will re-open as surely As bbrnsoms beneath the spring rain.” Yet a woman who once has loved purely Loves not quite so purely again. Yes, bend your rich head, Lady Alice, And catch the low words that I say: I brought to my Victor no palace— No ancient halls trophied and gray; But the wealth of a heart’s burning chalice, A love that can never decay. You bring to Sir Harold proud acres, The gold of your loveliness rare, Your manors beside the white breakers, Your cottages trellised and fair. Which gift, in the eye of our Maker, Is counted most worthy to bear? Dead! dead! Qn this mid-summer morning, In emerald and opalline dyes. The world is so gay, as if scorning The shadow that on my soul lies; How darkly my heart wears its mourning— How cruelly bright are the skies! ' Drop low the gold fringe of your lashes,— Your smile is so royally cold! How softly your azure eye Hashes! One word and the story is told: My world wears its sack-cloth and ashes,— Your world wears its purple and gold. “Mr. Kendrick! My dear—indeed, my only friend—how could I believe otherwise?" ex- I claimed Paul, grasping his friend's hand. “Then yon will pardon me if I hurt your feelings. I wish to speak plainly. Mr. La Crosse thought you had been drinking.” “I? I never drink !” exclaimed Paul. “I know it; but if I did not. I would think right now that you must surely have been drunk 1 last night. Your face is pale, with an unnatural flush about the cheeks: your eyes are heavy and red; your hair is all disordered ! To a stranger, you would appear dissipated; to me, you look heart-broken. Stop! — don't interrupt me am not going to quit until I have said all that I ; came to say. You have lost your happiness, J your money, your practice, and well nigh lost I your reputation, through the mad folly of your wife! Night after night your house is tilled with fashionable women, whose reputations are not white as snow, and empty-headed fops, or worse; and the attentions of that black-browed Spaniard to your wife——” Mr. Kendrick paused, for Paul sprang to his feet, his eyes flashing, while an angry flush mounted to his brow. “Y'ou have got to listen to me until I get through, my boy,” said Mr. Kendrick, pushing him back in his chair. “I know that anger isn’t for me, and so I will go on. You have got to put a stop to all this folly, but you must move cautiously. Oh ! I know the devilish ingenuity of that woman, and you must take care, or she will throw the whole disgrace of the thing on [For The Sunnv South.] ABOUT MARRYING. BY ZILPHA. ‘ The voting ladies all want to marrv," said a and love we can begin the world anew. I have “The mistress ordered the carriage got and given you freely, dearest, all my worldly posses- had the old lady put out of the house. She said sions, and more than all, I have given you my , as how she’d not have the old woman on her heart -placed niv honor and happiness in your charity any longer,” said the servant bluntly, hands. I see too plainly that I have failed to Paul clasped his hands over his forehead; a make you happy, but oh ! Beatrice, if you will heart-rending sob burst from his lips, and turn- show me h'nr. 1 have^ failed, I will gladly renew ing half round he fell insensible upon the pave- young man. sneeringly. my efforts to please. ment'. Sir. suppose they do ? I ask you solemnly. He bent over her and softly laid his hand on The driver of the carriage, who possessed some haven’t they a right to expect to marry—a right her shoulder, but she violently shook it off and remnant of humanity, sprang from his seat, and' inherited from their foremothers? I will prove stood before him. lifting the invalid in his arms, bore her into the it to you in an argument that shall have a good beginning and be as long as the history of man kind, although it may not cover much space on paper. might never see you again! I wish you were How quickly a crowd collects when anything I dont remember when I first heard of Eve, dead! But tor you, I might now be the wealth- unusual happens. A dozen or more were already well-known, sir, as a distant ancestress of you, iest lady in the land instead of the wife ot a beg- . standing around the prostrate form of Paul Le and me, and everybody else. Perhaps, sir, you, gar ! Your mother shall leave my house. I do Rov when the hackman returned, and a rough, too, cannot tell the exact time when you first not propose to turn it into an hospital for pau- sailor-looking man, wifh the very best intentions heard of that delightful home in Eden and the pep.s ! I——’ in the world, had drenched the unconscious happy young couple who lived there. It may be voc infprrnnfpil Paul Aloe ’ rtrv/vr l. o: : _ j. i _ . i.. ~ ^^, l , u — „ l a • a.1. ~ ina Sunni ueiore mm. lilting tlie invalid in ins arms, bore Her into the it to >er, “Y'ou come, sir, to tell me that you are a beg- j house, up the stairs, and entering the first bed- begi: ook gar and dare to ask me to share your poverty ? room that met his eye, laid her gently upon the kind I \\ as it lor this I married you ? Go ! I wish I bed and hastilv returned to the street. pape She was interrupted by Paul. Alas ! for poor, frail, human nature; how seldom can it endure “ to the end !’” He seized her by her waist and placed his hand- not gently, either—over her mouth. As he did so, a servant entered, bearing a card upon his silver waiter, and nearly dropped it in his amazement. Beatrice struggled vio lently in her husband’s grasp, and as he let her go, a piercing shriek rang through the room. Her sharp teeth had cut her lip, and as Paul re moved his hand the blood streamed over her chin. With what Mr. Kendrick called “devil ish ingenuity,” she took in the situation at a glance, saw her advantage and improved it. She your shoulders. You need not shake your head; cowered before Paul as if expecting a blow, then I have known her since she was a baby, and she covering her blood-stained face with her hands, is——” fled wildly from the room. “Spare me !” said Paul, lifting his hand. The visitor was Luis Corderez. In less than “I want to advise you, Paul, and yet I know an hour her rooms were pleasantly full, and an- not what to say. If I were in your place, I other—I had almost said bacchanalian—revel think I would go in that parlor some night and commenced, turn the whole lot, neck and heels, out of the door! You would rather die than do such a thing, I know; but, Paul, you must tell her they shall not—mind you, shall not — come here again. ” “The house is legally hers, and her father is her trustee; she never allows me to forget that,” said Paul, bitterly. “I told you not to give it to her!” burst out Mr. Kendrick. “The selfish, mercenary—there, I won’t add to your torment; but Beatrice has been living so—well, fast, that I have forbidden her aunt to go out with her. Go to your wife, : Paul; tell her that she is ruining your practice. CHAPTER VI. All the night long Paul paced his chamber, listening to the peals of musical laughter that rang throughout the house until the small hours, and questioning heaven why it had ordained that he should suffer so. There in the silence of night he communed with his own heart and sougtit to discover wherein he had erred. Un fortunate, misguided Paul! He had done no wrong; he had only made a fatal mistake. In the careless happiness of his young heart, ere yet he knew what love was or the strength of his face with whisky. Significant looks and nods that a great many people have lost in the dim were exchanged by some, while others with rude recesses of childhood the date of their first ae- jeers wers crying aloud, “Drunk! drunk !” Un- quaintance with that interesting story. But all happily, while the driver was trying to lift the this aside. What I want to say is, that among stalwart form of Paul in his arms, Mr. La Crosse, mv earliest recollections of our great ancestress’ the wealthy banker, chanced to pass by. He story were the circumstances of her marriage, paused a moment, then murmuring, “What a Later and fuller acquaintance with her history has pity ! but no more than I feared,” he too “passed impressed me with several facts concerning that by on the other side,” coldly withholding his marriage—namely, that no woman was ever mar- hand. Hearing the unusual bustle about the ried so young, that none ever married so well, door, John, who had been Mr. Kendrick’s favor- that no wife was ever so happy, that probably ite servant, came out to drive the rioters away, none was ever so miserable. Now, please don’t and so beheld the still insensible form of Paul interrupt me by saying anything about what she supported in the liackman’s arms. With one may have done to make herself and everybody bound he was by his side, and together they sue- else unhappy, for marrying or wanting to marry ceeded in bearing Paul into the house and placed is the point under discussion, and I cannot di- him on the couch in the library: “What has happened ?” asked John, loosening the collar, and bathing the pale face before him. “I was called to 1408 Walnut street, told to bring out a old lady, who looked like she was a going to die, put her in my hack and drive to gress from the subject. One thing, sir, is very certain. It is that Eve’s Creator intended she should be married—that she was created expressly to become Adam’s wife. (The mere mention of Adam’s name will recall the facts of his history.) Then, having [Written for The Sunny South.] THE RING ACCURSED. BY KITH FAIRFAX. PART FIFTH. CHAPTER V. and that if you lose it she will have no more own feelings, he had rashly bound himself to money; that will touch her heart! Go, my boy, one whose soft and delicate beauty pleased the and come to my house in the morning; I have i refinement of his own nature. After she had something important to say to you. Good-night, become his wife and his heart began to awaken Paul - good-night, my son. ” to a sense of its capabilities and requirements, Mr. Kendrick held Paul’s hand in his for a ! he saw, alas ! too late, that he had madly for- moment, and then went out, as it were, reluc- feited every hope of happiness. Did he then, tantly. . when he had made this discovery, weakly lament Acting upon his friend’s advice, Paul sought and repine over the consequences of his own his wife, determined to make one more appeal folly? No; he tried by every tender art to rouse to her feelings. Poor boy ! the only mistake he j the giddy girl to a consciousness of the holy re made was in supposing she had any feeling. sponsibilities they had so thoughtlessly assumed. She was sitting beside the fire in her private ; He tried to make her comprehend the needs of ! sitting-room, her elegant toilet just completed. : ^is delicate, refined, yet ardent and fiery soul. Paul stood a moment contemplating the lovely He had failed, miserably tailed; and why ? He picture before he spoke. She had not observed had made another mistake; she was no giddy, his entrance, and started violently at the sound thoughtless girl, but a_cold, heartless, merce The spring and summer months wore away. Mrs. Le Roy still remained very feeble. Paul’s wife still continued her career of utter folly. She spent money as freely as if her husband really had the three hundred thousand dollars for which she had married him, and I’egularly every month he had to draw heavily upon his slender capital to meet his expenses. He had tried to reason with her; he had persuaded in tender terms; he had threatened her with the ruin so rapidly approaching. All in vain. She laughed at liis reasoning, repulsed his tender ness, and scorned his threats of ruin. She went to a fashionable watering place, where her flirta tion with the handsome foreigner provoked sneers from many and sighs from a few. When, on the first of October, she returned home, glowing with health and beauty, the senor still hovered around her. She would fill her box at the opera with fashionable women as heartless as herself, and among the soft-handed, sweet- scented dandies who fluttered about them, the dark-eyed stranger was conspicuous for a courtly grace and a high-bred air not to be assumed by those not “born to the purple.” He was really what he represented himself to be—Luis Corde rez, a high-born Cuban of immense wealth. Of his moral character, these giddy women knew nothing; he was wealthy, handsome, agreeable, received in the best society, and they asked to know no more. More than once aye, more than an hundred times—since Beatrice had learned the narrow limit of her husband’s fortune, she | had wished herself free—free to bestow her hand ! upon this wealthy stranger! The brave, true j heart of Paul Le Roy was worth less than noth- j ing to her. She cared not for his gentle kind- ! ness; she had married him without loving him, and now hated him with a bitter, unreasoning hatred. Money, money—’twas all she craved! Night after night—while her husband sat beside j his helpless mother or ministered with his own hands to the wants of some poor patient—her house resounded with merry laughter, and strains of music; rare flowers and costly wines were lavished upon her guests; and ah! too often the elegant parlors became the scene of wild revelry utterly unbecoming the home of a j respectable physician. Too soon the world began j to notice these merry-makings. “A physician,’ j said they, “who spends so much time in drink- i ing and dancing is not to be trusted at the bed side of one whose life we value. He is not to be relied on.” How could they know that Dr. Le Roy was never present in these scenes ? He would but have subjected himself to the sneers and insults of his wife if he had made one of j her guests; and so he had kept away, spending j many an hour among those who could pay him ■ but with gratitude for his kindness. He had plenty of time to do this, for he had lost nearly ! all of his wealthy patients; and so. while his : expenses increased, his income rapidly dimin ished. Unhappy Paul! so richly deserving of a hap pier fate, yet seemingly reserved for the greatest anguish that can be inflicted upon a sensitive man. Nothing that he could say or do seemed for a moment to stay the swiftly-approaching doom. He seemed a helpless victim in the grasp of an avenging angel, who perhaps visited the sins of the father upon the innocent head of his son. He sat silently and alone in his office one day brooding over his sorrows. He was not well, and had eaten nothing since the breakfast hour, though tea-time was fast approaching. Suddenly the door opened, and Mr. Kendrick entered ab ruptly. “Why, Paul! sitting here in the dark? Noth ing to do?” “Nothing." answered Paul, gloomily. “How is that, boy?” Mr. Kendrick sat down beside his young friend. “Y'ou seemed to be doing well, remarkably well for a young physi- j cian ?” “So I was.” assented Paul, “but everything j seems dark before me now. I have lost all of ; my patients. A few days ago Mr. La Crosse paid me nearly five hundred dollars, thanked me for my services, and at the same time intimated that he' would not require me to attend his family again. I ventured to inquire if my mode of treatment had proven injurious to any member of his family, and he warmly assured me that he was perfectly satisfied with what I had done. | Of course I said no more, but the whole thing is a mystery to me.” “Well, it isn't to me,” said Mr. Kendrick, bluntly; and rising, he lit the gas. “Paul, do J ivou believe that I love vou?" of his voice. “I wish you would knock when you want to come in,” she said angrily. “Beatrice,” he replied, “I have been wishing to speak to you for some time, but you have been so surrounded by others that I have not had the opportunity. I am glad to find you alone.” “Please speak quickly then,” said Beatrice, “for I do not expect to be alone long.” “Y'ou do not? It is about that I wish to speak,” answered Paul. “I want you to be more alone, or at least to spend more time with me. You surely must be tired of this life, Beatrice, and my mother is annoyed by the sounds of merriment in the house.” “Has she been complaining to you? She shall leave this house this instant!” cried Be atrice. “She has not complained,” said Paul sadly; “but I as a physician, know that so much con fusion is injurious to one in her condition, and would forbid all unnecessary noise in the house where she is.” “The house is mine, sir,” exclaimed Beatrice furiously, “and I will not deny myself any pleasure for the sake of ” “Patience, madame?” interrupted Paul coldly; “ I do not expect you to give up anything for my mother’s sake. I have something more to say. Every physician has to sustain his reputa tion for steadiness and reliability. I am losing that reputation. ” “Really, sir,” said Beatrice with a sneer, “you need not come here to look for it. I am not the keeper of your reputation !” “Pardon me,” said Paul sternly, “you are mistaken. Every wife is the keeper of her hus band’s good name. I am supposed to share the wild orgies ” “I will not hear you,” said Beatrice, rising to leave the room. “ You must hear me?” replied Paul, grasping her wrist to detain her. “Release me, sir!” she said haughtily. “ Will you listen to me?” “If you force me to listen, I suppose I must;” and as he removed his hand from her arm, she threw herself back into the chair. “Look!” she said, throwing back her wide sleeve, “look how you have wounded my arm. ” In a moment Paul was beside her. “Oh! Iam so sorry—so sorry, Beatrice; but consider how you have tortured my heart.” He would have pressed his lips to her arm where the mark of his fingers remained, but she thrust him back, repeating with a cold sneer, “Y’our heart!” and then, as Paul remained silent, she exclaimed impatiently: “If you have anything more to say, please say it at once.” “I wish you to refuse the visits of Mr. Corde- rez, Beatrice. His constant attention to you has . l ess than ten minutes another physician been noticed, and a woman's reputation is too arrived, and all that mortal skill could suggest delicate a treasure to bear rude handling. Y'ou was done, but in vain. do not know how quickly the world ascribes evil A moments before liis death he fixed his motives to thoughtless actions, such as yours. ! fading eyes upon Pauls face; his lips moved and Already malicious lips have whispered vour I an expression of anguish flitted over his coun name in the same breath with that of Luis Cor nary, wicked woman. He should have ruled her with a rod of iron—aye, and not even sheathed it with velvet. He could not do this; it was against every instinct of his chivalrous, noble disposi tion, and so he failed. Not a day had passed since the first week of his wedded life that she had not wounded his heart in their private con versations or openly sneered at him in presence of the very servants. Was it any wonder that his face grew pale and his eyes dim with nights of sleepless misery and days of anguished thought ? Was it any wonder that when his cruel wife gave the first hint, “he drinks and neglects me,” that it was quickly caught up by a suspicious world ? And so Paul suffered and thought all the night through, watching the bright sky until heavy clouds swept over it and the last shining star was shrouded in inky darkness—listening then to the howling wind and the dashing rain that made desolation without even as his heart was desolate within. At seven o’clock, while yet the cold gray dawn scarce brightened the sky, he left the house. He felt the need of human sym pathy—of human companionship. He could not add to the sorrow of his invalid mother, and was about to seek his more than friend—his almost father, Mr. Kendrick. His hours of deep thought had brought no peace to his troubled soul nor marked out the course he should pur sue. Above the wild chaos of his mind one thought, one determination, reigned pre-emi nent,—to preserve, if not yet too late, the honor of his name and to shut out the eyes of a scan dal-loving public from his private sorrows. A few steps from his own door he was met by one of Mr. Kendrick’s servants. “Mr. Kendrick has sent for you, sir,” said the man. “I was on my way there, but feared I would not find him up yet.” “He is not up; he is very ill,” replied the ser vant. ‘ ‘ 111 ?” exclaimed Paul, quickening his steps. “Then go for another physician at once; I am not well, and do not feel fit to take entire charge • of him. ” “No, that you ain’t,” said the man to himself as he hurried off in another direction; “you look mightily as if you’d been drunk last night. ” Paul hurried to Mr. Kendrick’s bedside, every feeling of friend and physician awoke within hi n. He forgot Beatrice—forgot his own men tal suffering in this sudden calamity that had overta... n him, for he found his friend in the mortal agony of a violent congestive chill. Only the day before he had been with Paul, radiant with health and strength, sympathizing with him in his sorrows, seeking to advise and direct; now, alas ! too surelv he was within the grasp of death. 1300 Walnut street,’’saidthe hackman, promptly ; come into this world already grown up, and, and concisely. “I done it. Just as we hail perhaps, as well educated as her intended hus- drove up to the house and the girl had opened band, they were married immediately. And it the hack-door, out comes a young man from the is said of all Adam’s descendants w'hose names house—him here,” indicating Paul with a jerk have been handed down to us in the history of of the thumb. “ ‘Paul, Paul,’ says the old lady, those early times, that they married wives; it is ‘ Mother, ’ says the young man, scared like. ‘They also said promiscuously of all mankind not men- drove her out,’ says the girl; ‘my missus won't tioned by name, that they married and gave in have charity folks livin’ offen her any longer;’ i marriage. And is it not a perfectly natural in- and with that the young man gives a great cry ference, sir—is it not a clear, logical inference and falls all of a heap, and I jumps off’ my seat that the daughters of Eve were as truly created and brings the old lady in the house. She’s up- to become the wives of Adam’s sons, down to the stairs in the room over this one, and that’s all.” latest generation of both, as Eve herself was to “And there’s your pay, with my thanks,” said become the wife of Adam ? John, taking a five-dollar bill from his pocket Since these things are so—since they hear of and giving it to the driver. “ Obligations, sir ; but I’ve had my pay,” said the driver, honestly, yet longing for the money. “ Well, take this in addition from me, you de serve it. What’s your number ? ” “Twenty-two ; stand, corner Eighth and Wal nut,” and, with an awkward bow, he went out. 'John immediately followed him, locking the door behind him, for the undertaker was in the house with his grim assistants, and he wished to secure Paul from any possibility of intrusion. Hastily descending the stairs to the basement floor he entered the servants’ dining-room and approached a tidy old woman who was deftly polishing a small silver card-salver. “Mother,” he said, respectfully, “Dr. Le Roy’s mother is in the house ill, and Dr. Le Roy is in a dead faint in the library ” “Take me to her! ” hastily interrupted the old them from the cradle to the grave, why may not young ladies expect to marry? Why, sir, I would ask, may they not desire to marry, since marriage means with them settling in life ? The life of an umarried young woman is but a whirl around a circle—a flying journey after the latest fashions and most attractive pleasures within her reach, keeping herself pretty and agreeable always, for she knows not the hour nor the day when her future husband shall appear. What wonder that, weary sometimes of fashion and pleasure, she may long to enter that Eden where her Adam is supposed to be waiting for her — may desire to see the day when she will have a house to keep and a husband to control, whether, having her ambition bounded by circumstances, she expects that house to be a log cabin or a pal ace and that husband an honest, working man who earns a dollar a day for the support of him- woman, “and you go back to your young mas- self and wife, or a millionaire who delights to ter ! ” ! display his wealth in his wife’s silks and dia- John accompanied his mother to Mrs. Le Roy’s monds. room, and then returned to the library, blessing 1 And just here my young man is ready to sneer the happy chance that had brought his mother to ! again about the supposed feminine preference see him on this sorrowful day. for rich husbands, over poor ones. I admit, sir, Paul had opened his eyes, and was looking j that rich lovers are often accepted instead of around in a bewildered manner when John opened the door. “My mother?” he exclaimed. “She is all right, sir, up-stairs, and my mother is with her. Oh ! Dr. Le Roy, sir, let me hold your hand a minute and tell you something I’ve been trying to say for a long time. That old woman you picked up, sir, on Eighth street, that Miss Beatrice laughed at so, was my mother, Master Paul, and I’d die for you, sir, and I know vour trouble—and—and- I poor ones. When a woman marries she goes into business as it were, with a large, or small capital according to the capacity of her hus band’s purse, and there are many who like to have capital enough to keep a carriage and have silver on the table. But, nevertheless, poor men generally marry, and oftener get good wives than bad ones; and those ladies who marry rich men sometimes do so from love of the individual— sometimes from love of his money; in either case, it is better that they marry the rich man. Poor derez—already meaning nods and smiles are ex changed when you appear in public with him. You must not receive his visits. Y’ou must not go out with him again ” Must not.'" cried Beatrice. “Are you my master, sir, that you address me in that tone? Am I one of your slaves ? Must not ! Sir, I will receive whom I please !—I will go out with Mr. Corderez if I choose! Prevent it if you can!” Paul covered his face vjith his hands, and a low groan fell from his lips. How could he in fluence this unwomanly woman ? “Beatrice,” he said at length, “if you have no regard for my honor as a man, no regard for my tenance. “ You wish to tell me something,” said Paul, bending over him; “you wish to give me some advice; what is it, my dear father ?” He called him father, for he had loved him as such. The dim eyes brightened for an instant, and with a supreme effort the pale lips syllabled a few words. “Leave her—it is best.” And he was dead. Paul knelt beside the bed for a few moments, then rose and silently descended the stairs. It was now nearly four o’clock; he had not broken his fast since the morning of the day be fore—had spent the night in mental torture too great for utterance and the morning in vain Paul placed his hand in John’s, and there be- .young men occasionally marry rich wives, and gan a true friendship between the high-bred, ar- | the world seldom tails to distrust their motives, istocratic gentleman and the honest, humble But the world, let me repeat it, sir, the world is servant: both hearts thrilled responsive to one j always suspicious and ready to distrust every- word—the holy name of mother ! ! body. Is not somebody surprised at every match “I must take my mother away immediately, j that is made?. And a wedding always sets John,” said Paul presently. “I have no right j tongues to wagging. to trespass on Mrs. Kendrick’s hospitality. I Now, some wise heads may pronounce my ar- will go to the Ashland House; it is the quietest ; gument weak and deficient; but, nevertheless, is hotel that I know' of. ” ! it not clear to the comprehension of all, both “Y’es, sir; and this house is in terrible eonfu- wise and unwise, that every girl has a right to sion to-day. I will call a carriage, Master Paul. ” j think she was created to become somebody’s John glided out, and seizing a ragged urchin ■ wife, even as her mother Eve was? Solomon w'ho was loitering curiously about the front door, himself would not deny it. And w'hat is the promised him “ a quarter” if he would run down j harm of their knowing it, provided they are to Eighth street and bring him back number j modest and lovely still and wait quietly for the twenty-two. Scarcely ten minutes elapsed when ' sons of Adam to come for their helpmeets? the carriage that had brought Mrs. Le Roy an i But when some of them indiscreetly acknowl- unwelcome guest to the house returned to take ; edge it, vex not their hearts, O excellent young her away again, this time supported in the lov- j man, by flinging back their acknowledgment ing embrace of her son and attended by John’s with sneers, at the innocent as w'ell as the guilty; careful mother. A comfortable room in that de- ; for you thus honor not your mother who, like lightful, home-like hotel, the Ashland House, on ! the rest, had to wait for her Adam to come and Arch street, was assigned her, and the anxious take her, and your wife, w’ho waited patiently for fears of her son set at rest, for she seemed but I you. very little worse, considering the terrible excite- J And, ye daughters of Eve, go softly, and let ment to which she had been subjected. Sitting ! not the walls of your chambers hear you say, “I by her bedside, Paul refreshed himself with a j want to marry,” for since the day that Adam cup of strong tea an'd a small roll, smiling en- j blamed Eve for eating an apple, mankind have couragingly when the Tveary, sorrowful eyes met ! been disposed to make much of the faults of all his. her sex. “I will get you something to soothe your nerves and give you a quiet sleep. Can you spare me a few minutes, mother? She feebly pressed his hand and a loving smile flitted over her face. The tears that filled his eyes as he turned away were an honor to his manhood. YVhile he was out he wrote a note to his wife, saying that he would not return home that night. He felt that he dared not see nor speak to her while the insult she had offered his mother still wrung his heart so sharply. YVhen he returned to the hotel late in the evening, he found John’s mother, Mrs. Roberts, still in close attendance upon Mrs. Le Roy; and after assisting her to make her charge comforta ble for the night, insisted upon her retiring to the adjoining room to sleep, promising to call her if he should require her services during the night. YVhen all was quiet and his mother slept, Paul threw himself upon the foot of her bed, and exhausted by his night of watching and days of fatigue, soon fell into a profound sleep. (TO BE CONTINUED.) A Spelling Puzzle. name as a physician, no care for my sorrowing efforts beside his dying friend. YYhat wonder heart, perhaps you will listen to reason when I that he was faint and exhausted? YY’hat wonder tell yon that of all my wealthy patients but one if he reeled as he descended the front steps ? is left to me.—your aunt's husband. Those who Gloomily and slowly, for he could scarcely stand, .. , ... , ,. now call on me have nothing to give in return.” he closed the door behind him and mechanicallv supplied vitfi metfiegim. , , a ~, Then you are a fool to visit them!” said Be- turned in the direction of his own house. A signified the moon, or moonath, of the marriage of S y mme trical proportions, a chronometer with The following last puzzle, from the Rlucational Reporter, is presented to the spelling bees. It is arranged so as to present as many difficult words in as small space as possible, and we doubt if there is one person in a thousand that can write the whole from dictation without making some blunders: “ The most skillful gauger I ever knew was a maligned cobbler armed with a poniard, who drove a peddler's wagon, using a mullein stock as an instrument of coercion to tyrannize over his pony shod with calks. He was a Galilean Sadducee, and he had a phthisicky catarrh, diphtheria and the bilious intermittent erysipe las. A certain sibyl, with the sobriquet of gypsy, went into ecstacies of cachinnation at see ing him measure a bushel of peas and separate saccharine tomatoes from a heap of peeled pota toes, without dyeing or singeing the ignitible queue which he wore, or becoming paralyzed with hemorrhage. Lifting her eyes to the ceil ing of the cupola of the capitol to conceal her . unparalleled embarrassment, making a rough Honeymoon.’—The word “honeymoon is courtesy, and not harrassing him with mvstify- traceable to a Teutonic origin. Among the Teu- ing ; rarefying and stupefying innuendoes, she tons was a favorite drink called metheglin. It gave him a couch, a bouquet of lilies, mignonette was made of mead of honey, and was much like and fuchsias, a treatise on mnemonics, a copy of the mead of other countries of Europe. These the Apochrypha in hieroglyphics, daguerreo- honeyed drinks were used more especially at mar- types of Mendelssohn and Kosciusko, a kaleido- riage festivals, and were kept up among the no- scope, a dram-phial of ipecacuanha, a tea-spoon- bility one lunar month; the festive board being f u ] 0 f naphtha for deleble purposes, a ferule, a Honah moon clarionet, some licorice, a surcingle, a camelian atrice rudely. common hack stood in front of Ylr. Kendrick’s * es , tiva l- -Ylaric the Goth, celebrated in South- , a movable balance-wheel, a box of dominoes and “I may be so,” answered Paul coldly, “vet I door; but he would not have noticed this had ! e - vs P°?™> dlecl pn his wedding night from a too a catechism. The gauger, who was also a traf- choose to go.” He took a bank book'from his not a low, faint voice spoken nis name—“Paul!” lree mdul ° ,ence in the honeyed drlnk * ticking rectifyer and a parishioner of mine, pre pocket and held it open before her. “Look! He paused. Again—“Paul!” He turned to the — ferring a woolen surtout (his choice was refer- Five thousand dollars is all that is left to me: | carriage. The door was open, the wind and but if you will listen to reason all may yet be rain dashing in upon his mother—his idolized well. Ah ! Beatrice, why can we not live hap- mother, who had not left her room for months, pily together ?" he continued in entreating tones, and now sat there, carelessly supported by one “My mother has expressed a desire to revisit of his under-servants, exposed to the terrible her old home. To-morrow I will place this sum weather. in her hands, provide her with a careful escort “ Mother !” he cried in horror-stricken tones, and let her go. YY'e are young, and with health ! “what has happened?” A Rochester flirt had an offer of marriage the ! able to a vacillating, occasionally occurring idi- other evening, and rushing into the hall, she ■ osyncrasy), wofully uttered this apothegm: - called up-stairs: “Mother! am I engaged to any- ‘Life is checkered; but schisms, apostasy, her- bodvnow?” esy and villainy shall be punished.’ The sibyl apologizingly answered:—‘There is a ratable Teach children to love evervthihg that is beau- and allegeab'le difference between a conferrable tiful, and vou will teach them to be beautiful ellipsis and a trisyllabic diuresis.’ We replied and trood. in trochees, not impugning her suspicion.’