The sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1875-1907, October 23, 1875, Image 6

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[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.