Newspaper Page Text
[For The Sunny South.)
TO HISS LILY FAIR.
FBOU THE MSS. OF W. W. HENDBEE.
There is a Bice little girl not far from this place,
With a light little form and a bright little face—
With a ravishing air and an innocent grace,—
Tet she thinks her case is a very hard case;
And she says to herself that her life has been blighted,
And she sings little songs about love unrequited,
And talks about thorns being hid in the roses,
And mourns over griefs which she only supposes,
And despondingly broods over wearisome fancies,
And weaves her life up into dreary romances—
Till in fact she begins to believe in these evils,
And works herself into a fit of blue devils.
Once a laughing philosopher, drifting along,
Caught the sound of her sighs and the words of her song,
And he said to himself, with a bit of a laugh:
“ Here’s a nice little girl, but too solemn, by half;
She’s a gay little creature at heart, I’ve no doubt of her;
So I’ll conjure this demon of dreariness out of her.”
And he made up his mind how to vex or to please her—
How to soothe or to worry, to charm or to tease her.
In this funny old world (which is one of the best
That I ever have lived in), all life is a jest.
Invisible powers, with triggers and things,
Make many queer puppets do many odd things.
These puppets make idols and fall down before them.
Despising the idols when most they adore them;
And each one keeps gibing the others, and mocking.
And says that all idols save his one are shocking;
They try to seem merry when most they are sad,
And try to seem sorry when most they are glad.
And still the old planet unceasingly whirls,
And the folks that are in it—the boys and the girls,
Both old ones and young ones—still firmly believe
That still they are truthful when most they deceive.
They call themselves honest!—the pitiful elves,
If they cheat no one else, they are cheating themselves.
And the world still rolls onward, ’mid laughing and
crying—
’Mid pleasure and sorrow, ’mid smiling and sighing—
’Mid friendship and hatred, ’mid loving and lying—
’Mid kisses and curses, ’mid living and dying.
And just ere he said what he wanted to say.
This modern Democritus drifted away;
And the funny old world kept on turning and turning.
And the sweet little girl kept on sighing and yearning;
And the puppet philosopher, carefully poising
Himself on his tight rope, went gayly rejoicing
On his way, amid shadow and sunshine still blending.
And this is my song, from beginning to ending.
MORAL.
Don’t ruin your eyesight, or rub your youth's glass off, !
Bead trashy novels, or trust a philosopher.
trailing and falling around her fine, full figure
with as much grace as though it were the robes
of a Duchess.
»Is it you ?” repeated madame, holding his
hand and smiling at him with white teeth and
vivacious black eyes. “But what is the matter
that you have your arm in a sling ? You have
been getting into another scrape, and une femme
was of course at the bottom of it. ”
“It is only a scratch, and I got it in a good
cause—protecting female delicacy from drunken
insolence. Sinner as I am, you know, I could
never stand by and see a thing of that sort.”
boarders, male and female; a goodly proportion
of them (as was indexed by their dress and man
ners) belonging to the class who hang on the
outskirts of art—such as third-rate actors, musi
cians, literateurs, portrait painters, photograph
ists, etc.
Had she not graciously nodded and pointed
to a seat at her right, Esther would hardly have
recognized her hostess of the morning, so meta
morphosed was she by a little art of the toilette.
The strings of rusty hair were now piled up styl
ishly in shining black coils and braids; dia
monds, mock or real, glittered at her ears and
“Ah ! I know you to be a veri f vble Quixote ? 1 on her fingers, and a soup con of rouge on her
Did the innocence wear pink tights ? And why swarthy cheeks made the sparkle of her eyes
did you not stay to protect her another time ? more brilliant. Her smiles and pleasant chat,
What has brought you back to us, ingrate ?” , her queenly way with the soup ladle and the
“How could I keep away from my Lucretia? fish fork, quite made up for any deficiencies in
Besides, I only took a short trio for my health, the bill of fare.
and to put money in my purse.
I “Flatterer, traitor!” exclaimed madame, point-
j ing at him with her finger. “Don’t think to
j hoodwink me. I know all about it. Didn’t
1 your brother locals have a fling at you in their
: impudent, insinuating way, about a confrere de-
: serting a ship for the sake of a siren in tight
fleshings and spangles? Well, men will be fools
! where women are concerned, but I did think
; you had seen too much of life to become a dan-
gler after a flirting, shameless, rope-dancing
minx, like
“Forbear, my dear madame,” interrupted
Harvey, coloring and glancing at Esther; “I ns-
; sure you, you are talking nonsense. Here is
the proof—my sister, whom I went to get, and
have brought with me, as you see.”
“Your sister?” repeated madame, with a quick,
suspicious glance at Esther. “I never heard
j you speak of a sister, Genaro. ”
For several days, Esther held to her determin-
and ends, and furnished it cheerfully, lending
Esther, also, the assistance of the auburn-headed
maid, who proved to be a good-natured Irish
girl, giving Esther ready but awkward assist
ance, and uttering exclamations of pleased sur
prise when at last the old sofa was renovated, the
torn-out stuffing replaced, and a covering of
warm, bright chintz given to pillows and seat.
When Harvey came to his room that evening,
he seemed to have a companion, for Esther’s ear
caught another step beside his own. But Har
vey entered alone a moment afterward, and threw
himself down upon the new sofa, without notic
ing it at all, a circumstance that aggravated the
Irish handmaid, who stood at the door to note
the effect of Esther’s little improvements. She
tossed her head with the remark that it was the
way with men; “they never do look at anything
but themselves or their sweethearts—exceptin’
somethin’ to find fault about,” an observation
that made Harvey look wonderingly from her to
[For The Sunny South.]
REFLECTIONS IN THE SHADE.
BX H. D. C.
NO. V MOTHER—SISTER.
Wretched indeed must that person be who
never knew the joys of childhood; whose dreary
path through life had no windings among beau
tiful flowers and across lonely plains; who never
knew the gentle caress of a loving mother, the
sweet companionship of an affectionate sister,
the thousand joys of a happy home. There are
such, poor children of adversity, upon whom
even the sunbeams falls charily; whose whole
life has been a story of distress, of suffering and
want,—many “Oliver Twists,” in London and
out of London, all over this wide world, who
have been real living victims of cruel fate. The
first-born emotion of our natures was the love of
mother. How natural that this should be so.
ation to keep within doors, lest she should be «?ai rnaae narvey iook wonaenngiy irom ner to ( niotner now natural mat ia.s
recoonized bv someone who mi<rht have followed hls 8lster > and caused Esther to smlle as she an ‘ The soft muslc ot her v01 ? e ’ the tenderness Ol
recognized by some one who might have followed
her—by Dr. Haywood, in fact, for there was no
; other who would interest himself in her move-
ments. Harvey’s hurt, which was simply a flesh
wound, irritating but not serious, was nearly
healed, and he attended to business with seem
ing diligence. During his absence, Esther em-
l ployed herself in writing a new story for the
! New York Journal, taking pains to elaborate an
intricate plot and unravel it in a striking way,
which she knew by experience was the best style
to please the publisher, and, without doubt, his
readers. Her art-instincts were outraged con
siderably by the violence done to them; but then
the present question was one of food and shelter.
Time and restful leisure, as well as patient
effort, were needed to mould her imaginings
finely and delicately, according to the ideal that
“Ah ! madame, your memory is treacherous; i existed in her own mind. But time, and rest,
you have forgotten a great many things I have aIld i eisure f or care and study, Esther had not. ; ^ .- . ,~ i .. T t -■ t .. .. v
said to you, but you surely remember my telling when she »rew tired or disgusted she went Cop ’ come ln; here s Hom, ‘ thln K I want yon to was the mother’s love that grew in strength with
you that I had a little sister immured in a St. out on her lit £ le balcony and watched the stream ! 8ee \ Come in >” repeated, for there was a hes- each year of increasing age With what anxious
swered: her gentle caress, formed the first memories of
“It is the new lounge. She thinks you ought life. Following us with increasing strength, this
to admire it, as it is our united handiwork for love after a while became reciprocal, as she who
your benefit.” sang the infant to sleep entered into and became
“Indeed ! Have you added upholstery to your the loved director of our childish sports. It was
other accomplishments? Why, this is nice!” a mother’s hand that fashioned the first doll-baby
giving the pillows a punch. “It is quite an im- for her rosy-cheeked girl, the sweet flaxen-haired
provement. And behold! here are others,” he pet, who laughed with the first sunbeam of the
added, jumping up and going to examine the morning and all through the day made glad
pictures. “What a lovely crayon! and what a music upon mama’s heart-strings. It was her
beautiful sketch of Tallulah Falls! Who did dear voice that taught the lisping tongue the
this, Esther?—not you?” nursery rhymes and lullaby song of long ago;
“ Yes. It is a copy, of course.” that made the first impress of character upon the
“I had forgotten your artistic talent, inherited mind of her darling boy with the many stories
from our poor father. Copley ought to see this, of the fireside: and when night came, it was at
He was born, he says, in a little log house within her knees tliesedittle heads were bowed, and the
hearing of the roar of Tallulah Falls. He came same sweet voice taught them the first prayer to
up with me, and is in the room there. Would “Our Father which art in heaven.”
you mind my calling him in to look at it? I say, As the girlhood and boyhood passed away, it
Louis convent since she was in bibs, and how
afraid I was that they would turn her into a
: nun.”
“ I don’t remember your telling me anything
of the kind,” said Lucretia. But le sorter is wel-
i come, nevertheless,” she added, her suspicions
out i
of life that flowed through the streets beneath,
and speculated upon the probable aims and mo
tives and lives of all those hurrying, eager pass
ers-by.
The plans for her future, which she had at
tempted to map out, were exceedingly vague.
vanishing as she searched Esther’s face with her Tllere seemed to be no better wav than to live 1 one of her drawin S 8 that I want you to see. It
-- - mere seemed to De no better way than to is ol(1 Tallulah . Does it look natural? Does it
itating step outside and a pause at the door. solicitude did she watch the unfolding of her
After this second invitation, and some fumbling tender buds, and with what care did she guard
at the door-knob, little Copley entered, clutch- them against the blight of a sin-cursed world,
ing his hat spasmodically and bowing in blush- With what yearnings did she follow them as they
ing embarrassment. came in contact with others and formed the first
‘Copley, this is my sister Esther, and here is associations of life; how her heart would swell
keen, black eyes. “She is a little like you, f or eac h day alone—to look neither backward
Genaro—the same brow and nose. \ - ‘—
She is a thousand times handsomer, and she
[Written for The Sunny South.)
FIGHTING AGAINST FATE;
OK,
Alone in the World.
is as good as she is handsome. I have brought
her to you, Lucretia. You will be good to her
for my sake. Tell me, is my old room vacant ?—
in the L, you know—over the dining-room.”
“It is vacant since yesterday. Mademoiselle
Frank, the dress-maker, left it, to be married to
a rich old transient of mine, from the country.
He came in to buy coffee and calico, and bought
him a wife as well.”
“Good luck to Mademoiselle Frank; she is an
honest girl, and I am glad she has married and
when she allowed herself to stop and think.
Hope sang no siren song to this young wayfarer,
burdened heavily at the outset of her career,
and with no staff to lean upon, for she well knew
poor Harvey to be a broken reed.
Yet, in him centred all the interest that life
held for her. The one duty that was plain be
fore her was her care of him. She must save
him from ruinous habits —from utterly wrecking
himself, both mind and body. She must lean
no weight upon him; her own work must sup-
BY MARY' E. BRYAN.
CHAPTER VII.
Through the gray vail of a foggy dawn, Esther
had her first sight of New Orleans. As the pant
ing steamer made her way to the wharf through
the throng of vessels, whose masts and smoke
stacks made the fog-enveloped harbor seem an
inundated forest, Harvey came to Esther’s side,
and pointed to the panorama of roofs and stee
ples that unrolled itself through the lifting mist,
saying:
“Well, we are here! This Icoks vast and
strange, and unfriendly, but it is the best refuge
for folks like us, at odds with fate. We can lose
our old identities herej-d&op them off like a
husk in this wilderness of men, and they will
not be picked up by the keen eyes of meddlers j
and pinned back upon us by the sharp tongues
of gossip. People here do not attend to the af
fairs of their neighbors; it is as much as they
can do to mind tlieir own.”
“Do you think we will be quite safe here?”
asked Esther, who had a misgiving that Dr.
Haywood would try to find her when he dis
covered under what mysterious circumstances
she left Haywood Lodge. * i
“But he will naturally believe that I have
gone off with my lover—the circus attache, and
that I am unworthy of his trouble,” she re
flected, with mingled bitterness and satisfac
tion.
j left her room just in time for my sister. And j p 0r [ herself, and help to support him, if need
| the tiny chamber^ that joins that, madam, is it p e And need there would be, Esther thought,
; also unoccupied ? for she knew that steady employment was almost
J “Yes, indeed; as bare as any hand. I thought impossible to this erratic nature. He was just
of turning it into a lumber-closet, I have so as he had been when he was Willard Craig, and
many odds and ends. _ a boy. Experience, that had been bitter enough,
“ Don t do it; rig it up with a lounge or a cot- bad taught him no wisdom. He floated with the
bedstead and a washstand, as a den lor your i jj ( | e 0 f chance; he lived as the birds live, care-
humble admirer.”
eyeing the picture with critical keenness in order
to cover the embarrassment he had been thrown
into on finding himself face to face with this
pale, dark-eyed girl, who acknowledged his awk
ward bow with such a stately yet courteous in
clination of her graceful head.
“Well, you have put a smile on the face of
your ugly room, earn mia, with your pictures
and-flowers and this comfortable lounge, which,
I venture to say, was designed as a trap for me—
to keep me here at your side and out of mischief
when I’m idle. Dear Esther, if we only had the
piano here! I can never forget your music.”
“I wish we had,’’she said, half stifling a sigh;
“or even my guitar.”
As she said this, Copley gave a start, and a red
streak shot into his sallow cheek. He opened
his lips to speak eagerly, but a second thought
closed them. He wanted to offer her his guitar,
i less of contingencies, and almost as free from I 8e , d , ed to oner Her bis guitar
“Indeed ! how much of your time would you any sense of moral responsibly or social obli- that be had lndnl « ed b >mself in buying for re
■ t thp i r- a a- ii a ajr _ ~ creation during Ins more leisure moments. H(
pass in it, cher ami ? Not one night out of the : g a £j 0 n. But for his short, stormy spasms of
week. ... T remorse, he would have been as free from care
“Think better of me, my good friend. I am as an y irresponsible animal of the woods. He
going to be very domestic. Come, what are you bad the temperament which enjoys life intensely,
going to charge us lor board and lodging? Be y C q be was no sensualist—only a Bohemian, who
moderate, I beg you.”
“ Ah ! my dear Genaro, I am poor.”
“So are we; and the poor must befriend the
poor, for the rich care nothing for them. Just
now I am out of employment, and shall have to
look around for something to do.”
“I will Jo ns -*-e!I by you* -ister ;:s—i-oc.n.-
Four dollars a week is moderate, is it not?
ought to have been born in a gipsy tent, and
never known the civilization that had spoiled
him for happiness.
Esther could sympathize with her brother; she
had some points of character that resembled his.
She had tie /fame love of freedom—the same in-
uiffe'itrrcV^’tJ^ffrvenvhe’lfoifre repug-
nance to beaten paths; the same sensitiveness to
during his more leisure moments. He
had first possessed himself of a violin, but the
“squeaking,” he averred, made him nervous,
and it was discouraging when he thought himself
“getting the hang of things,” to have his land
lady rush up-stairs out of breath to see if there
was not a cat shut up in one of the rooms. He
exchanged this instrument for a guitar. It amused
him to sit in the window of his little spider-
webbed garret and try to catch the tunes that
played hide-and-seek with his memory, and
thrum th“m on his guitar. It was a nea* instru- ^v>nich she arranged her table with pieces of
with pride at their triumphs, and ah—alas ! that
it should be so—with what profound sorrow did
dear ones, hence, the reproof of her wounded
heart was the severest in its gentleness, and gave
additional assurance of her devoted love. Youth
and young manhood came, and yet does the
mother’s love grow stronger—yet does it follow
close after those about whom her affections had
clustered. The sweet incense of a thousand
prayers had gone from her heart to the God of
providence for her dear boy and girl, who she
will only know as such in the developed man
and woman of maturing years. And so, on and
on, to the end of life does this mother’s love fol
low us.
Next to a mother’s love do we remember the
fondness of a dear sister: she who was among
the first playmates of childhood, the trusting
confidant of our joys and sorrows; who grew
with us as the twin branch about the parent vine,
and fixed her heart to ours by the thousand ten
drils of a holy love. How many incidents come
rushing upon ns as we revolve the wonderful
kaleidoscope, memory, back and back, until
the sunshine of happy childhood brings before
us a hundred reflected beauties. In each of
them, about them all, is the brightness of a sis
ter’s spirit. Well do you remember the old play-
place, the house in a fence corner, with its cover
ing of pinetops, and its green carpet, dotted with
daisies, and how you toiled to help her build it,
and with what pride yon contemplated this first
labor of your hands. The matronly care with
It is, indeed. And I cannot ask you to put 011 ter influences and surroundings; the same
your figures so low in my own case.
“Oh ! as to you, Genaro, the question of board
shall stand over, until I see that you really in
tend to be a steady lodger. By that time, you
will have found employment. For the present
you shall be my guest and shall help me to en
tertain mademoiselle, your sister, who Icoks too
pale and distrait.”
“I understand you, my kind friend,” Harvey
answered, kissing her plump hand with genu
ine warmth.
“And now,” she said, turning to Esther, “la
soevr must go to her room and rest. Without
doubt, she was dragged from her room at an un
elastic rebound from the pressure of disappoint
ments and sorrow. These traits were an inher
itance from their mother, the daughter of a no
madic Italian concert-giver. The same, in a
modified form and fainter coloring, could be
traced in Yictorine Haywood. Col. Haywood's
relatives, always bitter on the subject of his
| meselliance, had noticed this, and called it the
gipsy flavor.
But Esther's nature was far deeper and more
complex than her brother’s. She had shown
herself capable of devotion and self-sacrifice.
She was susceptible of lasting impressions.
She thought her brother cared more for her
want to fear otherwise
day,’ you know; but yon can keep close for
some time if you think there is am- risk.”
“And is there no risk in my addressing yon
as ‘brother ?’ Had we not better pass as cousins,
or as friends ?”
“That would seem suspicious in itself, con
sidering how intimate our association is likely
. , , , ... TT - , - , 1 nasmn than for any one. If she could make him spend ; ; l P ■ i.,,-'-,,
Sufficient unto the | yet had her coffee. Have you had your coffee, most of hi ' leisure time with her, read his pa- " Jit !
i. r . Hipn ” i _ ■» :a- l l• a d —a i-— i:aai~ looking at old mends. It seems j
my dear? No ? You must feel wretchedly, then,
said sympathizing Madame, who, like all Creoles,
took her coffee in bed, the first thing after open
ing her eyes.
She rang at once, and directed the maid of
frizzled locks to bring two cups of the indis
pensable beverage. For the first time in her life,
to be. No; let me have the satisfaction of hearing Esther partook of real French cafe noir, strong
you call me by the old, true title; I am sick of and beautifully clear in its tiny egg-shell cups,
this confounded deception. Every mirror shows Then madame conducted her to her room, while
me up a living lie, with this dyed hair, whiskers Harvey flung himself on the sofa in the parlor,
and spectacles. I don’t want the jaundice of my and plunged hungrily into the pages of the
falsehood to be reflected on you. Be ns true as ; Times, which he had bought of a bareheaded
you can; call me brother, though I don’t deserve newsboy on the levee. The newsboy knew him,
the name, and though it bring some dog of the as his class know all the newspaper men of the
law scenting at my heels, over-zealous, as usual, cit y- He said to a ragged comrade, “There’s
where a petty offender is the game, but dull of | Bernard back .again,” at the same time winking,
sight and cold of scent where the criminal sits ! and imitating the motion ot taking a drink.
in high places or wears the badge of office. It's
the way of the world; let it pass, with all the
other queer social conundrums. Here we are on
terraJirma, and here’s a dozen cabmen ready to
bundle us into the vehicles, nolens volens.
We’ll take one, though we have not very far to go. ”
“Where are we going?” Esther asked for the
first time, as seated in a cab with a valise at her
feet, she was whirled away from the levee with
its motley crowd of long-shore men, loafers,
cold-meat and peanut vendors, thieves and news
boys.
“ I am going to take you to a place that will
suit your means better than your taste, I am
afraid; a cheap, but clean boarding-house on
Camp street; not a choice locality, but the lady
who presides over the establishment is the best
friend I have in the city—a French woman, who
has an affection for me half motherly and half
amative. She has a passable soprano, and used
to sing on emergencies in the theatre where I had
a short engagement in the orchestra, owing to
the sulking propensity of the second violin per
former. Once we sang the first parts of ‘ Lucre
tia Borgia ’ together in an affair gotten up for
charity. She always called me Genaro thereafter,
and I addressed her as Lucretia. She is a kind-
hearted woman. I hope she will take to you,
Esther. Here we are at her door.”
They had whirled through streets and around
comers, past rattling drays and carriages, and
past streams of people upon the side-walks.
Half bewildered, Esther followed Harvey up a
flight of stairs, at the head of which they en
countered a towseled maid, who showed them
into a parlor where a fire was making feeble at
tempts to burn under the discouraging stare of
a bald portrait on the wall, and a pair of nonde
script plaister statuettes that mounted guard
near the chimney place.
The maid shut them in, saying, “I’ll tell
madame,” and some minnteB elapsed before the
door opened and madame appeared, evidently
from some region more useful than ornamental,
for she wore a dirty wrapper confined at the
waist by a scarlet cord, and her hair hung in
rusty ropes down her back.
As Harvey, who had been coaxing the fire
with the poker, turned around, she cried out:
“ Why, Genaro! Est il possible ?" and came to
meet him, holding out both hands, the wrapper
Esther found the room small and meagrely
furnished; but everything was clean, and there
was a balcony overhanging the busy street with
its ever-changing aspects. The small room ad
joining Esther’s, madame promised to fit up for
Harvey as comfortably as possible.
pers and write out his notes and dots at her little
table, and play to her on his beloved violin, it
would be better than haunting coffee-houses and
billiard-rooms. She wished her room was more
attractive. It was bare of everything but the
plainest necessary furniture, and Harvey hated
plainness, and was so sensitive to a touch of
beauty or grace.
Were there no such touches that she could give
to this room, which was now her small world ?
She opened her large portfolio, and took out
some drawings that she had not been willing to
leave behind her—crayons and water-color
sketches, and one or two exquisite pencilings.
These were unframed; but as she looked at them,
a thought occurred to her. She had found in
the bottom of the valise, a quantity of pretty,
tinted ribbon. This could be pasted around
the pictures to resemble frames w r ith little bows
in the comers. With the ribbon that might be
left, she could loop the somewhat dilapidated
curtains so as to hide the rents and give the
drapery a graceful look.
She iiad just finished these little arrangements
Esther took breakfast in her room, and after- I with the pictures and windows, when madame,
ward she tried to rest, but she had not yet grown ; passing the door, stopped to look and admire,
accustomed to the rattle and roar of the city, and, j She held some white roses in her hand, with
finding that sleep was not to be wooed, she j their green leaves clustering around them.
opened the window and looked out at the bustle
and stir in the streets, until she caught the con
tagion of activity and longed to begin work.
She sat there and mapped out some plans for
the future, and felt within her the energy and
strength to carry them into effect.
Harvey had gone out, and after two or three
hours he returned and announced “good news.”
He had been just in time to slip into his old
place as general reporter and paragrapher for the
Times— one of whose reportorial staff had lately
given tip his post to go North and endeavor to
“push through” a book of his writing, which he
was persuaded would bring him fame.
“But,” said Harvey, “I owe my good luck in
getting his place to Berrien, the writing editor
of the concern. Old Armsby, the Grand Mogul,
wanted to veto my application because I don’t
belong to the temperance society and the Sun
day school; but Berrien said, in his dry way,
that brains were the serious want of the estab
lishment, and as long as I would keep mine un
muddled, there was no call to make a fuss about
my morality. It will be a busy season; trade and
politics will be brisk, and the city full of people.
So I will have lively work. I have already been
upon the levee and picked up a batch of items.”
Let me see them,” said Esther, laying her
fingers upon the note-book that protruded from
his side pocket.
“No use; they are in short hand—Egyptian
hieroglyphics to yon.
“Not altogether,” Esther answered, and she
read off the notes without difficulty, explaining
that she had studied phonography at Haywood of
her own accord, and had practiced it, “prompted,
no doubt, by a prophetic insight into the time
when I might sympathize with you or help you
in your work.”
At dinner, the two descended into the dining
room, to find the long table sparsely adorned by
“They are from a vine, planted under my
window by my daughter the spring she died—
paurre enfant,” madame said as she put them in
Esther’s hand. “I give them to you because I
know you love flowers, mademoiselle; I see it in
your eyes.”
She smiled, well-pleased to see Esther put
them to her cheeks and lips in a rapture of ad
miration. The flowers made her remember
something else that had caught her eye when
she searched for ribbon in that repository of all
her earthly goods—the valise. This was a little
vase that had been her mother’s, and had been
used for holding flowers before the image of the
blessed Virgin.
It was an exquisite little toy—a hand carved of
purest alabaster. She filled it with water, and
put her roses in it, and set it upon her little
table where Harvey sometimes wrote. “I will
keep a flower always in it for him to look at,”
Esther thought.
Looking around the room, there was one thing
she wished for—a sofa or lounge of some kind.
Harvey was so fond of throwing himself down at
his ease, and burying his elbows in a pile of
sofa cushions, while he talked in his graceful,
flighty fashion. Esther ventured to apply to
madame to know if she could not allow a sofa in
her room. Madame was sorry, but there was
not one about the house that could possibly be
spared.
“Nothing that would answer the purpose ?”
“ Nothing not in actual use, except, p< rhaps.
a dilapidated affair that has been banished to the
lumber closet for the past two years.”
Esther persuaded her to have it brought down,
and after an examination, she decided that with a
new covering for the seat and cushions, it would
be comfortable enough. A few yards of bright-
colored chintz would answer excellently well, and
madame chanced to have this among her odds
ment, and every time he put it away, wrapping
it carefully around with a bandanna silk hand
kerchief, he felt a regret that it should belong to
one who could never evoke the music slumber
ing in its strings. When Harvey’s sister cast
down her long lashes and said, with a half sigh.
“I wish I had even my old guitar,” he opened
his lips to ask her acceptance of his own, but the
question occurred to him, “Would it be proper
to do so ?” He had had but little experience of
ladies? society; he did not know what the re
quirements of etiquette might be; he would not
wound or offend this lovely, sad-eyed girl for
anything. A better plan occurred to him,—he
would make Harvey a present of the guitar, and
Harvey could give it to his sister.
“ I like the flowers better than the pictures,”
roses. “It is like
so long since I
smelled a flower.”
“ Why, there art: plenty of them all over the
city,” Copley said. “ October in New’ (irleans is
a perfect May for roses. There are some beauti
ful ones in Jackson Square. ”
“I have never seen Jackson Square,” returned
Esther.
“Never seen Jackson Square,” repeated the
little local, giving Harvey a look of W’ondering
reproach; “ yet you said—I mean your brother
said- ”
“That I had been a week in the city? But
then I have been busy nearly all the hours of
every day, and Harvey has been employed.”
“But the evenings,” began Copley, wonder
ing at his boldness, and thinking if he had a
sister with such eyes, how transporting it would j
be to walk with her every evening with her
hand resting on his arm, and to show her the
novel splendors of the city, that he might watch
the frank delight in her face.
“The evenings now are very fine,” he stam
mered, “and the shop windows all lighted up,
the saloons and theatres illuminated, the crowds
in the streets ”
“It is beautiful, no doubt; and to a country
novice like I am, it would seem enchantment.
Yes, I should like to see it.”
“You shall see it,” Harvey said. “See it
kina, or toy sets of crockery; how nicely she
spread her apron upon it, and distributed the
cake and biscuit from “mama’s” side-board;
how the neighbor's children would call, and
yon took your first lessons in the courtesies of
life by playing “lady and gentleman.”
And then came the merry romps of school
days; the long walks to the old log house by the
spring; the rambles by a babbling brook, where
shining pebbles were gathered; the dancing
flutter-mills, the grape-vine swings.
Time passed on: you grew’ oldei\ The boy be
comes the manly youth, and the sunny-faced
girl becomes the coy and blushing maiden. You
no longer walk together to the old log school-
house, but there are still longer walks to take and
closer converse to hold. Your hearts have grown
so close together that the joy of the one must be
shared with the other, that her every sorrow must
be known to you. You become the keeper of
many a sweet secret, and from you there goes
and comes, to and from some other loved one,
many sweet messages; more than one bouquet of
heartsease, among whose pretty petals is hidden
the language of a new-born love.
■ Still does time bear you on and on life’s way.
You have had your crosses; so has she. There
were times when some act or word of yours gave
her pain, and you saw the big tear-drops stand
in her sad brown eyes; but these were only the
first fast flying clouds, which throw a sliadow-
now and then across your pathway. They were
soon gone and the light was again all bright about
you; your arm was again about that sister's waist,
and the tear-drops all kissed away, and the wrong
all forgotten.
You are now a man and she a woman. Other
loves have grown in your hearts: you are no
longer her sole companion, nor is she the only
one w’lio hangs lovingly upon your arm. You
see her often with one who has taken your place
in the old-time promenade, and when you meet
them, there is a tell-tale blush on that rounded
cheek, an index of a new-born dream in life. At
first, you are ready to rebel; you secretly wish that
old Rover would bite him when he comes, and
when you hear the door bell ring, you walk off in
moody abstraction. But where are you going?
this very evening. Odd, I never thought ol j Where the love messages used to go; where the
asking you, or of supposing that you would
care to go. It is an hour before it is time for
us to begin our rounds, isn’t it Copley ? Get
your shawl and hat, Esther, and let’s have a
stroll. You’ve nothing special on hand, have
you Cop ?
“No; nothing very particular,” returned the
local, hesitatingly.
The truth was, he had some special reports to
make, but he could not resist the temptation of
the walk with his friend Harvey and his friend
Harvey’s sister.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
While the ladies of Oneida, New York, were
working at the election of a no-license Board of
Excise, one of them received the following note:
“My dear wife,—I have washed the baby, put
her to bed, and stirred the fire. What shall I do
next? Your loving husband, ” Such a man
is handy to have in any family, especially one
in which the female head has a taste for politics.
We are ruined by Chinese cheap labor. Bricks
made in China are sold in San Francisco for less
than they can be made for this side of the Pacific,
notwithstanding the ad valorem duty of twenty
per cent, on them.
It is said, in an article by John C. Galton, on
the Song of Fishes, that fifty-two, out of more
than three thousand species of fishes, are known
to produce sound, and that many of them emit
musical sounds.
Wilkesbakre, Pennsylvania, has hard luck. It
has been ascertained that in eight million years
from now the entire town will have sunk below
the present surface of the earth.
heartsease once mutely told your love, there now
are you passing hours of bliss, whispering the
same eloquence that captured a sister’s heart
into the ear of another who holds you a willing
prisoner, bound with the strong silken cord of
a love yon would not, you cannot break.
You have now reached a place in life’s journey
where your pathways separate. Sister has left
the old homestead, and in her place has come
another upon whom you lavish the wealth of
your manhood’s love. Yon call her pet names,
but none of these express the emotions that well
! up from your heart, none of them sweeter or
more significant than wife.
Months and years pass away. Your pathways
have grown wider and wider apart until hun
dreds of miles intervene between sister and
brother. The many cares of life have so bur
dened your heart and mind that days and weeks,
and sometimes months pass away, and yon have
not one sweet word for her who was once so dear
to you. Yet there is over this distance and across
all this time a play of affinities between your
spirits. The old love of childhood and youth
has not, cannot die out in your heart. When
ever you get away from the world, with its rush
of materialism, its matter-of-fact detail, and your
spirit is resting in some sequestered place, old
Time generously turns backward in his flight,
and you are with the dear one again. The influ
ence of her love comes to you over seas, across
mountains and rivers, and steals about the heart
as the sweet incense of an angel’s breath. The
cold grave, with its winding sheet and marble
slab, dare not stop it, but it comes as
*■ A voice from the spirit land.”
It is deathless, immortal; for it was born in
pure Empyrean where dwells the god of love.