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[For The Sunny South.]
THE REGULAR BORE.
Bv tl
a Hi is
BY JOSEPH LEE.
He thinks he’s decidedly witty;
He is fond of satirical cuts.
And of humorous books-more’s the pity!
Of "Simons," and “ Susans,” and “ Suts!"
He is brusque in his jocose addressee,
And he lorts his own humor, galore!
In fact, his whole manner impresses
In the style of a regular bore.
His quips are remarkably cranky,
His puns microscopic in point;
His bows make you fear there is danger
Of their putting his spine out of joint.
He's an excellent practical joker,
(Though the joke may have happened before!)
At your cost he’s a capital smoker,
And in this he's a regular bore.
He’s the hero of all his narrations,
And he stretches his blanket a bit;
He swears he don't bank on relations;
He’s indebted to no man a whit;
But he loves his dear cousins a little,
Not exactly because they ain’t poor,
Or because they don’t relish his wit ill,
But because he’s a regular bore.
He is skeptical down to a focus,
And avers that the church is a fraud;
He denounces all honesty bogus,
Saying life is as long as it s broad.
He shrugs his shoulders at virtue,
And at girls that are pretty but poor;
And scandal and gossiping nurture
This creature—the regular bore!
[Written for The Sunny South.]
Ethel, the Wanderer;
• Oil, ■
THE DOUBLE HERITAGE.
BY RAMY DRAKENN.
[NYMVERELLE.]
CHAPTER XV.
A grand fancy ball in prospect liad been, for
some time, tbe engrossing subject of conversation
among the pleasure seekers at the Springs. Pre
parations had been going briskly forward ; pretty
heads were constantly together holding grave con
sultations on the subject of characters to be rep
resented, that should be at once becoming and
novel; and nimble fingers worked energetically
at fashioning costumes.
At last, the important night arrived. The par
lors of the hotel presented a brilliant appearance.
The light streamed over a varied assemblage
composed of turbaned mussclmen and hooded
monks, crowned queens and veiled nuns, painted
Indians and white muslined flower-girls, fortune
tellers and vivandiers, lords, ladies, armed knights
and peasants, all mingled together in happy, un-
AAomAnn'.itanicm • wllilC “XifflltS.” Jlflll
prejudiced cosniopoiitjiiiism ; while “lights, and
*• Mornings,” “Stars” and “Suns,” who belong to
all nationsand all countries, condescended to grace
with their presence this mundane array. Be
neath moonlight and the colored lamps of the
grounds, the same gay figures flitted hither and
thither ; while glad music added to the enchant
ment. Many of the revelers were masked, and
the excitement of trying to “find out” each other,
while preserving their own incognito, lent addi
tional amusement to the pleasures of the night.
* “Ah, I have found you at last,” murmurmed
the Black Prince, bending his plumed helmet
over the figure of a LallaRookh, dressed exquisitely
in pink and white satin and pearls, clusters of
the rich gems gleaming in the darkness of her
hair. “1 have found you; I know you, in spite
of your disguise. Lalla Rookh, fairer than the
houris of Paradise, leave with me this giddy
throng and hasten to the cool seclusion of yon
distant bower. There, for thy sake, the warrior
will forget the sternness of his nature and learn to
discourse, in terms suited to thy gentleness and
beauty, of the thoughts that fill his soul.”
The figure by his side, whose face was hidden
by a white silk mask, had listened attentively to
this prologue and now, with a slight bow, and a
few murmurmed words of assent, laid her hand
on the warrior’s arm and was gently led awaj T .
This Black Prince was Byron Algernon De
Vere, who had, a few days previously, accidentally
overheard Sylvia announce her intention of ap
pearing as Lalla Rookh, and wearing a black wig,
in order to render her disguise complete. To his
great joy he had detected beneath the raven
tresses' of the Eastern Princess a stray lock of
sunny-brown hair. The discovery had been made
about half an hour before he spoke to her, which
time had been occupied in composing the above
speech. Byron Algernon intended to propose to
Sylvia to-night; he thought he could not choose a
more favorable time. His costume, which he im
agined very becoming to his figure, his romantic
character, and the picturesque surroundings, were
all favorable auspices under which to press his
suit.
The “ bower,” a pretty little rose arbor, being
reached, the warrior of the Middle Ages gallantly
seated his companion on the rustic bench within
it, and began—
“ Fair maiden, gay and gorgeous are the scenes
around us, and brightly gleam the colored lamps,
like mammoth glow-worms in the silence of the
night. Ahem, at least—I don’t mean the—
“ You mean the concord of sweet sounds, in
terposed Lalla Rookh, but in a voice so low that
he hardly caught the words.
“ Ah, overcome by her feelings, she can hardly
6peak,” he thought; but he said aloud, “ \ e—
but the light of the lamps is dull and feeble com
pared with the lustre of thine eyes, and the rich
strains of music which surround us, are, to the
melodious sweetness of thy voice, as the clanging
of brass te the tinkle of silver bells ”
“ Not at all surprising, considerng that the
music is produced by a brass band,” and again
her voice was hardly heard.
“ Ah, lovely creature, do not turn my earnest
praise into jest, or seek by trifling words to con
ceal your true feelings.”
“ What a conceited thing,” thought Lalla
Rookh; “ but 1 might as well hear the end of
thisand she returned the pressure of his hand.
“ Fair maiden,” cried De Vere, rapturously,
thus encouraged, “ 1 can no longer conceal the
emotions of my heart. By day your lovely form
has enchanted mine eyes, and by night, enthralled
my dreams. No need for me to reveal my name—
by the mysterious affinity of our souls, which you
yourself once mentioned, you must know who
speaks. For you, sweet Sylvia, my love has
sprung up like a flower.”
“ But unfortunately,” exclaimed Lalla Rookh,
rising, and speaking for the first time in a clear,
distinct voice, “it has been transplanted to the
wrong soil, and cannot thrive.”
“ Who ? Who are you?” pauted poor De Vere,
in deepest chagrin, for alas, the mocking tones he
heard were not those of Sylvia Carilon. “ Ah, I
know—it is”—
Never mind who it is, Sir Knight,” cried
Florence Rich, for in spite of her sarcasm and
love of mischief, she was touched by the poor fel
low’s distress, and pretended not to recognize
him, “ and never mind who you are, do you ex
pect a languid Eastern Princess to trouble herself
■ to remember all the soft sayings that are poured
nnto her ear, even the gracious words of a prince?”
veal nis mistake, the unfortunate poet was slightly
consoled.
Among the figures promenading the long piazza,
two were conspicuous for elegance of form—a Rob
in Hood in plumed hat, green jerkin, and cross
bow, and a slender girl’s figure, garbed to repre
sent capricious April in flower-trimmed, crystal
spangled bodice, upper skirt of soft, puffed, cloud
like tulle of blue and rose color, encircled with a
rainbow sash and lower skirt elaborately trimmed
with field flowers and grasses. A blue and silver
fillet partially confined the long, loose curls,
among which shone, here and there, daisies, violets
and pale pink apple blossoms, powdered with
crystal beads to represent the rain-drops of the
“ April showers.”
“ How did you find me out?” Robin Hood was
saying
“ Ah, easy enough ,” replied the delicious voice
under the crown of April flowers. “ In the first
place you didn’t dance, and who but a grave de
votee of Blackstone could stand unmoved while
these glorious waltzes were ringing in his ears ?
Then, I happened to see you leaning back against
the window in a most enjoyable manner, while
your favorite II Trovatore was being played, and
beating time on the floor with your foot;—ah,
Mr. Delmar, why not dance all,over the floor as
well as in one spot?—Then, awhile ago, you for
got yourself and walked back and forth across the
floor with your hands behind you, in your usual
fashion : and then, I just knew it was you.”
“ Bravo, Miss Sylvia ! What a capital detective
you would make. I’d like to employ you in the
next occult case I have. But you haven’t been
quite so shrewd in your own behalf. While solv
ing other folks’ mysteries, yon have betrayed
your own. When you came up to proclaim exult-
ingly to me that, you had won your wager, you
forgot you were revealing your own identity.”
“ Yes, that was a stupid oversight in me. But
you see, my cranium is too shallow to hold more
than one idea at a time and it was so possessed with
the brilliant thought of discovering you that every
other idea was driven out.”
“ Why did you choose this costume—how did
you happen to think of it?”
“ April ? Why, it is always my favorite month.
I was born in April, and sister calls me sometimes
her April Day; she says I am wretched one mo
ment, and happy the next.”
“Are you ever very wretched?” he asked
skeptically. “I should like to see one of those
moods, just for the sake of variety.”
“ Oh, you don’t kuow what troubles I have,”
she said, shaking her head dolefully, with a re
collection of the hour of “ mourning ” she had
passed, alone in her room, (it was two weeks ago
now), the day that she had parted with Bernard,
“but 1 conceal them, I don’t show them to the
world,” she added, hastily, more to excuse herself
to her own conscience for not having been as mis-
serable in the last two weeks as a grief-stricken
heroine ought to be, than with any desire to en
lighten Delmar; for no sooner had the words
passed her lips than she remembered, with hor-
had drawn on, the ball was nearly over, and
through the half-closed cuVtains were caught
glimpses of pronieuading groups in the rapidly
thinning parlors. The dancing and the band had
ceased, but from a distant corner of the rooms
floated a musical melody, played with an exquisite
touch on the violin, by & little Italian boy, son of
one of the musicians.
“ How rapidly the people are going,” she said,
“ soon, very soon, they will all be gone, and ti
will be over,” and she heaved a regretful sigh.
“You are very mournful about it,” said her
companion, “ do you expect this to be the last
ball of your life?”
“ Very probably; I’m not likely to attend any
balls at Madame Beraine’s school. They have
stupid soirees about twice a year, and occasionally
private theatricals, where the girls—just imagine,
Who is Frank?” asked Sylvia, with a sudden
thought ev-
the child.
suspicion, _
“ Why, don’t you know Frank ? I
erybody knew Frank,” exclaimed
“ He’s just Frank, and the bestest Frank in all the
world—anywhere,” she added emphatically.
“ She’s talking about her guardian,” explained
Mrs Benson ; “ the gentleman she’s traveling
with. They are just passing through here and are
going away to-night. I think she’s a poor little
orphan, with nobody to look to but just this gen
tleman. It do seem as though she ought to speak
of him more respectful though—call him father or
uncle or something. He looks old enough to be
her father.
“ But he ain’t no father, and he ain tno uncle !
cried the child, indignantly defending the more fa
miliar and dearer appellation, “and I shan’t call
piiviiie ineairicais, wnere me gins—just iiua>giue, . , j • ir A '_ * 1Q t Frnnlr
take the masculine parts, and where nobody but • him none of ose 1 8 J D ’
their parents and the teachers are invited, and i ant * nothing e se,
they are considered the acme of gorgeous fes
tivity. Ah, delicious enjoyment of the last two
months, do I ever expect to know again !”
“ But do you expect to stay in school forever ?
And why are you going back anyhow? I thought
you had graduated.”
“ I have I am going back to teach ; did you
not know I was only a poor school-marm ?”
“ No, I did not.” To be sure, Sylvia had told
him once, now long ago it was, but not being at
all interested in Ethel then, he had forgotten all
about it.
There was a pause, and then he said suddenly:
“ You were not born to be a school-mistress.
The idea of your being cooped up in a school
room, with a parcel of stupid children. Why
anybody would do for that—ugly, freckled, cross
eyed old maids, they are the kind to teach; that’s
what they were made for. But you—you were
born to rule, a queen of society.”
“ That’s exactly my opinion,” with a short
laugh, “ but unfortunately, the Fates think dif
ferently, and have ordained that I shall pass my
life drumming geography and mathematics, and
other equally delightful studies, into the brains, or
no brains, of giggling school girls.”
“ No,” he exclaimed indignantly, “ it must not
be ; it is sacrilege. It is like bringing down that
radiant star and setting it in a candlesticks, to con
demn you—you with your glorious beauty, and
grace, and social talents, to such a life. No—no—
you were not made to be a school-teacher.”
“ What was I made for then?”
“ Made to beloved and worshipped !” he cried,
passionately. “ Ethel, oh, Ethel, let me love and
worship you ! Let me shield you, and keep you
from trouble and sorrow and poverty. My arm
is strong to fight your battles; my heart will love
and cherish you always.”
“ Do you mean”—she asked falteringly.
“I mean that I worship you ! I mean that I want
you to be mine forever. Oh, glorious and beauti- 1
ful Sunshine! smile upon the darkness of my j
heart and turn its shadows into light. Ethel, my '
darling, I love you—1 love you. Do you know
what I mean now—will you return my love ?” '
He did not see the glitter iu her eyes, or hear
But hasn’t ‘Frank’ any other name?” per
sisted Sylvia. “ Do tell me, Mrs. Benson. I
have a strong suspicion that I know him. Isn’t
he Mr. Delmar ?”
“Bless my life!” cried the landlady in amaze
ment; “how good the child did guess! les,
that’s his name, for I saw it in the register when
I Simon brought it up. But do tell me, where did
you ever kuow him, and how did you guess so
easy ?”
So, having discovered Mr. Delmar’s presence in
| Redfarn, the girls were not surprised, in coming
down a few moments later, to find that gentleman
; in friendly conversation with Philip on the hotel
steps.
“ Ah ! Mr. Delmar,” said Sylvia reproaohfullly,
i “did yon intend to pass through Redfarn without
coming to see us? And that dear little thing up
stairs too! It was only by accident that we saw
her at all.”
“ Don’t scold me, Miss Sylvia. I fully intended
to find you out this afternoon. We only arrived
this morning, and little Kate was tired and went
to sleep.”
“ But she is awake now, for we saw her up in
Mrs. Benson’s room, eating rice, as bright as a
bird. Can’t you come home to dinner with us
dow? 1 haven’t seen near enough of your little
cousin, and I want to show her to Alice. Come—
won’t you?”
As there was no possible reason for Delmar’s re
fusing, he consented, and in a very short while
the party, with its two additional members, was
moving homeward.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
simile, at my own risk—and let him rejoice that
he will be one of the “ dear departed ” long be
fore Nature sees fit to upheave terra firma in
order to allow the “evolutionists" to read an
other page of the grand epic!
What if the earth is to be submerged ? Where
is Paul Boynton and the descendants of Fulton ?
Listen calmly while some one proves to you
that a cataclysm is imminent; that the climate
is becoming capricious; that coal and wood are
gradually being consumed; that every drop of
water is “swarming with life;” that the sun is
burning up; does not the brook say to the heart
of the poet, “ / go on forever?”
If some one declares that the world has
“evolved plotoplasm” physically, mentally,
morally, and is still, as gruff old Carlyle wouid
say, only an “amorphous botch,” answer him
not again, but let “ hope spring eternal ” in your
soul, and go on believing (in spite of a pond full
of those self-sufficient, assiduous readers of the
book of Nature) that you nor your children, nor
your children’s children, will ever live to see
any of the above-mentioned catastrophes.
But “I fear lam growing interesting.” Some
one says the harder a hobby is ridden the sooner
it is ridden to death—hut I think that’s a ques
tion. Rather, let us never mount a hobby.
How is the Croaker Club to be dissolved ? “That
is the question !” I fear the croak has become
chronic; use nothing spirituous in the treat
ment—anything damp tends rather to aggravate
the disease. Let every member of this club who
cannot smooth his face, eradicate his croaking
propensity, change his “specs.” and if the
world looks dark to him, “smile till rainbows
span it.” I say, let him “in still yet brave
despair” jump into the nearest pond and as
sume le baton for the original Croaker Club.
THE GREAT LIVING NOVELIST.
The Romantic Story of Her Married Lift.
Most people have known that (he author of Adam
Bede—who, by the way, has earned $200,000 with
her pen—was under a cloud, socially. The New
York Herald's correspondent, writing from Lon
don, gives an account of the remarkable connubial
romance of which she and her husband, Mr. Lewes,
are the chief characters :
[For The Sunny South.]
THE CROAKER CLUB.
BY ANNIE BOGAN.
“ Some murmur when their sky is clear
And wholly bright to view,
II one small speck of dark appear
In their great heaven of blue."—French.
There are many croakers in this world, out
side of ponds, and in places remote from swamps
, and streams of water, who are, if possible, more
ror that he was Bernard’s most intimate friend, the subtle triumph in her voice, as she answered persistent in their annoying practice than the
and probably knew all about their affair, and i softly, “ I will.” lustiest musician (?) that frequents the “ water-
would forever, hereafter, think of her as the vie
tim of a blighted attachment, with “ concealment
like a worm i’ the bud,” etc.
But if such was the lawyer’s idea, he was not
very sympathetic, for instead of attempting conso
lation, lie burst into another laugh ; and in the
midst of it, an armored figure loomed up before
them, and the Black Prince, in unusually humble
tones, inquired if Fair April would deign to en
liven his existence by castiug the sunshine of her
favor upon the mazes of the next waltz; i. e.,
would she dance with him.
The discomforted poet was unusually silent
through the dance—(perhaps he was afraid of ex
pressing his sentiments again to a disguised figure),
and when it was over the company were ordered
by the master of ceremonies to simultaneously
unmask. Sylvia’s nimble fingers quickly untied
the ribbons of her mask, but before letting it fall,
she looked inquiringly at her companion, who
stood, watching her in silence, but without
making an effort to remove his vizor. Foor fel
low, he would not risk being seen in “ propria
personae” by the eyes of Lalla Rookh, and had
determined to slip away, and unmask in private,
and return no more to the scenes of festivity.
“Why don’t you take it off?” inquired Sylvia.
“ It’s—it is such an intricate thing, I’ll have to
go presently and get some fellow to undo it at the
back,” he stammered.
Sylvia was dubious.but dropped her own disguise,
and instantly the Black Prince gave a start of
consternation :
“ Oh, Miss Sylvia, is it you ! What made you
say you were going to wear a black wig ?”
“ Did I say so? Where? And how did you
know it? and who are you, anyhow?”
“ Three days ago. I overheard you tell Miss
Grant; and—and—I’m De Vere.”
“ Oh, yes, I believe I did say something of the
: kind, once. But, three days ago! You surely
didn’t expect me not to change my mind in three
whole days?”
Among the many costumes that illumined the
rooms that night., moved one stately form, fairer,
lovelier than them all. Ethel. “ the Queen,” her
schoolmates had called her ; Ethel, the acknowl
edged belle and beauty of the Springs. Her
character was Sunshine; her costume a gold-
colored tissue worn over a rich trained skirt
of jonquil-colored satin, with low, jeweled cor
sage, a circlet of diamonds looping back the mass
of waved gold hair, and the same costly gems
flashing on the rounded arms, bare to the elbow,
where a fall of point lace dropped over their
snowy beauty.
They were Sylvia’s jewels which she wore—
heirlooms in her family, which she had never
yet worn herself; but she had gladly ottered
them to Ethel for the night, and the sparkle of
The next morning Byron Algenon, in propria ing-places ” aforesaid.
persoiur, made a poetical request for the heart and j We find them “scattered broadcast o’er the
hand of Sylvia Carilon, which were gently, and ! land;” in all places, and at all times, we may
even with tears, (for.he looked so pitiful, poor hear their mingling plaints “falling on the ear,
fellow), refused. And that afternoon our friends floating in the air,” till we wonder what personal
left the Springs to return
homes.
to their respective
CHAPTER XVI.
rights have been infringed, what famous crime
has been committed, who can tbe offender be,
that such sounds ascend to high heaven !
This club is not conservative, exactly, nor i-
it, strictly speaking, democratic; you may be,
come a member “without regard to race, colors
previous (or present) condition of servitude,”
tLe conditions being only this, and nothing
more; You are pledged to look on the dark side
of everything—everything has a dark side, for
there is no sun without a shadow ”—to adorn
The fall and winter had passed away, and March
winds were blowing over Redfarn, as one clear,
bracing day, the iron gates of Croylands shat
with a bang upon three youthful figures, eager (or
a walk in the sunshine, after more than a week of
dull, rainy weather. They ware Sylvia, Jeannie
and Philip Relwood. Jeannie was not able, in | your visage with a frown; to allow every drop of
consequence of a lingering illness of her grand- '\le sang joyeux" that is in your nature to con-
father, to make her promised visit to Sylvia until gea for want of a warm heart; and lastly, but
February, and the time for her departure, in spite not leastly, after your voice has acquired the
of Sylvia’s protestations, was now drawing near, proper consistency, to be not weary in lifting it on
and Philip, it is not so easily explained why he j high-
AN ACTUAL ROMANCE.
George Eliot has had quite a romance in her life,
and still has it in full force. When she published
“Adam Bede,” if I remember rightly, it attracted
the attention of George Henry Lewes, among other
critics. He pronounced it a work of consummate
genius, and was surprised, on inquiry, to learn
that its author was poor, and a very shy, retiring
person, who was averse to receiving any of her
many literary admirers. The intelligence piqued
his curiosity. lie was more desirous than ever
to know her, and he sought an introduction, but
in vain. He wrote to her and proffered her any
practical assistance that lay in his power—influence
with reviewers, publishers, and the like. She
thanked him kindly, and this led to a correspond
ence, in which he displayed such delicacy and
chivalry that she consented at last to meet him.
was here. He has often visited Croylands before, : w jii n °t attempt to speak ot all the difterent
i it is true, but never at this season of the year; for ! croakings that sound in my ears, almost with-
every Georgian knows that this is no time for the out , casing, for “ age cannot wither nor custom
1 “low-country ” people (Philip is from Savannah) their infinite variety; the burden ol their
to make a pleasure trip to the “up-country.” complaint is, “What is this world com ng to ?
xt ^ r • u if 1 i ; 7 ., A erilv, a question that will not remain long un-
! i ~ed,‘so fa, as » are ooaceraed. -NoS .be
out any warning about a week after Jeannie did,
and stays on without any apparent reason; but he
proved a very acceptable guest during the many
wet and dull days which kept the family impris
oned in the house. He was a never-ending mar
vel to Sylvia, who expressed her astonishment to
everybody in the family, separately and collect
ively, about a dozen times, as to “ what on earth
had come over Philip. He used to be so awfully
prim and old bachelorfied, and was now so full of life
and fun, and was really sometimes very amusing.”
The trio passed by the hotel in their walk, and
Sylvia, stopping short, said :
“ I must run in and give these flowers to dear
old Mrs. Benson,” for she held a cluster of spring
flowers in her hand. “ Come on. Jeannie ; Philip,
you can read the newspapers and loaf around gen
erally until we come back.’
“ Dear old Mrs. Benson” was the fat, good-
natured landlady of “ the” Hotel of Redfarn. She
was a motherly old soul, and a great favorite with
members of the “Croaker Club,” (and their
name is legion) insist that we all must “come to
v.„a on^ ” and wherefore ? Listen 1
some had end,
Mr. A. holds up his hands in holy horror at
the “alarming increase of the crime of suicide!'’
He will, doubtless, “ roll up his eyes iu saintly
surprise” when I tell him that I read the “har
rowing details ” of the manner in which some
heart-broken maid “ shuffles oil' this mortal coil,”
with a heart swelling with emotion; likewise I
peruse the last words of some fatuous youth who
“quits his country for his country’s good ” with
a sigh —but I, like the hero of the cherry-tree, can
not tell anything hut “the truth, the whole
truth, and nothing but the truth ”—so I must
confess that I breathe freer after that sigh.
Mr. B. discourses of “ spiritual wickedness in
high places”—those who man (?) the ship of
State are recklessly allowing her to wander into
dangerous currents, and to beat upon innumer
able rocks.
Of course, officials—those eye-servants of the
A CONNUBIAL DILEMMA.
At this time Lewes was legally a husband and
actually a widower. Then nearly forty-two, he had
married a number of years before a handsome but
eccentric woman, who soon wearied of the conju
gal yoke and eloped with a lover. Becoming
contrite, she begged to be restored to marital
favor, and Lewes, with great generosity, forgave
her usually unpardonable offense. Their second
matrimonial experience was not unpleasant until,
with a fickleness she could not control, she ran
away with another man. Her husband then wanted
a divorce, but, having condoned her disloyalty and
desertion once, he was by the English law (it is
the same in the States, I think,) debarred from any-
I thing more than a separation. In other words, he
could not marry again while his wife lived-
Mrs Lewes was alive and in robust health when
her legal husband became interested in George
Eliot, as he did, and very deeply, as soon as he
had been introduced to her. The two seemed to
be mutually attracted, chiefly through the mind,
however, for neither of them was yo«ng, handsome,
or particularly graceful. The more they saw of
one another, the better they liked one another.
Their affection was founded on intellectual sym
pathy and mutual esteem. They wanted to marry.
but how could they except in violation of the law ?
There are no Connecticut nor Indiana courts
in England, where divorce can be and is made
easy; and if there were it is doubtful whether
the pair would have had recourse to them. They
believed they could be of great mutual help, spirit
ually and mentally, by living together, they
contemplated it in face of legal technicalities.
A LAW UNTO THEMSELVES.
all the children and young people, in the little vil- , ■ x ,
lage where “ everybody knew everybody.” Sylvia, P*>P le -should be told of their short-comings,
- - J J j j uut m my humble opinion it is time to drop
Gen. Grant’s little peculiarities, as a subject of
her eyes had almost equaled the radiance of the
for years, had been a particular pet of hers, and
seldom passed the hotel without running in to
have a few moments’ chat with her, at least. For
the last week or two, Mrs. Benson had been “ ail
ing,” as she expressed it, and the two girls found
her confined to her room, leaning back in a huge
arm-chair by the fire.
“ Bless yeur sweet, faces,” she said, as they en
tered ; “ the sight of you’s good for sore eyes—
and sore hearts, too, I’m thinking. I’ve been
gems as she fastened them on, exclaiming admir
ingly, “ Darling, you are glorious to-night! you
ought to be a queen and wear diamonds always.
What a pity, though,” she added, regretfully,
“ that you must put on a mask; your face is
lovely, Ethel.”
“ Hush, you little flatterer,” answered Ethel,
but she cast a glance of proud triumph <owards
the mirror as she spoke, “butremember for your
comfort that we won’t be masked alt the evening.”
And now the udmasking time had come; and
though, from her hair and figure, many had al
ready discovered Ethel, there was a universal cry
of admiration, as Sunshine, with apparent care
lessness, dropped her disguise, and stood before
them. With her hair of floating gold; with the
rare dress she wore, the flashing of the pretty
gems, and above all, the glorious beauty of her
perfect face, she looked indeed aradiaut, dazzling,
gleaming mass of light.
Her companion, a Fire-worshipper, though he
had detected her some time before, and been with
her constantly through the evening, stated at her
with a look almost of adoration in his deep brown
eyes. He had seen her always beautiful before,
but never so beautiful as now ; he gazed at her
for a moment in silence until she said, with a
slightly embarrassed laugh, “ Well, Mr. Ralston,
don’t you know me?”
“ Know you ?” lie repeated ; “ for whom could
I mistake you? Is there anything else in the
world oue-half as lovely ?” His deep, passionate
eyes emphasized the worship his words conveyed.
Later in the evenning they were seated together
those two—in a tiny, convex balcony, surround
sorter expecting you to-day, children; I thought
Sylvy wouldn’t let this bright day pass without
droppin’ in to see how I was getting along, and
she’s brought some flowers, too—the lamb !”
“ Oh, don’t call me a lamb, Mrs. Benson,” said
Sylvia, laughing, as she stooped to receive the old
lady’s kiss. “ If you had seen me squabbling
with Philip, a minute ago, you’d have thought me
more like a snapping-turtle than anything else.
Oh, what a dear little rice-bird ! Where did she
drop from ?”
This last remark was called forth by a little fig
ure sitting on a low stool at the fire-place. It was
the cunuingest, fattest, brownest little girl about
six years old, with a heaping plateful of rice on a
chair before her. The rice-eating operation, how«
ever, had been suspended, and the assisting spoon
uplifted in mid-air, for the purpose of staring, with
wide-open, bird-like, dark eyes, at the strangers.
An admiring exclamation from Jeannie followed
Sylvia’s, and then both of them, girl-fasliion, pro
ceeded to overwhelm the little innocent with ca
resses.
“Ain’t she a little duck?” said the landlady;
“ you see, 1 had her up here to eat, as I wan’t able
to go down stairs, and she is too little to be trusted
jest witu them men.”
“ Yes ; but who is she—what’s your name, little
“ You said it,” answered the child, nodding her
little round head, covered with a shock of stubby
brown hair. “ ‘ Rice-bird,’ that’s what Frank calls
me, ’cause I'm so brown and fat, and eat so much
Well, but haven't you any other name!”
My big name is Katherine Amelia Rogers, but
ing one of the windows. The “ wee sma’ hours” mostly they call me “ little Kate.”
conversation, because they have been ringing
our ears for the last decade—understand me, we
are not tired, only, as Mark Twain says, “ it is
getting rather monotonous.”
I can only say to friend or foe of his:
“ No further seek his merits to disclose.
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode."
I would fain “leave him alone in his glory.”
Next comes a deep croak from the base voices
in the club ; all because lovely woman endeavors
to be “ various, that the mind of desultory man,
studious of change and pleased with novelty,
might be indulged.” And this is the thanks we
get! Oh, it’s just as I expected ! Come in shrill
tones, tremulous with emotion, from the female
croakers--those who read Maury, Ferrel, Hux
ley, Piazzi Smyth—how they cause our flesh to
creep by their wondrous theories !—or rather, as
they say, deductions from the revelations in the
hook of Nature. These croak after the manner
of Herbert Spencer: “Sad, indeed, it is to see
how men occupy themselves with trivialities, are
indifferent to the grandest phenomena—care not
to understand the architecture of the heavens, but
are learnedly critical over a Greek ode, and pass
by without a glance that grand epic written by
the finger of God upon the strata of the earth.”
Ahem! “Trivialities” are they ? —because,
forsooth, they are not the pursuits most conge
nial to Mr. Herbert Spencer & Co. These words
of Hazlitt occur to me: “I am not for a ‘collu
sion ’ but an ‘ exchange ’ of ideas. It is well to
hear what other people have to say on a number
of subjects. I do not wish to be always respir
ing the same confined atmosphere, but to vary
the scene and get a little relief and fresh air out
of doors. Do all we can to shake it off', there is
always enough pedantry, egotism and self-con
ceit left lurkiifg behind; we need not seal our
selves up hermetically in these precious quali
ties, so as to think of nothing but onr own won
derful discoveries, and hear nothing but the
sound of our own voices.”
Let Mr. A. quiet his apprehensions —there is
no danger of the world’s being depopulated;
let him listen to the voice of science anil rejoice
that all flesh is grass’’—including color in the
They consulted their friends, among them
some of the best known men and women in Great
Britain, and it was decided, after careful consider
ation, that they should dispense with the usual
formalties until they could be legally united.
They were fully aware of the gravity of the step
they were about to take. But they took it, never
theless. While their immediate friends count
enanced them in their course, society necessarily
frowned upon it, and they were largely isolated.
About six or seven years ago the first Mrs. Lewes,
fortunately, or shall I say superfluously for George
Eliot, betook herself permanently to an English
churchyard, and Lewes was at once joined in wed
lock to his friends by the laws of the land.
(For Tlie Sunny South.]
ATTENTION, GIRLS.
BY MRS. CLARK.
It is the attention of girls who contemplate
marriage I desire. Those who expect to be old
maids will not be interested. And the men can
pass to the next column.
Marriage is the goal of woman’s existence.
She looks torward and dreams of the time when
a husband, a home and little ones to bless
them, will be hers; and this is right, because
it is natural yearnings.
A sensible man seldom selects in his mind
what attributes a girl must possess before she is
his wife, but lets nature be his gnide, advised
only by his better judgment.
The unselfish girl is the most attractive. She
is unconscious, therefore, her charms are visi
ble. This is why some girls marry, while others,
who are handsome, with perhaps other charms,
remain single.
Girls should not strive to win by the show of
dress, by the amount of ruffles and trimming
on their apparei. The same time lavished upon
such unnecessaries could be spent in the im
provement of their heart or mind to a better ac
count. A girl’s dress is often the cause of her
“single blessedness.” Men are not afraid of
your tempers, or a want of disposition to do
your duty in other respects, as they are of their
salaries not being sufficient to support you and
carry out your foolish whims of fashion. Yes,
men love to look at a well-dressed lady; also, at
a beautiful sculptured marble, but is it the eve
they wish to gratify in marriage ?
Girls, firs!; strive to cultivate your heart and
mind; learn habits of economy and industry;
be useful in domestic affairs, attend to your
general health. Strive thus, and it will not bo
long before you become an unconsciously-sensi-
hle girl, and some good, noble-hearted man will
soon sue to win your heart. Then be willing to
begin at the beginning of life; with him strive
to make your union one of sweetness and
strength and devotion.