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[For The Sunny South.] SAINT OGG.* BY GEN. A. C. G. To the river Floes, one night, a woman came; Uer gown hung in tatters on her wither'd frame; In her weary arms a little child was borne; She look'd on the riTer and gave a deep moan. The winds were raging high, Low’ring clouds hid the sky; The waters rav’d wildly, Leaping down to the sea. Quoth she: "Stranger, I pray thee ferry me o’er, And my blessing rest upon thee evermore; To yonder dim bank this night I must cross, Or my body shall go floating down the Floss.” "Xo," quoth he; “here abide Till the wild winds Bubside; No hand can safely guide A boat to th’ other side." Then np the bank striding a comely youth came— A boatman of true daring,—Ogg was his name, Son of Iieori, a chieftain bold of the times Whose deeds have been told in legendary rhymes. Quoth he: “I will take thee o'er, Or this arm nevermore Shall pull the plashing oar; Stranger, I’ll take thee o'er.” She sprang into the boat and sat on the prow, In shrill voice crying aloud: " Eow, boatman, row!” O’er the storm-crested waters, with steady hand, Ogg guided his light boat safe to the land. The woman leap’d ashore, But clad in rags no more; A robe of light she wore, That flash’d the waters o'er. With beaming face and angelic voice she Baid: “Heaven’s blessings forever rest on thy head! Hereafter thy boat a charmed life shall have. And from the angry floods man and beast shall save I bid thee now farewell. My name I will not tell; But wherever I dwell, I’ll remember thee well." She vanish’d, and darkness fell upon the place Whence beam’d forth the light from her radiant face. The gloom grew thicker, louder the tempest’s roar, But Ogg row’d safely to the opposite shore. Long years under his guide His charmed boat did ride, When others by its side In the rough waters died. At last Beorl’s brave son lay on hiB death-bed; And when the sad word reach’d his boat, it is Baid, By an unseen hand from its moorings set free, On the surging waves it ran down to the sea. All becalm’d there it lies Till storms again rise And overcast the skiea— Then up the Floss it flies. And when the flood rages fiercest, at midnight, From its prow, o'er the waters shines forth a light, Which reflects at the helm the Blest Virgin’s form, And a face uublanch'd by lightning and storm. When the danger is o’er, The boat is seen no more Until the tempest’s roar Breaks again on the shore. * The legend of St. Ogg is related in “ The Mill on the Floss.” The writer has not seen it elsewhere. [Written for The Sunny South.] FIGHTING AGAINST FATE; OR, Alone in the World. At that moment, Dusky sprang into the room | pilot in the dim light, and is taken prisoner. Carl Muller and Irma Reingold were orphans, with glowing eyes and cheeks. She effects her escape after several days’ confine- Irma’s mother had died, and bequeathed her “ He has come,—my papa has come !” she ment, and stealing up to the palace in the twi- ! only child to the care of her friend and neigh- cried. “He rode np to the gate while I was : light, she hears her recreant lover uttering pas- bor, Dame Margery, and right faithfully had the walking in the campus, and I took him into the ! sionate vows to Countess Nina, and in a frenzy 1 solemn charge been kept. They were very parlor and told him all about yon, and he is j of rage and jealousy, resolves to be revenged, j poor, this queer old woman and the Kinderling waiting to see you and thank you right now. . She gives no sign, however, but seeks another Irma, the latter earning a life-keeping mite in Mill you not go in and see him, my darling god interview with the spy, and receives a dispatch the service of a hard task-master, Herr Hansei, mother?” (for so she most frequently called her i from him, which she carries to General Mina, of who employed her to paint devices on tiny mar- friend.) 1 the Queen's army, and thus betrays the spy into ble and porcelain slabs, for the lids of bon-bon “I will see him to-night, dear, at the concert,” . the hands of his foes. He is arrested and con- boxes, for which morceaux of art the rich and Esther said, glad to postpone hearing the , demned to die, but Zara, moved by love and re- great world pay large sums. The paintings “thanks.” “So you are in a tumult of joy, morse, rescues him by a strategem that jeopar-; were executed in the finest style, dainty sprays Dusky ?” ; dizes her own life and leaves her in his stead in : of Modena roses, clusters of purple-hearted pan- “ Yes, and of triumph—Iotriomphe,” she cried, ’ the hands of the enraged enemy. ] sies, and tufts of gray-brown moss, over which holding out her apron, in which sparkled a i Such, in brief outline, was the plot of the j latter work the little tired head was bent till the number of gold pieces, beside a roll of bills, operetta on which Esther had expended so much strained organs of sight and sense would well- “My father has money in plenty, and he has ! ingenuity and talent. The first scene passed off nigh faint with weariness and despair. But the given me this to pay what I owe these people. j successfully, the effect of the songs and choruses mosses were wonderful things under her careful He would have sent me money, but he has been j being enhanced by the presence of so many everywhere out of the world, and he was afraid ‘bright faces, festive dresses and flowers; and it would not reach me. How glad I am to pay j Florence Wynn as Nina, winning much applause every cent to those that have grudged me the j for her graceful acting and admirable voice, bread I ate and the scanty teaching they flung ■ Dusky’s role in this was a solo song in Spanish, at me as they would throw a bone to a dog, more j which she turned into a surprise by dancing to get rid of him than anything else ! But the . forward and whirling over her head a pair of greatest debt I owe is to you, and that debt money castanets, to whose accompaniment she sang and can never, never pay, though money you shall j danced as she had learned to do in Mexico, have, my fairy god-mother. ” __ | greatly to the consternation of the faculty and fingers, and the purple-hearted pansies glowed like the living shadows that fell across the Rhine with their petals of yellow gold. Carl Muller had been employed by the same Herr Hansei, and thus had the current of their two yonng lives been united by the hand of fate, that had made their mutual lot so hard and un lovely. Herr Hansei had received an order from a Paris tradesman for a number of boxes with French mottoes and fleur de lys to be She dived into her apron and took out a hand ; staid body of trustees, to whom dancing in a ! painted in the most delicate and intricate de full of the gold pieces and tried to throw them religious college was an unheard-of thing. The signs, and the master did not hesitate to entrust into her friend’s lap; but Esther stopped her, ; audience, however, applauded the innovation as j the order to Carl and Irma, pre-satisfied of saying laughingly: j something that showed a gleam of originality. | the result, and the many thalers it will yield his “ Fairy god-mothers give gold instead of tak- | But it was not until Esther appeared that the 1 avaricious grasp. Shining leaves, with simula- ing it, Dusky, and even ordinary mortals do not j spell of genius was felt. From her first thrill- j ted dew upon them, the gray-brown stems, the accept of the precious metal without first making ! ing whisper when, gliding from behind the vines \ snow-white, and parti-colored, lily-bells, were out their bills in due form. Your father has 1 of the peasant’s cottage, she laid her hand on i there to be designed and copied on the cream- commissioned a most unbusiness-like personage j the arm of the spy, exclaiming, “I am here, | colored slabs of rama stone and marble, and to transact his money matters.” j Geronimo,” to the final scene, a hush of intense i Irma’s first day was full of brooding care. But “I will be sharp enough with the others. I interest pervaded the assembly. They felt that j the two tablets were done, and she was very shall take care that they receive no more than here was no studied, self-conscious amateur ren- j proud of her success, but, when the day was dition, but an impersonation made vivid by | almost spent, had fallen asleep over the green genius; that this was a voice not only grand by j baize table, with the golden head above the nature and carefully trained, but informed with ; white arms, and had dreamed of the pure, white expression by the imagination and feeling of the j lilies of dear old Stockholm, on the little lake singer. Her voice took by surprise even those j where she had gathered them when a very little who were familiar with it. To-night, it seemed J child on warm, bright days. They were not their bills call for. But you, carissima,” she said, kneeling smilingly yet in earnest, and of fering the money again, “you, to whom I owe so much—surely you ” “Will accept nothing but your love,” Esther interrupted, looking at her affectionately but firmly. “So get up before you crumple your j to sound depths of pathos and passion it had \ fleur de lys, but water lilies, that breathed their flounces, and put away your money until to- ! never touched before. i incense over the shining waters near her baby- morrow, when Dr. Stum will be at leisure to see j In the last scene, where, having saved her false j home, and she remembered how pure and sweet you.” lover by stratagem, and furnished him with her | they were as she laid them in the hands of her But the child was too eager to free herself from ! disguise, she takes his place in prison, bids him j lady-mother when the stars came out to scan the the galling burden of dependence. She went j farewell, and prepares for her own fate by mirror of the cool, fresh waves. There were back to her father, who gave her permission to j prayer, Esther’s voice and acting rose to sub- ! singing birds, too, that blended in her dream BY MARY E. BRYAN, CHAPTER XYI. The fillibustering expedition had ended in terrible disaster. The adventurers had been de feated, captured and shot with their gallant leader. A remnant only had escaped, and these were hunted through the land with blood-hound pertinacity. Such was the dreadful news fhat reached Esther through the public prints and prostrated her already overtasked nervous sys tem. Before she recovered from the illness pro duced by the shock, there came a letter from Copley. “Do not despair,” he wrote. “I do not believe that Harvey is shot or captured. I cannot find his name in any list of the killed. I will leave no means untried to discover every thing.” Two weeks afterward, he wrote: “I have in formation I believe I can rely upon that Harvey was alive and but slightly wounded after the capturing squadron left. He was concealed and well cared for by a secret friend of the revolu tionists. I have dispatched letters to him by a safe hand. If I fail to hear certainly of him soon, I will take other means of finding out his whereabouts and his condition. Be of good cheer.” Meeks elapsed, and she heard nothing more of Harvey. It was well for her that her daily la bors were engrossing. She had not leisure to brood over her fears. The college commence ment time was approaching, and students and teachers were as usual collecting their energies for an imposing exhibition. The music depart ment was a showy one; it must contribute largely to the display. Esther worked zealously to pre pare her pupils so that the “show” they might make should have a solid meaning. Her orig inality could not follow beaten tracks, and she composed and arranged an operetta that first startled and then delighted the professors who listened to its rehearsal. It was ingeniously constructed so as to bring on the stage all the available voices of her corps in a few showy pre liminary scenes, while as the plot developed,, there were introduced parts into which she threw the genius and passion of her nature—the plot, the words and greater part of the music being of her own composing. Among her pu pils, there was one who possessed a strong and sweet soprano voice; one of the professors had a well-trained tenor, and a gentleman of the town volunteered-an excellent basso, but the role re- 1 quiring a powerful contralto had to be taken by Esther herself. The performance was set down for the last j night of the commencement exercises. The af ternoon business was over, the tedium of com position reading having been relieved by well- chosen music and by the sweet faces and fresh j dresses of the youthful graduates, who glided forward to receive their honors, so sylph-like and radiant in white robes and flower-adorned ! tresses that it was easy to forget how much hum bug there was in the whole business, and how little was really meant by the diplomas, bestowed with so much dignified empressevient and received ! with such blushing grace. It was not yet sunset, and Esther was in her : room, resting from the day’s fatiguing exertions for a few minutes before dressing for the evening performance. Several of her pupils were in the room. One, a tall, graceful girl, had begged to arrange Esther's hair, and was holding out and | admiring its wavy masses as she stood behind the teacher's chair. She was the soprano of Es ther's little opera, and being an heiress and a beauty, was the school-room queen. “ Miss Bernard, you must wear my ruby spray in this beautiful hair to-night,” she said. “Mill you let me send it to you ?” “I think not, Florence. It will be too rich looking for my dress.” “Did you not get the rich black moire yon ! spoke of?” “No; only some black lace and a velvet bod ice. I form'd I could not aflord the other.” “I know the reason,” cried another of the girls. “It was because Miss Bernard bought such a beautiful dress for Dusky,—Swiss as fine as any girl's in the school, and all over a mass of frills—and then coral beads and bracelets ! I declare I didn’t know 4 Ugly Duck ’ when she j came down. And she recited well, and played ! better than Lula Somers, who has been taking lessons twice as long.” “ Still, I should have kept my money to make myself presentable, had I been Miss Bernard,” : Florence said coldly. “I am afraid ” Afraid I will shame you to-night,” said the 1 J young teacher, smiling. do as she pleased, and added if the money was not enough, she must return for more. Then she flew to the recitation-hall, where the presi dent, surrounded by girls, was superintending the putting up of more lights and the making of some changes and additions in the arrangements of the stage. Malking up to him, she made a stately courtesy. “Mell,” he said, looking at her, “what do you want ? Do you wish me to admire you in your fine feathers?—rather too fine for a charity scholar,” in a muttered addendum. “Dr. Sturm, how much do I owe you for board and tuition ?” “Mhatisthe use of naming the sum? You ] will never owe me less.” “Name the amount, if yon please,” she in- ' sisted. “Three hundred and ten dollars,” he answer ed, wondering at her manner. “I made out the I account last week and put down the amount on | the side of loss.” i She opened her apron and counted out the I money in bills and gold. “Now give me a receipt to take to my father,” she said to the astonished president. “Your father? Ah! has your father come? Mhy did you not tell me, my dear Sadossa? Did you show him into the reception-room ? I will go back with you and See him. I hope he has no notion of taking yon away from us.” He put on his hat and offered to take her hand, but pretending not to see the movement, she walked rapidly ahead and ran up to Esther’s room, calling back, when half way up-stairs: “Tell papa, if you please, my dear professor, what a fatherly love you cherish for me, and how it would wring our mutual hearts to part from each other.” The mocking gleam fled from her face when she entered Esther’s room, and Esther, already dressed, turned around and smiled upon her. “Esther, my queen, how grand and sweet yon look!’’ she said, going up and kneeling down be fore her, embracing her knees and looking into her face with fond adoration. “Esther, my queen,” she repeated. “Mith but one little subject in the world,” returned Esther. “ Well, I must show my au thority over that one; so I command her to rise and doff that nnfestive garment, otherwise apron, and re-adorn herself with sash and wreath.” j She rose slowly, still looking at the beautiful picture that Esther made dressed in black with her nobly-moulded arms and shoulders bare and gleaming marble-white in contrast to the jet black of the velvet bodice. A high Spanish comb fastened np the heavy loops of lustrous hair, behind which fell the Castilian vail of black, rich lace. A garnet rosary and cross on her neck, a pomegranite bloom like a jet of flame on her bosom were all the ornaments she wore. She was too pale to personate her character of an impassioned Spanish girl, for old memories had been at work as she handled the rosary her mother had worn, and looped up the tresses Yic- torine had loved to braid and Harvey had never tired of admiring. But her color rose and glowed vividly an hour afterward, when she stood in the impromptu “green-room ” behind the curtain, the soul of the night’s performance, limity. The farewell was sung with such terri- ! with the perfume of the lily-bells, the Rocrow’s ble agony of love that the entire audience leaned I mournful call, and the chirups of the Starling forward and hung upon her tones with breath- j to its mate, that mingled sweetly with the dis- less interest. j tant chimes of the convent bells. She heard her It was at this moment of triumph that a snd- j mother’s voice, “Irma, little one, awake,” and den, a terrible revulsion befell her. From that ! opened her eyes to see Carl’s face bent over her, vast wreath of eager, admiring faces, there shot j and hear his voice in her ear, and before he had forth the gleam of a serpent-like eye. It trans- j time to see the tears in her eyes, they were in fixed Esther by its intensity of malignant tri umph; it impaled her upon the cross of a bitter memory. In an instant, the scene of exposure the streets, filled with laughing, happy children, God’s children of poverty, as well as the rich and petted bantlings of luxury and wealth. and shame at Haywood Lodge swam before her j The scene was no new one to Carl and Irma, and vision. Here were the eyes that had fastened 1 they hurried through the noisy throng to their upon her then with such vulture-like cruelty ! j poor, little home, where Dame Margery was Here, they were, gleaming out from beneath the j waiting with a cheery welcome and simple re sable bird’s wing upon a bonnet that shaded a j past for their coming. Carl’s home was with beak-like visage he knew too well. Her enemy | them, and were it not for the additional income had found her out. ! of his weekly mite, they could scarcely have For one second she faltered, struck like a i contrived to live at all. soaring eagle by a venomed shaft, then she con- J The moon shone overhead, and the perfume quered her weakness and sang on—sang to the from the little jar of mignonette on the window- end, till, with quivering arms extended, and np- j sill, floated to them during the few moments raised, the last prayer came trembling and thrill- | that the three held their accustomed converse ing from her lips. In the moment that succeeded, she heard not the hush of awed emotion break into a tempest of applause; she saw not the rain of flowers around her, or the flash of admiring looks; she only saw that malignant face: she only heard the venomed hiss of the serpent that woke her from her brief dream of security and respect. The curtain fell amid redoubled applause, and Esther, staggering into the recess of a window, drew the folds of drapery around her and stood there so marble-white and cold that Dusky, who flow to find her, drew back in alarm. “Papa,” she cried to a tall gentleman she had brought with her, “she is fainting; what shall we do?” He threw open the window behind her, and snatching a fan from one of the girls who had approached, fanned her vigorously until, catch ing her breath with a profound sigh, she raised herself from her leaning posture, saying “ I am better. I will go to my room.” “Not yet, please, Miss Bernard,” interposed together, and then the golden head began to droop, and Carl went away to his pallet in the wee attic, while Dame Margery plied, for hours, her needle, by the brenzee taper, and gentle dreams again hovered above the sleeping mad- chen, with their moving visions of the sunlit slopes of her other life, tliat had gone away too far for her little hands to reach. But the love of God was above her whole life, and there was something inexpressibly sweet in the guardian ship of the warden angel that watched over her always, even as a mother love. The dingy little room where Carl and Irma painted all the day, overlooked a fashionable street, and on the other side, opposite, was a great toy and fancy shop, where children gathered in knots to gaze within at the many wonderful things displayed there; and here the hnrdy-gnrdy minstrels gathered with their monkeys on pleasant days, but Carl and Irma had no time for the melodies of the harp and hnrdy-gnrdy, but must bend their weary heads above the tablets of porcelain and marble, with the bright clusters of flowers and lady mother, who had been rich and beautiful in her youth, and the little maiden fell to won dering what life could be, of that other kind than hers, and the day was spent in dreaming of things that she might never know, while the white fingers ssill wrought the marvelous flow ers and moss on the little tablets. The placid waters of the Rhine gleamed once again in the purple and gold of the fading sun light, when Dame Margery waited for them at the little gate, and wondered greatly at their story of Madame Yessineau’s invitation to tea, and was very glad when she saw the eager look in Irma’s violet eyes. The time was a trifle more tedious than usual to Irma, but at last the hours were gone, and the tidy Katrine, maid of all work, ushered the two guests into the presence of their hostess, Mad ame Tessin eau, who greeted them very warmly and hade them be seated by her chair near the fire. The room was of the square, old-fashioned kind, narrow-cased windows of the oriel shape, and the broad, open, Dutch-tiled chimney-board and fireplace, where a bright blaze threw forth a cheerful welcome. The evening was cool, for summer was in its wane. The blind organist had a double object in this show of hospitality to the little tablet-painters, and he soon pro duced a letter from a tradesman in Paris, to whom he had written about Carl and Irma, and the offer had come to them, through him, of one thousand francs a year, conjointly, for tablet painting, and a sufficient sum would be advanced for their passage to that city. It was a fortune incomparably great to the poor starvelings that could barely eke out a living of brown bread and a daily morsel of cheese. Irma’s dreams, she thought, of that other life were about to be realized. She repeated to herself, over and over again, “one thousand france!” Her portion five hundred francs! “Dame Margery shall have a new cloak for the winter, and we shall have white bread every day, and a glass of wine on Sabbath days.” She was fast forgetting her kind benefactor, in her joy of dreaming, until his voice aroused her: “Irma, little golden hair, when yon are once in the mighty city, with its life so different from this, will yon ever think of me, and will you sayan “Ave Maria” for me in the grand cathedral of Notre Dame ? Mill you ever think of the old time, when I came every day to the little window to feel the progress of your pic tures, as they came from under your little hands ? And when you gather fleur de lys, breathe a prayer for me, little madchen, and the fragrance of their bells will carry it to the stars and the home beyond, that I shall sometime see, when these shadows are lifted from my eyes forever. God bless and keep you, my children.” There were tears in the old man’s voice as his solemn benediction rested upon them, while Irma kissed his hands, with swimming eyes cast down. Madame Y'essinean was very glad that this good fortune had come to them, and the poor children bade them, the only friends they had ever known, “ good-night,” with hearts too full for words. “Dame Margery, we have great news for you, for us all. Me are to go to Paris, and have riches and beautiful things, and sometimes ride in the Champ Elysees !” The violet eyes were wide open, and the face all flushed with a joy too deep for even these enthusiastic words to tell. Dame Margery laid her hand on the child’s heated temple, and the old woman’s face showed a fear that had found a place in her heart; that the child of her love and adoption was crazed and wild; that she talked so incoherently of things they had never known, except in dreams or the books of fairy legends and enchanted lives. Carl smiled at Irma’s vehemence, while he detailed the even ing's conversation to their aged friend. The hours were waning into the smaller ones of morn ing ere sleep visited the eyelids of Dame Mar gery and Carl Muller, while long the angel of of Irma's life had guarded her restless slumber. Herr Hansei was surprised and enraged when “ the swallows ” unfolded to him the rich offer of the Paris tradesman. He offered them a great advance in the old price if they would remain with him, but he saw that nothing would tempt them from the future that had been provided for them by their kind friend, the blind organist. A month more, and they were in Paris, with its ceaseless chime of bells, its minarets and mighty hum of surging life. The tiny room that Carl and Irma called their “studio” was cheerfully lighted by a little sky-light of prettily stained Florence Wynn. “Let me bring you a glass of moss that they had wrought thereon. That part ; glass, and they were very happy in their new water, and try to steady your nerves for another j of the city they called home, was known as Die j home. Dame Margery s face was a constant re little ordeal—nothing bad, though.” j Scicalben, because it was so quiet, and the fields j flection of Irma’s contentment, and the busy “She means the presentation of the picture,” j stretched away so fragrant and green that “ the I sound of the wooden sandals’ echoed cheerily whispered Dusky, who had before given Esther swallows” were not affrighted, and so built there, | the whole day long, while the heart of Paris intimation that, at the close of the performance, j unmolested, their tiny homes, and reared their j throbbed ever on, regardless alike of the weal or her music class would present her with a copy 1 young. Herr Hansei called his little task-people woe of the three wanderers from^ Baden, on the of a celebrated picture of Sappho, which Esther j “the swallows,” as also did the blind organist, T ” ^ ’ 1 TT ’ ^ J was said to resemble. j whose house ran back till the windows could As Florence was hurrying away to get the overlook the little room where “ the swallows ” water, a boy put a' little slip of paper in her hand. “Mhat does this mean?” she said. “Mama sends for me to come to her out among the audi ence. She says my aunt, Miss Bird, knows you, Miss Bernard. I suppose she wants me to bring her back here to speak to you. She only arrived here this evening.” Florence did not return. Esther heard it whispered among the giris that there would be no presentation. “Mhat can it mean?” exclaimed Dusky, as the audience began rapidly to leave the hall. “It means,” answered Esther, grasping her hand tightly and laughing bitterly, “that I have been weighed in the balance and found unwor thy of Sappho. It means that the sleuth-hound daily sat, and Irma had once described to him the various designs on the little tablets, and he had remembered them all, and could place his fingers on them lightly, and tell her, with re markable accuracy, the roses and lilies apart. He seemed to take strange interest and pleasure in the fleur de lys, and would question her each day about the progress of her painting. He would ask her to reach a tablet to him that he might feel the flowers, and he was always a little brighter after this, for the sad old man was born in bonny France, but had removed to Baden on the Rhine in his youth, and had been an organ ist in the churches until stricken with mortal blindness, and then the churches to which he had been so faithful had given him a liberal sti pend, sufficient support for himself and wife, Rhine. The Duke de Yoicee had offered a large reward to any one who would paint, on a pair of caillot rosat glass vases, to be presented to his bride elect; the emblem of his coat of arms, sur rounded by the “lilies of France.” Carl saw the printed bill, and conceived the plan of essay ing the work. Now, Irma could paint the flow ers more delicately than he was able to do, and the caillot glass was easy material, on which to work the peculiar and rare design. For one whole week he thought of nothing else, until he had decided to invest a large part of his earn ings in a pair of caillot rosat vases. Now, four hundred francs was a great deal for a poor painter to possess, but he had three hundred of it care fully laid by, and the rest would soon be due, a portion of which he had meant to invest in a little turquoise ring for Irma. But he could do without that now, and so the vases were pur chased, and Irma worked very carefully on the delicately tinted ware, and at last the great work was done, the vases packed in a little wicker basket, when they were ready to begin their encouraging, reminding, drilling her excited pu pils, and entering into the hour’s entertainment with the zest, the unconscious abandon of her of slander has tracked me here, and that I must j who was a cripple, and never left her chair with- impressible and elastic nature. j go away, Dusky.” j out the aid of Katrina, the waiting woman, and The performance went on with great success, j She spoke wildly, with glittering eyes. Dusky ! a heavy staff. Irma had never se^n the blind _ . The scene of the little opera was laid in Spain j looked anxiously from her friend’s face to that man except at the little window that was so close ; journey to the presence of the Duke, and the during the seven years’ war. Under arches of j of her father. The swarthy, black-bearded man ; to her green baize table that she conld reach ; day was radiant with the happy sunshine of flowers and vines, a company of peasant girls i had eyes that could look gentle as a woman’s, j forth her hand in greeting. He toM her while i hazy Indian summer. The anxious children of meet to celebrate the birth-day of Countess Nina, i They were soft with pitv at this moment, as she worked, a great deal about his crippled wife, Bohemia stood before the palace gate and waited bending down to Esther, he said: ; and about his own affliction, and Irma felt much • for a summons from the liveried page to the an. “Mill you lean on me and let me take yon to i pity for the blind musician, who conld not see i dience with the Duke, your room? The night’s work and excitement ! the blue of the summer heavens, the shine of j “And yon painted these beautiful things— the myriad stars, or the waving cloud of the ' you, a daughter of the beautiful, have such a Norseland pines, that were so many in the city ! talent? Mhy, child, it will make you wealth ■ arden, and she inwardly compared her life to beyond yonr wildest dreams. I have had eight the beautiful daughter of the old nobleman, whose tenantry they are. Countess Nina, lean ing on the arm of her father, a grandly uni formed, white-bearded old soldier, comes for ward and distributes prizes of garlands and gay ribbons and pretty compliments to the singers. Mhile thus engaged, a young caballero comes upon the scene, pale, and carrving his right arm i ^ ,, in a sling. He is the bearer of a letter pur- Cell’! ftllU [THIll, 01’ 1116 SWtlllOWS. porting to come from the old Count’s son, 1 have been too much for you.” (TO BE CONTINUED.) [For The Sunny South.] who is a Colonel in the army of Queen Chris tina. The letter reports a skirmish, in which the writer’s life was saved by the young cav alier who is the bearer of the letter and who was wounded and disabled in defending his offi cer. He is accordingly warmly recommended to the father and sister of the Colonel. Scene second shows the caballero domiciled in the Count’s palace, freely admitted to his con fidence, and entrusted with secret knowledge of the movements and intentions of the Queen’s army. It shows, also, the beautiful Nina fasci nated by the courage and gallantry of her broth er’s preserver. Scene third reveals the true nature ot the cab allero. He is a Carlist spy, sent to ingratiate himself with the Count, who is a warm friend of the Queen and privy to her councils, and to elicit information concerning the movements of the Christinas. The secret comes out in an in- BX HABY PATTON HUDSON. Thev were fellow-workers. his, and a new contentment gave a brighter col- i specimens, prrsented at the palace for my in- oring to her cheerless lot. Carl Muller had i spection, but I have never imagined anything to known Monsieur Yessineau a long time, and : be like this. Here is my cheque for security,” through him had obtained the situation of tab- the Duke said, “and leave the vases at the palace, let painter for Herr Hansei, and he, in turn, had j you shall hear from me again.” recommended the talent of little Irma to the j The angel of Irma’s life had given her dreams Carl felt that and i master, who had never ceased to congratulate ! of other life than brown bread and toilsome days, was proud of it, too. He thought of all life had himself on his good fortune in thus securing but this was something richer than the sapphire brought them, and all it was°likelv to bring, her valuable sernce m the art. glory of the sunset bosom of the dear old Rhine, and the clear-cnt face was raised for an instant to Monsieur Yessineau inquired very minutely ; j 1 ?. ne ? t <l ? ornin ? 1 ’ ^ re .T the serene splendor of the setting sun, and a pa- of the two Bohemian workers the wages they i sented himself at the lodging ot e swa ows thetic look stole into the brown eves, and lin- were receiving from Herr Hansei, and had ut- i anc J placed in their hands double the reward he gered there till lighted into an amber haze by tered an ejaculation of surprise and contempt | had promised the successful artmt of he cailo the golden glory reflected from the western sky. at the miserable sum he paid for the work that : painting. Gold, showers ol gold, to tnem, and The boy was very wearv, and the thin hands \ was invaluable to him, and secured to himself j tears were in Irma s eyes, while tne -Unite smiled, were idly poised on the low casing of the nar- an income that a Duke would not despise. He j as he held a handful of sovereigns beside the row oriel window, from whence he looked to the muttered something about “ it would not always \ yellow curls and said: lou nave gold. Here, placid waters of the Rhine, that were just now be so,” but “the swallows” did not understand httle one, that poverty cannot take away. _ lighted by the effulgence of the suntide. , his French, and so toiled on, never hoping, never ; l ater yhen Marne - argery s ovmg “Irma,” he said, and softly touched the gol- trusting that anv other life would come to them i hands were folded over tne loving ea , and den head of the sleeping girl beside him, “ wake ! than the one they daily led in the little dark j J rma wa . s Carl s bonnv bnae, an ere from your slumbers and see the magical glow of room that overlooked the sunnv Rhine, the j back again to the banks of the beautilui Rhine, sunset Our task is done, and see how much grand tov shop and the noisy street j anc *- I rl ? a s bender hands trarne e swaying prettier are yonr fleur de lys than mine. The “ Carl! Irma !” ! vmes . of th ? blossoming loechiee above the Wind terview of the Basque girl, Zara, whose love he lily bells hang so gently from their bended stems, 1 “ The swallows ” heard the voice of their blind organist, whose care for them had wrought this has won. and whom he has enlisted^in his ser- j while mine look a wee hit ungainly beside them.” 1 friend calling to them from the little window, ; benizon of goodly things, vice to carry dispatches to General Elio. Mhile i He carefully collected the girl’s scattered pal- and he delivered a message from Madame Yes- *"* they are conversing, a detatchment of Chirstinos lettes and brushes, and placed them in the little sineau for them to come to tea with her the fol- Mhen you see an old man amiable, mild, equa ls reported as coming up in search of a spy, of wooden box he had made for them with loving lowing evening. The musician's voice had a ble, content and good-humored, be sure that in whom they have had vague intimation. The ! hands. His own were already out of sight, and pleasant ring when he gave this invitation to his youth he has been just, generous and for- Carlist conceals himself in a cottage, and Zara, then he covered the sunny head with the little them. They had never before been asked to any bearing. In his end, he does not lament the past disguised by his cap and long cloak thrown over hood, and together they walked homeward in house in Baden, and it seemed a very pleasant nor dread the future. He is like the evening her short dress, deceives the soldiers and their the deepening shadows of the twilight. j thing for them; and Irma thought at once of her a fine day. INSTINCT PRINT