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i [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.