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[For The Sunny Sonth.J ICONOCLASTIC. BY KENNETH Q. *Twas on an afternoon in autumn last. The air—the mellow Indian-eummer air— Was like a sofig of Sappho or the past, Whose soft, sweet notes, I verily declare, I seemed to see, not hear. Beneath the roof Of a rude western hut. I stood and gazed Upon the sunset’s glow—the golden woof Of my fair vision—when my eyes were dazed And I intoxicated by a scene Fit for a god!— a royal nature-crowned Venus, whose form and face and graceful mien Bespoke her Beauty's queen. Ah! I had found My life’s ideal. The craving of my soul Was satisfied. She sat upon her horse Before the door. Her hair was like a shoal Of liquid gold, which rippled down its course And danced beneath the sun. Her eyes Were fairer than a dream of Paradise; Her form more graceful than its birds or flowers. Her lips—those “cherries,” “rose-bud twins”— ye powers! Transform me to a bee, that I may sip Their nectar. Mine! she shall be mine—I swear! She’s going to speak! Be still and let not slip A word—such sounds as ne’er entranced the air! List! now she opes her lips and—gods! enough! A muddy jet,—my idol’s dipping snuff! [For The Sunny South.] CHOOSING^A WIFE. BY MBS. LEONARD CHAPIN. Every head has a soft place in it, and the straight- est stick is crooked in the water; so, nnder the circumstances, . . . “ ‘No poor mortal can tell. The inch being given, they'll not take the ell.' ” “Well, I am really sorry yon have so poor an opinion of your children: hut I think, if you live long enough, I will have the opportunity of convincing you, by my behavior in prosperity, that it is not too much money, but too little sense, that causes people to make fools of them selves. I shall cut no old acquaintances, nor count any new* ones simply because they are rich,” said Sue, decidedly. “In the language of the illustrious Daniel Webster, ‘we shall see, ” said Marie, laughing. “I shall make no promises, for I am afraid if I were tried. I might prove as weak as those we are now condemning. But I must be going: so let ns go back to my errand. I have been think ing that, by a little contrivance, you might wear my silk suit. Sue. The skirt is too short, I know, but it would make a splendid long over skirt for you; and my waist will do by letting out a seam. I think, if you will let me, I can get you up an outfit that you will not be ashamed to appear in.” “Trust you? I would trust you, Marie, to do anything in the world, except wroDg; but I can not take advantage of your unselfishness by ap- I propriating the only nice dress you own, as I much as I desire to go.” “Don’t trouble yourself about me; it is not | human nature-ish to serve others at our own j expense. You come round early, and we will | see what we can invent, contrive, or ‘create,’ if I you prefer that word.” Several families occupied the house in which Mrs. Harding lived, and when Marie opened the i door,- she met a little acquaintance playing in 1 the passage. “Minnie, I thought you told me your mother { was coming to our house yesterday ?” said Marie. “Her did say so, Miss Marie; but her went to “I have called, Sue, to ask you to spend this evening with me. Harry came last night and brought with him a party of young men en route for Florida, and mother thinks, in compliment to him, I ‘ought to invite some girls to tea, and tell him to bring his friends after tea.’ Won’t j Mrs. Todd’s ’stead of going to vour house, ’cause she says you all don’t hand round now.” “You tickle my back and 111 tickle yours,”, said Sue, laughing scornfully. “ ‘Hand round;' that’s the word now, Marie. The world has no use for any one-who can’t stand ‘hand round.’ Even little Minnie here has learned that lesson.” “Never mind,” said Marie. “When your ships service, I have been compelled even to stay from j ‘come home from sea,’ you’ll set us an example church;” and her eyes tilled with tears as she j worthy of imitation. Good-by! — come soon! you come ?” “Indeed, Marie,” said Sue, “nothing in the world would afford me more pleasure than to be able to accept your invitation, but I have nothing to wear. My old alpaca is both thread bare and rusty, and cannot be made to do duty any longer; and since it was mustered out of told the forlorn state of her wardrobe. “But indeed, ‘Mrs. Dombey,’ you must make an effort,” said Marie; “for I am not going to be put off with a trifling excuse. We have so few opportunities for social enjoyment, that I really think it would be too bad if you could not come to-night. Harry says his friends are very agreeable and intelligent men; so I think we will have a pleasant evening.” “Are the}’real grown men?” asked she. “If they are, I am afraid I won’t know how to talk to them; for I have been talking baby talk to bread- and-butter boys so long, I have almost forgotten how to talk common sense. I sometimes get so bored listening to these platitudes, that I feel like proposing a game of ‘ Here we go round the merry bush.’ Yon remember, do you not, that cadaverous little Simpson boy, whom on dit has it was stunted by beginning to chew tobacco when only eight years old? Well, he honored me with a call last Sunday evening, and with the most long-suffering patience, I endured his silly babble for three mortal hours without or dering him to visit among his equals (as I ought to have done when he assumed the airs that he did); and on Monday he repaid me for my kind ness by going round and telling folks if they heard of his engagement with me, to deny it, for he was only carrying on a flirtation.” • “I don't know anything more disgusting than that kind of boy,” said Marie. “But they are to be pitied. The war killed oft’ almost an entire generation of our cultivated and educated young men, and gave these little hobble-de-hoys great license. Being uneducated, they take advantage of it wherever they can. I always treat them, though, as school-boys, and talk to them about their studies, and I don’t think they ever can imagine they are flirting with me. But what about my invitation to spend the evening? Don t you think, Mrs. Harding,” (turning to Sues mother), “that by a little contrivance, a toilet might be manufactured for the occasion?” “ Say created, not manufactured,” said Sue, “for I would have to make something out of nothing.” “It is very kind of you, dear Marie, to think of Sue,” said Mrs. Harding, who, half-reclining on a dilapidated lounge, was diligently sewing. “My health is so bad that we can barely pay our room rent and get food to eat. I am sure Sue could not make herself presentable.” “Does not your niece assist you, Mrs. Hard ing? I have often heard she did.” "Yes, she sometimes gives me work to do,” said Mrs. Harding. “I am embroidering these pillow-slips for her now.” “'Why don’t you tell Marie how it happens that she does give you work!” said Sue in an Bemember!” When Sue reached Mrs. H‘ ward’s, she found Marie busy in the kitohen, preparing supper. Opening the stove, she showed a beautifully frosted cake, which was to be eaten with ice cream after the gentlemen came. “ While the icing is drying, w^ will go and see what alterations you’ll want to make in my dress,” said Marie. “Harry said he was coming early to take tea with ns and then go back after his friends. So,” leading the way to the cham ber, “we had better go up at once and make our preparations.” Sue was a tall, showy-looking girl, and when her artistic modiste pronounced her toilet com pleted, she really looked stylish. “Now, Marie,” said Sue, “let me see what you have reserved for yourself.” “You know,” said Marie, laughing, “it is the duty of a hostess to cater to the tastes of her guests. Harry tells me that one of them, a young editor, has come South fairly disgusted with fashion and fashionable women. He is longing to meet some of our unsophisticated Southern girls. So I shall try and not offend his taste by being over-dressed.” “ Why, Marie Howard ! are you silly enough to believe anything an editor writes ? I always think of the Flounder the Autocrat of the Break fast Table writes about — “ ‘Which has, perhaps you may know, One side for use and another for show: One side for the public, a delicate brown. And one that is white, which he always keeps down.’ Now, I’ll venture a wager that Harry’s blase edi tor, who is searching the world for an unsophis ticated girl, would have no lurther use for her than to make ‘an item ’ of her if she was found. It’s his trade to write and talk about ‘the extrav agance of women,’ and his rule of life to encour age such women by paying them especial atten tion whenever he meets them. I tell you, Marie, it makes not the slightest difference to most men whether women have an idea in their heads or not, if they only have plenty of rats and mice, spit curls, idiot's fringe, and other fashionable curly-cues on the outside. I shall be very much mistaken if Mr. Cleveland does not pay Seraph- ina Softie, with her enameled face and bleached hair, more attention this evening than he does you, who are the sweetest little piece of nature unspoiled by art in all the world. But here is Harry; I’ll go down. ” It took Marie but a short time to make her toilet. She was a tiny little creature, very fair, with large, liquid eyes and a wealth of golden hair, which she usually wore curled and falling over her comb. She had a most expressive face, and a radiant smile which lighted up her coun- them for Lillie,” she said. The flaky rolls, deli cious waffles and crisp wafers were all the work of Marie's own hands. She was an accomplished musician, too. and as is too often the case with obliging people, had been seated at the piano early in the evening to play for her guests to dance; and they seemed to forget that there was j a possibility she might get tired. “Even Harry has forgotten me," she thought; and she choked down a great lump in her throat and pressed her eyelids together to keep the tears trembling on them from falling. Harry had informed Sue that Mr. Allendale was a millionaire. "That is a sufficient recommendation,” Sue replied, “ for a man’s bank balance makes him. Money can macadamize a road to the very high est positions now-a-days. The scriptures will have to be changed so as to read, ‘ Get money, and all other things will be added unto you,’ for it is actually so.” “You have left out a most important thing,” said Marie; “all ‘earthly’ things, you should say.” “Oh, I should be sure of heaven if I were free of anxious care,” said Sue. “I shall never be a Christian as long as I have to plan and con trive and sham as I do to keep up appearances. ” “And yet,” replied Marie, “it is the rich, and not the poor, of whom it is said, ‘ How hardly shall they enter the kingdom of heaven. ’ ” Mr. Allendale was really a fine-looking man. Sue brought the whole battery of her charms to bear on him, and obtained a signal victory. He surrendered unconditionally, and remarked to Mr. Cleveland, when they returned to the hotel, that he “had never seen a lady he liked so well.” “Was not that dowdy-looking Miss Alpaca Howard a contrast to her friends, Miss Serapli- ina and Miss Harding?” said Mr. Cleveland. “ Yes, but they say she is ‘a great genius,' and I am sure I never heard sweeter music than she gave us in my life.” “I suppose', then, that is the reason she affects such classic simplicity in her dress, ’ said Mr. Cleveland. “I did not speak half a dozen words to her, for I always class alpaca women and paper- collared men together, and have no use for ei- • ther. Miss Seraphina suits my taste better. Did you ever see anyone more faultlessly gotten up? And then she is so simple and unaffected in her manners, and that bewitching lisp of hers is simply perfect. But I have a letter to write to my paper to-night, and must get at it.” Mr. Cleveland had heard in his travels of a minister who hadn't done anything wrong as yet, but there were strong suspicions that he was contemplating something of the sort; for one man had told another that a friend of his saw him sitting at his study window, one Satur day afternoon, looking very thoughtful and sol emn, and there was but little doubt, if he was well watched and his servants questioned, some thing could be found out. That point made, he proceeded to take up the “woman question,’ for every first-class newspaper, in these days, must have a clerical scandal and abuse the women. Mr. Cleveland told his paper that he “had met one of South Carolina's most gifted daugh ters, whose elegant simplicity of dress and man ners made her the belle of the evening;” and wound up by wondering “that more ladies could not be persuaded to follow her example, when it was well known that the present extravagant : and hideous style of dress was the reason young men could not marry and married men were driven to suicide or the bottle. parlor and left the gentlemen at their wine. “I think, if you only play your cards well, you can win your game. Has he asked you yet where you live?” “No, and I hope he won’t,” said Sue. “Why, yon must receive his visits here, and call this home, while he stays. Appearances are everything.” And so it appeared, for at the end of the month, Mrs. Wilmot gave a grand entertainment, and announced to her friends that her “dear cousin Sue Harding” was “engaged to a millionaire.” She had to be asked the gentleman's name again and again, for she lost sight of the fact that he possessed anything but his money, and spoke of him simply as "the millionaire, my cousin’s fiance.” “ I hear Sue Harding is engaged to Mr. Allen dale,” said Mrs. Howard one day, on her return from visiting. "I wonder she has not been to tell you about it, you are such devoted friends. You must have insulted all your friends t.ie night of the party, for even Arthur seems to keep away from you ever since.” “ Sue is too much occupied with a greater love, and Arthur has better company, I reckon,” said Marie, in such an uncomplaining, sad tone, that even Mrs. Howard could not find it in her heart to taunt her any more. She often saw Harry and Mr. Wilmot, Sue and Mr. Allendale, driving in the Wilmot coach. Harry came to say “good-by,” and told her he would return in three months to Sue’s wedding, and that he “was desperately in love with Julia Wilmot:” was going to correspond with her, and begged her, as he was leaving, “please to send his little Italian greyhound, which she had been taking care of for several years, up to Mrs. Wil- motV. J alia had seen it with her, and expressed a desire for it.” As Marie went into her chamber after Harry’s departure, Dash, who was sleeping in his usual place on the balcony, got up and came to her. She put her arms around him and said: “They won't even leave yon to love me.” The dog seemed to understand his friend was in trouble, for he leaned his head lovingly on her, while she put his chain and collar on to make him ready when he was sent for. will thread your hair, as you once loved to have me do " “Once loved," he repeated, coming so near that Marie could feel his hot breath on her cheek. “When did I ever cease to prize any attentions from you ? I tell you, little one, you are to me the embodiment of all that is pure, true and good. You are looking like a spirit from the other world, you are so pale; and if you die, my faith in womanhood will die with you.” “It could not as long as you remember your sainted mother, Harry.” she said in a low tone. Marie let Harry tell the story of Miss Will- mot s perfidy in liis own way. He told her that the young lady had expressed the greatest sur prise when he asked her to name the day for their wedding. She “ knew he was in no cir cumstances to marry, and thought, of course, he understood she was only flirting." She had been engaged to Mr. Lane ‘a retired distiller of sixty-live) lor a year, and was to be married in two weeks. “It would have been the greatest piece ot unkindness for her to marry him, or any other poor man. ” She laughed at the idea of sensible people talking about “love.” and sang snatches of that song on flirting. “Think, Marie,” he said, “of having to listen to such words as these, when my heart was breaking: “ * No; love after marriage, as every one knows. Comes down from the stars to the prosiest of prose, And grumbles at prices of sugar and tea. And is altogether too prosy for me.’ She told me that she was by no means a senti mental young lady. Love was an imaginary thing, and somebody had said, “ matrimony was a court of bankruptcy for lovers’ promises." If any one was silly enough to marry for love (as they called it) and differences came and put lcve to flight, there would be nothing left. So there must be collaterals put down when she married. ” Harry said he asked her if Mr. Lane understood the situation. She answered: “Of course he did. It was a purely business trans action. She wanted money and Mr. Lane wanted a wife. She wanted to mount into a carriage, and he was willing to be used as a step. So we will both get what we marry for, which could not be the case in any other kind of marriage.” . .... And then, would you believe it, she had the It was Sue Harding’s wedding-night, just four impertinence to ask me whvl did not marrv inv . w T r • , ., .. ’ months after Marie’s party. Harry was again in the city,—had come to be groomsman for Mr. Allendale, and wait with Miss Wilmot. He was in splendid spirits. Told Marie “Though not exactly engaged, Julia and himself were cer tainly compromised. They wrote twice a week to each other. She signed herself ‘Your own Julia,’ and in every way left him no shadow of a doubt but that she would marry him. She had received presents from him, too, which no young lady should receive except from an ac cepted lover. So, little cousin, I think I am all right, don’t you? But you are looking so pale and thin; have you been sick ? I am afraid aunt Letty’s imaginary ailments keep you too closely confined. I think it is time Lilly came home and relieved you. She is not very consid erate, knowing as she does what sacrifices you have been compelled to make in order to supply her extravagant demands. But here comes your mother; so go and dress yourself for the wed ding.” “I have not been honored with an invitation; so I can enjoy your company as long as it pleases you to stay,” said Marie. You not invited to Sue Harding's wedding?” indignant tone,“and With a curl of contempt on i te ™ nc * li i k ® a ra >' of U g ht ’ bhe had > 0iine , d s « e her lip. “Mrs. Wilmot has a motive in every- S ?,’ lUl< l r P?* 1 ™ 8 onbe ? al P aca > thing she does, you know; and like Mrs. John Gilpin — “ ‘ Even when on pleasure bent, She has a frugal mind.’ Ton must know, then, Marie, that my fair cousin is a great financier, and in her charity, manages , .. 1T1 rhl „ „„ to make the largest display with the smallest ! f ore ,, r i - : i J outlay. When she goes North, she always gets torearmed - saul bue ' pattern articles, which she sends, for mother to duplicate at half the price she would have to pay any one else. So in that way she gets her work done cheaply, and gets the credit of help ing her poor kin besides. Every act of hers is an investment, and everybody she honors by notic ing. you may be sure she has or expects to have use lor. \\ e are all pieces on her chess-board, and a pawn sometimes gives a check-mate, you know. Before her marriage, she used to tell us what she would do to repay mama for all her kindness; and now she rides by with every seat in her carriage occupied by people who did not notice her in her poverty, while poor mama (the only true triend she ever did have) is wasting away, the doctor says, ‘for want of fresh air,’ which she can’t get in this miserable house.” “I could not have believed that Mrs. Wilmot was that kind of person," said Marie; “she talks so benevolently.” <“* aD - vtLin g’" f id Sue; • ‘its mormllg uur p aper u>OK up iue s[r . un , anu ( l „ * 1 , . a , s . < j lea P' * often w ish that ma de the thing so ludicrous, for I am sure our ••WlivV” 1 L-",. av '- ers ID l ^ ie w °rifl- editor’s wife couldn't tell the chronology of her • ti, \ 6 . * Ti'f . ! bonnet. And indeed, it would be safe to offeT a • f„i: ', el t " °| 1 1 K e ,?° ad ' lce g>ven unless j c hromo t c every man in the South whose wife with immaculate collar and cuffs, and placing a few knots-of blue ribbon to peep out from among her curls, she went down to the parlor, where she found Sue and Harry in high glee. “I am introducing Miss Harding to our after supper guests in advance,” said Harry. “In order that, being forewarned, I may be But you need not fear that I will waste any of my ammunition on your reformer; I don’t like small game.” “ Who are you talking about?” asked Harry. “Your editor friend, who can't find a woman simple enough to suit him,” said Sue. “I don’t think he puts it exactly that way,” said Harry, laughing. “ He affects to despise fashionable people, and devotes whole columns of his paper wailing and bewailing over the awful extravagance of dress; but I observe none but a lady dressed in the extreme of fashion ever receives any of his attention.” “‘Didn’t I tell you so-that that same cow would swallow the grindstone?’” said Sue, hold ing up her finger. "Seraphina will till the ticket exactly. I have not one bit of faith in editors when they attempt to dictate to women what they shall and shall not wear. They are all sounding the millenium trumpet now, and pre dicting ‘glorious times,' because ‘women’s bon nets are not to cost titty dollars a] iece any more.’ This morning our paper took up the strain, and ‘Now, isn’t it a great idea, that strong men must take to , said Harry, in astonishment. “Why, what can 1 be the meaning of it ? I thought you were such intimate friends. I am sure gratitude ought to j have made her put you first on her list, for I but for you she never would have met Allendale. I am astonished. ” “ Well, you needn't be,” said Mrs. Howard, j who was a firm believer in the doctrine of total | depravity. “ There's no such thing as gratitude I in this world. When Sue Harding was a pauper, ! she was glad enough to wear old clothes, and Marie was always fool enough to lend them, until people did not know who the clothes actu ally did belong to, and this is the way she takes to pay her for her kindness. But Marie hasn't learnt anything. She would do the very same thing over again if she had the chance.” “Sue is of the earth, earthy,” said Harry, “ but cousin Marie is an angel. I have never met a more unselfish being in my life.” “ Why, Harry, yon must certainly think yon are speaking of Miss Wilmot,” said Marie. “What Miss Wilmot?” asked Mrs. Howard. “You surely don't mean Julia Wilmot. Harry can’t be fool enough to think that dyed-beaded girl is an angel. Julia Wilmot is a sham, and as false as her wig.” Why, mother, what can you be thinking sinning Because their wives don't drop at once the arts they found so winning.’ ” After reading over what he had written, Mr. Cleveland said: “ Now, if the local only has a good array of “ ‘Who have been robbed, and who have been killed, And who have been sent to jail,’ my paper will be all right,” “Or in other words, like your sweetheart,” said Mr. Allendale; “simply perfect—especially the simply.” Poor Marie was very tired and weary before her guests left. Her whole evening had been marred by her mother’s displeasure when she found out she had loaned to Sue what she ought to have worn herself. “I shall not go in the parlor at all,” said Mrs. Howard; and she kept her word and went to bed in the sulks, leaving Marie everything to do. But they had all gone now, anti she was in her usual seat on the sill of her chamber door open ing out upon the balcony. The retrospect of the evening was very sad. She tried to persuade herself Harry had done just right, and only taken a brother’s place and helped her entertain her guests; but somehow or other all the joy seemed it was solicited and paid for. “I don’t think,' said Mrs. Harding, “that] Mrs. IV ilmot is unlike the rest of the world. You j have all read ‘Second Cousin Sarah.’ haven t ■ you ? Money is very demoralizing. You were j laughing just now at Mr. Thompson’s making j himselt such a laughing-stock by hugging the j lamp-post to whoop. Now, you see, if he had I taken the whooping-cough when a child, he ; would not have made himself so ridiculous. It j takes a very level head not to get dizzy when has paid the half of fifty dollars for a bonnet since the war. But so long as they can get some thing to fill up their papers, it makes no differ ence what it is. Don't be frightened, ladies. “ ‘The words that look so soleiuu Are just put in to fill a column! And if you happen not to have cn a fifty-dollar hat. and there is a lady in company who has, move gracefully out of the way: for even though it put the millenium back a thousand years, men will do homage to tine dress, and every man will T 1 ^ „ .. . uu uuuiugc IU U11P (UCNN, <11111 tVCl V 111 <111 Will UHU UUL 3CCU OUC. •-!» 3 JCalV IU UCI, L\ nromotion. that' from IheKZVt ?. onte , nd for the privilege of escorting the cost- but she knew human nature w the swing able to stand promotion, that from the inmost I ^ThonneJ in recesses of my heart I pray God that he will not ll6St b ° Dnet m tbe cr0vsd ' give my children money, unless accompanied with sense enough not to make it a curse to them.” “Why, mother!” said Sue. deprecatingly. “ You surely don’t think, after all the grinding poverty we have endured, that we could not to have gone out of her life; and when her Ital- ; about?” said Marie, greatly confused. “Harry ian greyhound bounded to meet her, she said: “ Ton must not desert me for any one else, Dash, for I do believe you are the only thing on earth that loves me. I feel just like Mrs. Brown ing’s ‘bleating lamb,' which had been “ ‘ Left out at night in shutting up the fold." ” Ever since the death of her earthly father, Marie had been in the habit of telling her troubles to her Heavenly One, and to-night she prayed for grace to bear neglect and patiently submit “To be nothing, nothing; Only to lie at God’s feet, A broken, emptied vessel, And thus for his service made meet.” Over the mantel in her chamber hung an illu minated card, enwreathed with exquisite pan sies of her own embroidery. The motto upon it was the familiar lines,— “ Nearer, my God, to thee—nearer to thee,— E’en though it be a cross that raiseth me.” As she looked up at it, she said, with swim ming eyes: “What mockery ! to pray for a cross to draw us nearer to God, and then, when he sends it, cry out in agony, as my poor heart is now doing, ‘Let the cup pass, O my Father!’ instead of be ing able to say, ‘ Even so, Father, if so it seem- eth good unto thee !” She saw very little of Harry during his stay. He said he had “to do the honors of the city to llis friends.” They had brought letters of intro duction. and he must go around with them to present them. Mr. Allendale ha 1 one to Mr. Wilmot, and when Harry tobl him Mrs. Wilmot was Miss Harding's first cousin, he lost no time in delivering it. During the call, Harry found an opportunity to tell Mrs. Wilmot that Mr. All endale had fallen quite in love with her cousin. Mrs. Wilmot was, as Sue pictured her, a great strategist, and no sooner was the hint given her. than she began to plan a campaign which, if successful, would relieve her from the haunting possibility of having an aunt and three old maid cousins on her hands to provide for. She was too calculating, however, to go to the expense of erecting batteries until she saw the two together, and had the opportunity of judging for herself what prospect there would be of a successful siege. In order to bring them together, she in vited the gentlemen to dine with her on the fol lowing day. promising them the pleasure of “my cousin Miss Harding's company.” She had not seen Sue, to speak'to her, in four years, “The evening had passed delightfully.” So the guests, on leaving, had told Marie; and I am sure it was no fault of hers if it had not. The art of hospitality with her was one of the fine arts. The supper-table had been perfect in all its appointments. The shell-like tea-cups of classic shape, frosted silver service, and crystal 1 o •. ii ii sunuc. uumcu sniei sen ice, auu ensun “ i don> kn P p d P 0Ur balance? goblets, had been selected by the first Mrs. How- I don t know, my dear. , £ rd when abroad . since Howard's death. ‘ Satan now is wiser than of yore,— He tempts by making rich, not making poor.” ell enough to know that all she had to do was to ask her. Sue refused on the ground of not having a suit able dress. But Mr. Wilmot had told his wife, with a sly wink, if she “saw any chance of get ting Allendale into the family, to do the hand some, for he needed him.” So Sue was prom ised an outfit, and Mrs. Wilmot had all of her dresses that did not tit her nicely or become her style, hauled up for her cousin to make over for herself. He seems to be really smitten. Sue,” said | " _ is engaged to Miss Wilmot.” “You engaged to Miss Wilmot?" said Mrs. Howard, looking at Harry as though the news had caused her to doubt his sanity. “Not quite, aunty: but it is not my fault that I am not,” said Harry, laughingly. “ Well, if you can t get her, I can furnish yox with just as good a wife. I’ll fix up that wan woman Madame Figeroux left in the store she rented from us. It's got as much soul as that Julia Wilmot, and won t be as expensive.” “ Well, aunt Letty, if I need your services, I I will call on you; but I am sorry that you don't i like my sweetheart,’’ said Harry, getting up to g°- “There s nothing in her to like, child,” she : said, walking with him to the door, and looking sympathizingly after him until he closed the ; garden gate; then she came back into the room ! and sat down, saying: “ What fools the men are, to be sure.” ; It was only ten o'clock. Marie was sitting : alone at the drop-light in the keeping-room. Mrs. Howard imagined herself an invalid, and always retired early. Marie had been writing in her journal, which lay open before her. The writing was blotted with tears, but the face that bent over it was as calm and peaceful as an i angel's. On the table was her Bible. She had 1 been reading the Savior's passion; and as she read that in his hour of deepest agony, the Savior of the world had gone for sympathy i once to the disciple whose head he had pillowed on h's bosom, she closed the book, and clasping her 1 a ids, said: , •• • Since, precious Savior. Thou didst tread before The lonely path of life, And bore in meekness. I will strive to bear Sorrow, insult and striie. In that dread hour, forsaken and alone. You shrank not. but could say, “Thy will be done.” Then Savior. Father, how can I despair When Thou in heaven art listening to my prayer ?' ” She heard the gate open, an l there were quick steps upon the gravel walk. She had just time to think, “It must be Harry,” when he entered, looking more flushed and dejected than she had ever seen him before in her life. “I am glad yon are up, Marie,” he said; “I’m going to start back to New York to-morrow morning at four o’clock, and should hate to leave without telling you good-bye; for I shall never come back to this town again while I live And see here,” he said, taking Marie by both j wrists, "you tell your mother that Julia Wilmot has proved as false as sue pictured her. Yes,” said he through his teeth, “ she is as false as 1“'” Marie knew he was hardly responsible for any thing he said or did while in such a terrible state of excitement. So she did not lecture, but like a true woman, she “ Put right out of sight her own unhealing smart. And tried to let in sunshine on his poor wounded heart.” “ I i*n glad you thought to come in,” she said, quietly; “I was feeling so lonely. See, my iced tea is untouched, and now we will drink it little cousin. Alpaca Howard — as Seraphina told her Cleveland had nicknamed you—and said she had given Dash to her washerwoman, but would try and get him back if I thought he could heal the breach between us. I tell you. Marie, if I had not drank a bottle of champagne, I should have bursted with pent-up rage.” “Well, never mind,” said Marie; “don’t let us talk any more about her to night. I am not equal to the occasion. Put her up until to-mor row, and then we will give her a good going over. Meanwhile, you have never heard me play on the zithern; so let me exorcise the evil spirit while you try and go to sleep. I’ll play and sing my favorite first: “ ‘It is raining, little flower; Be glad of rain— Too much sun would wither thee— 'Twill shine again. The clouds are very black, "tis true, But just behind them shines the blue. “ * Art thou weary, tender heart ? Be glad of pain; In sorrow, sweetest things will grow As flowers in raiu. , God watches, and thou wilt have sun When clouds their perfect work have done.’ ” This sweet little song, sung ns only one who had Marie's soul could sing it, stirred the great deep of Harry's heart, and the tears came welling up. He called for one song after another, and said: “Marie, even Nilsson failed to giveme half the pleasure yon do. If I had you to play for me all the time, I should be a better man, for you bring out all the good there is in me.” Marie sang the gentle lullaby song, which grows lower and lower until it dies away in a whisper, and when it was ended, she knew by his regular breathing that her cousin was asleep. Closing the windows, she threw an Afghan over him and went to her room; “not to sleep,” she said, for Harry was going at four, and must not go without a cup of coffee. Her head ached and her temples throbbed so violently that she drew her couch up to the window, and releasing her hair from the confinement of the comb, lay down, “only to rest,” she thought. That bottle of champagne Harry took had made her head and heart both ache. What if he should repeat the dose? She had given him up to Julia Wil mot, but she could never become reconciled to his drinking. She prayed God to keep him from temptation, and fell asleep. When she awoke, the sun was up. “Harry has gone,” she said, jumping up and , stealing silently down-stairs, where to her great relief she found Harry where she had left him the night before, and still sleeping quietly. Putting her room in order, so that he might ; come up and refresh himself when he awoke, she made a sweet, fresh toilet and went down to pre pare breakfast. Marie’s father was a lawyer of great reputa tion—a scholarly and cultivated gentleman. Harry was the nephew of his first wife, so he was Marie's cousin only by courtesy. Judge How ard’s first wife was an elegant and accomplished lady—a companion to him in every sense of the word —and during her short life made his home a perfect Eden of happiness. But she died at the birth of her first child, after having been married but two years, one of which they had spent abroad. Her death was a terrible blow to her husband, but as men have great recuperative powers, they generally re (rive very soon. This was the case with the Judge, for in less than six months he took to his beautiful home, to be its mistress and the mother of his babe, a silly little school-girl only sixteen years of age. He had fallen in love with her because she was pretty, and he told all her sayings and doings as though they were not reflections on his common sense. When the butler told him that “the little mis tress had given out one pint of Hyson tea to be drawn for supper, ’ he thought it was just the most cunning little thing in the world. But when the young lady told him she had seen nothing of the world, and was not going to stay at home at night and go to sleep listening to his reading, he began to compare her unfavorably with his lost darling, and to think he had been very unwise in his “second venture!” However, the deed was done, and there was no help for it. .So the dignified Judge hail to__aecompany Lis “pretty” wife to the most undignified places, or have a fuss in the family. One night, on returning from the circus ear lier than usual, they found little Mabel alone and dying. "An over-dose of anodyne,” the doctor said. After her death, Judge Howard became a changed man. He cursed the folly of his inju dicious career, and when Marie was born, he laid down the law that “she was never to be left alone one moment.” Mrs. Howard was very young and foolish, and her husband’s arbitrary commands actually turned her against her own child. She regarded it as a great cross sent upon her, and the poor little thing would have suffered for its father's lack of common sense had it not been for its faithful nurse, a French woman, to whom the first Mrs. Howard had been kind. When Lillie, the second child, was born, it looked like its mother, and as its father did not notice it as much as he did Marie, Mrs. Howard felt called upon to idolize it, for her husband and herself were very much like Mr. and Mrs. Jack Spratt. Marie loved her father devotedly, and was al- wavs with him when he was in the house. Her i Mrs. Howard No. 2 had permitted them to be ... ~~ j „— — — ...... ...... ..„ ..... ........ .. . , . , used only on State occasions, as she “wanted Mrs. Wilmot, after they had.returned to the together, and you must lie on the lounge, and I j bonne spoke a very pure french, anil used her