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aiERY.
BY B. O. W.
1 do not think I loved him—still.
Whenever he was near.
My heart would loudly throb and thrill
I thought— a little queer.
I do not think I lov'd him—though.
I'll own 'twas somewhat sweet
To full v feel, and surely know
His heart was mine complete.
I do not think I lov'd him—yet.
Whenever we would part,
A feeling almost like regret
Would creep into my heart,
I wonder if I lov’d him say.
Would you suppose a friend.
Could till one's thoughts thro all the day.
And with her visions blend?
Waiting for the Dawn.
BY IRENE INGE COLLIER,
Excise's Disappearance.
Monday morning, a bright sun glittering over
the earth, washed in ) esterday’s showers, the
Academy doors open and a Duzz of voices with
in. But school was not yet ‘taken in’ for Miss
Albers, the principal, was somewhat disturbed.
Miss Ennis, teacher of music and French, and
hoafder in the Institute, bad ftot yet arrived,
though it had been confidently understood that,
she would return from her visit on the night
be Miss Albers liked system and regularity above
all things. She was greatly attached to her love
ly assistant but she was undoubtedly annoyed
at this deriltction on her part. The girls were
disippointed. School-girls are enthusiastic
over a pretty face and sweet, refined manners.
Miss Ennis had all these and more, and she rul
ed royally over the hearts of her young pupils.
At last Miss Albers looking at her watch, de
clared she could wait no longer. It was now an
hour past the time for beginning school-work,
and this and Monday morning. She was afraid
Miss Ennis was ill. She had seemed indispos
ed of late and strangely depressed. Or perhaps
she was giving Carrie Farman a music lesson at
^‘iTis Carrie’s day, is it not girls?’ she asked
and several of the girls replied that it was.
A recitation was began.and was rather lamely
proceeding when it was cut short by one of the
girls, who was looking out of the window, ex
claiming aloud, without fear of rules before her
eyes, that Ctrrie Farman was coming riding
on horseback and that Eloise was not with her.
•Then she must surely be ill,’ Miss Albers
said hurriedly, and getting up she went to the
door, just as Carrie, radiant with exercise and
happiness, rode up and dismounted saying;
•Good morning, good morning to all.’
‘Good morning Carrie,’ returned Miss Albers.
‘What have you done with your friend ?’
‘Who?’
•Why, Miss Ennis of course.
‘Eloise—why, is not Eloise here? She left
our house at ten o'clock last night with Mr. B-r-
tram, who was to bring her here. Is it possible
she did not come?’
‘She certainly did not. I sat up for her until
twelve. Can it be that
That she and Mr. Bertram had eloped, was
what was in Miss Alber’s mind and those of
some ol' the girls. Carrie divining it said quick
ly ‘I saw Mr. Bertram sitting in his office as I I
passed. He spoke to me very pleasantly. Shall
I ride back and ask him about Eloise?’
lookf x her:'It^Hbarefy possible ' may have
; ri gone ^ er r ° 0110, *
back door of the huU unlocked and she may
have come after I was asleep. I will go and
Se She went, followed by a concourse of girls and
accompanud by^the anxious^ unoccupied, the
bed untouched, her clothes, books etc., just as
Miss Albers had noticed them when she came
up to the room Sunday morning to get the black
dl a wM^lmos^contiVent she had not returned
last night,’ Miss Albers said alter she had taken
SSSass
KtakSS? 1 ptllTbo«hr.M>e?j walks ..d th.
bi. told m. .b. bad nervous
he ^es Ch I knew she had been suffering with
i ’Carrie said, ‘and heartache too she
thought/ remembering her gloomy foreboding
,0 Du*,in° 'ttoUmf the, bed descended to the
vard and began theirsearch thiouch the grounds.
It was soon made with all these excited girls
running hither and thither, looking into every
nook ^nd shaded retreat. All in vain. Eloise
was not there, and they returned to the school-
changing and her voice choking with tears,
she clasped her hands beseechingly.
•Oh ! Mr. Bertram, I implore you, tell me what
yon have done with Eloise, sweet dear Eloise.
Oh ! what have yon done with her?'
He seemed moved, but he smiled proud-
ly.
‘Miss Farman,' he said ‘I have told you all I
know. I cannot account for your friends dis
appearance. I am very much concerned mvself.
I will do all I can to find out where Miss Ennis
has gone. Perhaps she is with some of her
friends in town.
Miss Albers shook her head decidedly, but
she weut at once and called at the houses of all
whom it seemed to her possible thatEloise might
have gone to. Then she went back to the Acad
emy, but there were no lessons that day. The
news of Miss Enni's unaccountable disappear
ance flew through the town, and all business
was at once neglected. The excitement was in
tense, for all admired and loved the beautiful
the town, passing quite round it and coming
into the highway a mile or more on the other
side, then driving swiftly through the night till
he reached the spot he had designated to the
stage driver. There he had driven out of the
road a little, and waited until the rattling stage
drove up and stopped, the driver uttering a
low whistle as a signal. In five minutes more
he had'parted with the girl whose path he had
crossed only to shadow it. She did not lyeep.
She looked more dazed than anything else and
half scornful, half sad. She had said to him:
‘It is probable we shall never meet again. I
am going away to that retreat you offer me,
partly because you will it, and, though I hate
myself for it, you have a power over me I cannot
resist. You wish me to go away because you
have given in my keeping a secret and you re
gret having done so, you are afraid of my weak
ness—afraid it will escape niy lips in an impul
sive moment—afraid I will oonflde it to my
brother when he comes. For this reason, nod
tense, tor all admired ana loven me oeauiuui urmuti»ucuuobuure». ror mis reasuu, «uu
music teacher. The circumstances attending because my presence has become a reproach as
her disannearance were most extraordinarv. well as an uneasiness to vou, you want me
U1UOIV; Uvauucii AUV
her disappearance were most extraordinary
She had^iven no intimation of departure to any
one. Her trunks, her books and music were
UUC. uci uuuno! Ait* a/uvbd n _
none of them missing. It seemed impossible treat will give me. The secret weighs on me so I
•*• ' ’ 3 cannot bear society. I*wart loneliness to quiet
my unrest. I will accept yonr generosity as a
loan; I will repay you someday two-fold. I am
glad to retire to a solitude that I may praotice
and perfect the one high gift heaven has be
stowed on me—my voiue.-v. This shall be my
comfort and delight, hereafter, it may bring me
fame and money. I am sif to be able to repay
yon at the least. I wish too>ve you nothing.’
* Eloise, can you talk so toone who loves you?'
‘You love no one but your own hard, cold
self. Once, I loved you, but now though you
have such power over me still, I do not respect
yon, 1 feel how you have wronged me, and some
day I believe yon will bitterly regret it. Your
selfish .heart will writhe ugder the recollection
ofthirfhour.’
These were her last words to him, the stage
stopped. She put down her veil, he took her
hand and kissed her passive lips and helped her
to her seat and she was driven away alone in
the stage through the darkness and the silence
of the night.
■ , (TO BE CONTINUED.)
The Gift of the Gods.
BY MARY PATTON HUDSON.
she could have gone away of her own accord.
When it was known that she was iast with Eu
gene Bertram and that he professed to know
nothing of her whereabouts, ugly suspicions
came into the minds of the citizens. It seemed
very hard to suspect any foul play on the part
of an honorable high-toned, wealthy gentleman
like Bertram, but certainly the circumstances
looked dark and in the course of a few hours
quite a crowd of people bad gathered around the
bank and the voting man was called on to tell
how it came that Miss Ennis was missing and
that he conld professed not to know where she
was. He came out, aDd gave the same account
he had given to Miss Albers—a very plausible
statement its eerned too, especially when made in
his calm, unexcited way. Hi's listeners were
most of them impressed with its seeming truth,
but a few muttered that it was an improbable
story and that if Miss Eanis could not be fonnd
or traced, Le would have to account for her dis
appearance.
Bertram himself was first to prepose that a
search should be instituted for the missing girl,
and offered to j >in them in trying to trace her.
Meantime, Carrie had hurried to her brother’s
office, as soon as she came from the enterview
with Bertram. Rushing in breathless, she told
her what bad happened. Eloise was missing.
Eloise had never been seen or heard of since
she quitted the house with Bertram.
SydDev i prang to his feet. He had been think
ing of Eloise, wondering what her strange looks
and strange words meant; remembering that
though she-said she could not listen to words of
love from him. she had in a manner accepted
his devotion and given him proofs of her confi
dence. He remembered the promise, she had
exacted from him, the fragm mt of chain hid away
in his watch case, and thought of those sweet
lips be had kissed. From this daydream over
his unread* Coke upon Littleton,’ he was roused
by his sister's startling news. He sprang to his
Get F it a moment, he could not speak, then
he said hoarsly:
‘ It is Bertram’s doing. He kidnapped her.
‘Or killed her’ cried Carrie shuddering.
‘Come let us do something, I cannot be quiet.’
• I will not rest till I find her. I wilt give
time, money, my life everything to find her -
my sweet Eloise, my darling,’ he cried, his voice
trembling, his face so pale that Carrie at once
knew what she had only'suspected before, that
her brother loved Eloise Ennis passionately
and wholly.
•Compose yourself before we go out brother’
she said gently. ‘Don’t let them all read your
secret. Let me get _you.sguftngflu.k ‘ "S u o oruugeft
him "and locked somewhat less pale, she sat
down by him and holding his hand in herssaid.
■What do you think is the meaning 0. this
br °I U do not know. I am bewildered ! but I
believe that Bertram i3 connected with her dis
appearance.’ .
‘ Why should he want to spirit her away in
this secret manner? Why did he not openly
claim her if he had a right to do so ?
‘It is a mystery to me. I thought that they were
engaged until Saturday. He spoke of her so in
differently then. I told him, he gave me hope to
plead my own cause, and he advised me to speak
to her at once.’
‘And you did ?’ .. T
•Yes 1 spoke to her yesterday’. Sometime, 1
will tell vou all that passed. I am too troubled
now But some of her words then and what
she said to me just before we parted yesterday
evening made me think she foreboded some
thing of the kind wonld happen to her, and
gave me the impression that she did not trust
Bertram.’ , , . 0 ,
‘Don’t you think she loved him t
‘I thought so <• ce, but her feeling fir him
looked mote to me like fear than love yester
day She seemed to shiver when she telt him
looking at her. She was very unhappy about
something. Did she not conhde in you, Carrie?
‘No‘ she seemed to wish to do so, but to be
held back bv some influence I could not under
stand. She seemed to fear I would cease to
think well of her r.ud made me promise I would
never be persuaded to believe evil of her, be
cause of misrepresentations that might be made.
I could readily promise that; I never conld be
lieve evil of Eloise Ennis.
. i$or I ’ returned Sydney, earnestly. Come,
we are wasting time. We may hear that she is
found, or we might be searching for her, while
we sit here.’ . ., -
They went out in the streets, and took their
well as an uneasiness to yon, you want me
away. I will go becanse yon will it and because
I long for the retirement and solitude that re.
5 /Remain here now young ladies, be quiet and
ursue your studies, while Miss barman and I wcu( ,
a visit to Mr. Bertram to inquire after Miss to J the bauk before which t he group of ex-
’unis I have no doubt he can inform us where | „ Ui , alia h(ll1 aat kered. They walked up
he is and that all is quite right.’
h Accompanied only by Carrie she went to Mr.
, 'TV.,,'; nffice He received them with grace-
uTpoliteness, and when Miss Eibers stated the
jbject of her visit, he seemed much surprised
lD ‘I cannot imagine where Miss Ennis can be
r drove her to" the gate of the Institute las
sight and saw her go into the aoor. I have not
seen her since
cifed citizens had gathered. They walked up
as Eugene was repeating to the crowd his story
of what had happened the night before, and of
Eloise’s going into the Institute at midnight,
pointing’them to his broken buggy to account
for the reason why he had been so long in reaca-
inc town. Sydney shook his head as he listen
ed to this recital. Called upon by some one
present to tell of what be lyiew of Miss Earns
departure from his father’s house the evening
before he did so in a few straightiorward words.
He was afraid to trust himself to say more. At-
I, Audrey Aimes, barrister, rusticating in
the vicinity of Hollindes, the count y seat of
the Vallory’s, a notoriously proud and wealthy
family. My sister, the widow Carrew, was re
joiced to have her amiable brother during
the heated term, and made things quite agree
able by her attention to said distinguished
party. Edna Valiory was our closest neighbor,
and on very good terms with my sister Marian
Miss Valiory was V6ry pietty; everybody
said so, except other pretty women who envied
the adoration she received. When I accepted
Marian's invitation for the summer, I had never
beheld this nondescript belle and beauty, but
had seen my bosom friend, CTbaimers, rush to
his doom, that culminated in her graceful ‘I am
sorry indeed, but women have so few prerog
atives you know, else I had told you long ago
tnat I did not love yon; but you will be my
friend though. I cannot losejyou in this way. ’
And he, intoxicated by iier f/icinations, added
idiocy to his folly, and said: ‘Ves, I will always
be happy to claim you as my friend.’ But I was
a man of parts, wealth and position, and would be
the last to succumb to her charms. I knew just
'where to find the poison ; and would keep my
Senu'ra sr-rutcy ripe coin >ua||d. " .
battle afar.*’ But 1 was saH^i. said to the ring ol
smoke that curled above my head as 1 lay on the
Turkish divan in the library room, after Marian
had said: ‘Take care, brother mine; you have
never seen‘the queen of hearts, and under this
condition of things, ‘let him who .thinketh he
stands, take heed lest he fall.’ A most aston
ishing woman. They tell me she is engaged to
a well-known diplomats, the greater need of
precaution*.’ I had a slippered foot on a, broid-
ered ottoman, trying to read the ‘Times, while
in reality dreaming of Edna Valiory, when 1
heard a silvery voice say tc a servant:
‘Ni, 1 11 just wait here for Mrs. Carrew, I have
but a’ moment tc stay,’ and a marvelous vision
in muslin garb with roses in her bait was quite
before me. I was completely staggered; but she
received my low salaam, as I spraug tc my feet
with such a look of roguish deprecation, that i
laughed in spite of myself. I instinctively
glanced at my neglige dress. I saw the twinkle in
the marry, brown eyes; I knew she had read me
at a glance. I was clearly takau at a disadvant-
aa0 _bair awry, one slaeve of my dressing-gown
rolled up as if 1 had just emerged from a puglts-
tic encounter with my meerchaum, which lay
on the floor, the ashes strewn about in a sorry
plight. But she was ‘gotten up’ in all the ‘pomp
and circumstance’ of conquest; I could see that.
I wheeled a chair to the window for her accom
modation, and excused my abseuce—I mentally
thanked my patron saint without any apology
for the case before us. ‘Yes, she's all my fancy
painted her,’ I said to the reflection of Audrey
Aimss in the lofty mirror, as I saw with satis-
f mtion that I had not been particularly unpre
sentable. My neglige was handsome, and my
slippers a marvel of handiwork. Thanks to V l-
nett, Vaughan, who had choien them as a Christ-
mass gift the year before. ‘Pretty !' I repeatod,
but not the siren against wh^ti I nave been so
carefully warned oy Marias. *But I did not
know just then the dawning powqr that lay in
those soft brown eyes, and the corners of the
ductile mouth.
Marian was invited to tea, and as I was on y
a man,’ and a guest of Mrs. Curew’s, she would
extend the invitation to take me in, she laugh-
companied me. Women know hist how to man
age women. Marian b»l once been a beauty,
and courted as much as Miss Vallery, but a lit
tle less inclined to flirt for the simple amuse
ment, I think. We were ushered ioto the cool,
grand parlor at Hollindes, and f>und quite a
company of oallers. Miss Val’ery was distract-
ingly agreeable to me, ahd I was in the seventh
heaven of beatitude. I was the victim of fate
that was helping E Ina Vallery to make a fool of
me. .
‘Have you seen my century plant, Mijor
Aimes? I think the rest of the party have.’
And she conducted me away through the
grounds. But before she had reached the spot
where the wonderful aloe bloomed, she turned
to me and said, in the coolest possible manner:
‘Why have you not been to Hollindes?^ I
want the whole truth; were yon afraid of me?’
I felt verv much as I used to do when my tu
tor questioned me about my misdemeanors,
while I trembled in my boots, but I managed to
say in an equally cool tone;
‘Afraid,’ and l affected the sidewise, wonder
ing glance. ‘N >, why shonld I be ?’
It was not honest, and I was ashamed of the
falsehood, but oould not resist the temptation
just then. I was delighted to see a little pink
flush steal over her pearly face, for I thought it
proved my power to move her to pique or some
thing akin to it.
‘How long shall yon be with your sister, Mij
or Aims,’ she asked, holding a little hand under
the daintily cleft chin.
‘A mouth longer, I answered, and we moved
on to where the aloe bloomed. I wondered then
what purpose she had in asking my plans, but
did not question her. What she further said I
cannot now remember, but it’s general air of re-
sist-me-if-you-can I could never forget.
•Come again,’ she said to me aside, ‘when there
are fewer guests, and we will practice Mignon
together.’ and I promised. I went again and
again and how kinder she daily grew. Toe pres
ent was so delicious; the days passed by as a j
beautiful dream. I was going away two days
hence, and wonld not see her but once again be
fore I 8 lid good bye for ever. I meant to enjoy
these hours to their full, regardless of the pain
to follow in their wake and the disappointnent
after all was done. The moon was at its full, and
we sat in the edge of the lemon grove and thb
perfume of its leaves was in the breez .*. The
nightingale warbled a song in tho grove while
Edna's fingers strayed over the strings of the
so ft guitar, and she sung:
‘Going away, I think you said?
With never a word for me;
Going away, and I turn my head
In vain, for the sun in the West is dead—
All dead on the darkling sea.
Why INever Married-
The Story of An Ill-used Man.
BY 8TEPHEN BRENT.
The ships sail over the sea, I know,
Too far for a maiden's sight.;
The ships sail on, the strong winds blow,
And some to the land of Orient go,
Anil some to the starless night.
I look, and over the sea afar.
The white sails flicker and gleam,
And the ship rides gaily over the bar.
Hut the night is bleak with never a star.
And my heart is sad with its dream.
Only the rim of the sea's far strand,
Only the dark I see,
For he left me here, by the trodden sand.
With only a rose in my little hand.
Ami never a Word for me.'
‘But Edna, my darling, I am not going with
out a wor.d —I will say it to my bitter cost. I
know all that you will answer me, though I
long ago knew your nature for this pretty tri
fling, yet I must blatne yon for its determined
alluring. I love you though, as you have nev
er been loved before, and yon know it as well
as I. ’
I saw her fac^^
l
Maj. Aimes,
[ am to be married ho-morrow.
will you come ?' , - , ,•
■Certainly I will,’ I said, natural circulation
resumed by the insolence of her revelation, ‘but
I'm not the least sorry for my declaration. I
even managed to smile derisively here. The
hour, the mystical moonshine and the scent
of the lemon grove, conspired to have me say
what I knew you were duly expecting.
I had touched the right chord, had shown
her the meanness of her f illy, I said to myself,
and then I took her guitar from the rustic seat,
and arranged her wrap about her before escort
ing her to the house. . .
‘Just like E lna Yallerv,’ said Marian resent
fully and refused to go to the wedding, whim
I laughed at her. despite my weary heart.
•Who is Miss Vallery to marry ? I was asked
by a score of people, to whom I answered:
•We shall see, I presume, in time.
They were queer wedding cards, simply ft
notification of the event and hour—the bride
groom's name in blank.
‘May I see you?'came on a card to me irom
the bride to be
She was very white and her mods were cold,
while a burning light was in the soft brown ey es.
She gave me a note to read. The words were
few. but they meant a great deal.
•Mv darliDg Elua: it will be impossible 1 >r me
to be at Hollindes to-day. It is well no guests
are biddeu. I will see you to-morrow eve, un
til then trust me; as ever yours. John Guey.
‘And what ?' I asked, feeling a considerable
amount of contempt for the delinquent lover.
And then she placed her hand on my arm, and
blushed rosily while she said:
•But Audrey, 1 am not sorry after what you
told me yesterday. But my pride is hurt by
1 And then I suggested that I might fill the part
this St. John Grey had f died to play. >
‘It would save your pride, you know.
‘So you are goiDg to get married, are yon,
and want me to come to the wedding? Well,
well! I will see about it; for if I am an old 1 ach-
elor it is not my fault, I am sure I tried hard
enough to get married. It was Fate, and noth
ing else that kept me from running into the mat
rimonial noose.
You say you wonld like to hear why I never
married ? Didn’t I just tell you it was Fate? but
I don't mind telling yon how she treated me.
I was twenty when I fell in love with Marie
Stedman, but I was unfortunate from my first
visit, when I stumbled over the cat and sat down
on the floor iasteid of the chair, till the last
when Fate willed it that I shonld pull a pan of
milk from the kitchen shelf down on my luck
less head.
Who can tell the agony of my feelings, stand
ing there with the milk dripping from my hair
and running in little rivulets down my back,
while Marie and her dear friend, Rosa Black,
screamed with laughter? I made a frantic dash
for the door, nearly knocking my head off against
a hoe handle, packed between the logs. I upset
grandma Stedman in my flight, too.
‘Lord sakes alive!’she exclaimed, staring after
me as though she thought I was crazy.
Well, I was cured, and for two years had no
desire to even see a woman. I couldn’t get over
the awful feeling of that milk pouring down on
me, and I turned cold every time I thought of
those girls laughing at me.
Then I met Matilda James. But Fate still
pursued me. Oae day a crowd of us were walk
ing across a field, coming from church. I was
with Matilda and felt supremely happy. As yet,
nothing had happened to mar the good impres
sion I was making on her mind. Alas for hu
man hopes! A vicious cow took the idea into
her head to chase me. She came at me with
a lowered head, and well, it was more than hu
man nature could bear, and I turned and fled
towards the fence. It was a close race, and I
had just laid my hand on the top rail when she
lifted me on her horns and tossed me into the
air, and the next thing I knew I was dangling,
head downward, from the limb of a tree. My
clothes were fastened somehow, and I could
neither get loose or climb back on the tree. The
company came np and conversed with me rela
tive to my position and prospects. They were
both very precarious, I assure you, and giving
a last despairing wriggle I came down to the
ground on my head, leaving one coat tail still
dangling mournfully at the end of the limb, and
it may be there yet, for aught I know.
I could never face Matilda $fter that, 'and for a
long time I fait utterly disgusted with life.
I vowed I’d D6vergo a-wooing again, and kept
the vow until I met Dabby Jones. I firmly be
lieve all would have went well if the old folks
had been willing.
But they couldn’t abide my coming to see their
Dabby, they said, and thereby hangeth the end
of my tale.
I was there one night when they were all
gone out but Debby and her brother Tom, who
favored my suit because 1 bribed him with can
dy. Well, time flew on wings of light, and bs-
before we knew it the old folks had returned,
and were on the porch. There was no way for me
to escape but through a very small window by
the fireplace. While Debby went to the door,
I crawled through and slipped down, not on
the around but int^ -» i * -' “ ,,
There was no getting out. I heard the old
man ask Debby ‘if the calf wasn t in the yard
There was something making a racket out there.
Well, I got out of the abominable thing at
lest, and I was well soaped, you may be sure.
Then I swore I never would go to see a woman .
a»ain. No, not the queen of England herseli.
"Now you know why I never married. There
comes the wash-woman and I must darn my
socks and sew on my buttons.
Why did Fate treat me so ?
How we Treat our Brains.
Almost daily I am in contention with parents
and guardians, schoolmasters and schoolmis
tresses. clergymen and professors, youths ant
maidens, bovs and girls, concerning the right
way of building up the young brain, of npen-
iug the adult brain, and of preserving the
brain in age. Grievously ill do we take in hand
to deal with this delicate member, and well s
it that innate development overruns our
schemes and brings the variety of natural good
out of the monotony ot human folly- ttis
dimly felt by society that the reign of bone
and muscle is over, and that the reign of brain
and nerve is taking its place. Even tbe Gibeon-
ites now have the hydraulic ram and the steam
felling-machine: the spectacled General o
forces fights in his tent by click ot battery and
wire, and his Lieutenant hoists an ironclad b\
thetoneh of two buttons upon his waistcoat, the
patient earth forgets the tread of horse and ox,
and is plowed by steam, and ere mng no
doubt our ministeis will wind sermoos out ot
birrel-orgau3. and our morning egg ~
broken for us by a wafer ot dynamite. ~
it comes that all classes are tor edncaaon ,
The village grocer's son goes to a theolOpiea
college,’ and sits up by night o ver _ his evnton-
ces’ with green tea in his blood and a w
about his brows. The gardener s daugnter
trirsx
.. * ,• 1 11m T»/*K f.li ckfi i.hfi
Miss Albers looked blank. Carrie, disking ue va8 atrmu w ; -y i nl
otlv cried: ... . ter he had gone with Carrie to the Institute and
Mr. Bertram, you left our house with Emise I bg . ed ber U p 0 n her horse, he came back and
iniahtat ten o'clock. What has become of j baJ P ftn j n t e rview with Bertram which resulted
ast night at ten ,
iPt’ You surely do know.
‘T surely do not, Miss Carrie. I repaat to yon
hat I carried her to tire gate of the boarding
leDartmeDt of the Institute. As it was bite, i
ncTuo in- I handed her Irom the buggy,
Side her good evening and saw her enter the
^°‘It*i8 b sG'fti.ge^ 1°'did ^not hear anytking-no
3 ouid Of wheels or voices,’ said ijiss Albers sus-
?i °Y°ou Bl did not H sit u p l fts^ate as we arrived it
B ems U It was quite ^dnight when I droje up.
?n noThing h >w«ver, for Bertram only reiterat
ed his story with grave earnestness and intima
ted that perhaps Miss Eanis ha 1 reasonsTor go
ing aw,iv secretly and returning to her friends
in the North.
‘She may have been embarrassed, you know;
debt. «“,J women fit» de.tb, ood ehe m.y
have seen no way out of it, but ~~~
. S‘op’ Sydney said, sternly. ‘You cannot
make me believe that Eloise Earns was dishon
orable. ’
~ ■» ait UD laid « attuou UlCio. -*■ ^ — —* ,
sts i o w o»“ib. r wb.x "Sm&2?m:r,v :
bm.o’v^and it took me somo little time to to*to.«tb* i.od of tb. »«»« “1 m. >
>f my boggy. . home by slow
end It so that It would g Bnail , 8 pace You
I”"see R 'the buggy yonder. I have not yet sent
1 g e b 8 e „“ke n d d e e iiberately and calmly, but his coi-
He spORe ue.. j twice uu-
„ changed and h«i ej» ><id ooldly .
ler Miss Albers K > Mr Bertram. I am
,' T w‘il!» Enai’a f wiU h ” dly be
SZOESEi Carrie broke forth
fee “
suited in nothing. No tame «» foond of the
missing eirl. The stage wbica had gone to the
city of P was anxiously looked for. It was pos
sible (Bertram had suggested) that she had
gone to the city. He was f-.r irom suggesting
that she had gone the other way—the Southern
route being poorly patronized and the stage on
thedown trip hardly ever having any passen
gers, especially at this season. No one had
Leu in it. the night before when he handed El
oise into the empty, lumbering vehicle. He had
bribed the driver not to tell of the circumstance
of his stopping in the night miles beyond the
town to take up a lady passenger from the, road
side. He had met no one, for he had skirted
exteua luw iuvuowgu — —» — ,
inuly Slid to my sister, aud I was ratuer pleased
at'her frankness, and lack of society chic, as I
considered it. That garden tea was ft phase ot
f a i r « life; and yet, all the witcheries ot E'tUud
would be finite indeed, compared to my ex-atic
blms as I sat by ber side or listened to her flute
like voice. A thousand times since I nave seen
that flower-docked table again, in the lemon
grove, the gleaming glass aud silver, the beauti
ful fruit and flowers, above all, the queen rose
that bent herselt to my amusement. She had
dawned upon me, and all preconceived resist
ance was forgotten. I had little to say to Marion
ia the homewird ride, aud she laughed lightly
as I helped her from the carriage and said again:
•Your heart, Audrey, take care.’
I had no heart, I didn’t explain this to M ir-
iou but every bit of it was in that lemon grove
with Edna Vallery. I had sufficient mother-
wit about me yet, however, to fully believe it
was a hopeless passion I was nursing for the cele
brated beauty. I thought of breve Fred Chal
mers. I was only another fly in the spider s
‘I deliber-
aieu iiuw umi ‘He who
fights and rnns away,’ suggested itself but I
was afraid of the mirth in those bonny eyes.
No; I was a man, free to hold my own heart as I
chose; my nerves were cool and calm, I
not act the toward—in short, I would fliat with
the tide. Miss Vallery had asked me to call
again, and I would. . .
•Do not go to Hollindes for a few days, Aud
rey,’ said Marion. . . , .
I understood her. We were seated at break
fast when she said this. , . .
‘It will be a good tonic for that wonderful van
ity of Edna Vallery s. . ,
"I lived in a slow fever in the interim, and
went in the course of a week, and Marian ao-
did you tease me so ? And you were a slave to
the Vallery’s folly throughout, to be married
‘You were fooled and so was I, Audrey, ia lna
said to me in the honeymoon.
John Grey had thought it was to be a quiet
wedding; no guests, but the capricious damsel
changed her mind, as was her wont to do in
every thing, though happily concluding to al
low his name to be unknown until ike decisive
b °‘But how you managed to get the necessary
papers aud papa's consent within an hoar, Au
drey, is more than I can tell,’ said my queen
of the lemon grove.
‘Equally as mysterious to me, I answered.
The recreant lover was sorely hurt to hear 0i
Edna’s marriage, a matter of half a million of
money preventing his prompt appearance
‘But it wouldn’t have paid me, dear, she
said ‘for the love that began in that summer
morn, when I came on you in your dressing
sown and slippers. The gods have always la
bored me, but more in that than aught besides
Marian has the usual amount of curiosity, but
she is baffled for once, though she cannot hide
her pleasure in the denonemen..
•noctor mv daughter seems to be going blind,
an? she’s Tit getting ready for her wedding,
too ' 0 dear me, what is to be done ? ‘Let her
eo right on with the wedding, madam, by all
means. If anything can open her eyes,marnage
will.’ ' ^
Marriages are not plentiful enough. The
young ladies ought to get up a strike for their
young *“ “ for the fires can come in af-
the ot building Horn
comes u’
ia His teens, ana is i U v*** '
an exhausted brain and an incurable niegrin
nay, even the sons of peers are putting
armor of light, and are deserting the fall tor
the counting-house. To meet this demand,
collages of all kinds and degrees 8 P rin f.^ p
middle-class seminaries, theological colleges
colleges of scieuce, university boards—even i
old universities themselves are stirring *
their scholarly ease, are sending ou ( t .“ 1 ^ th
aries in imrtibus, and are cramming __ y ogt
of twenty counties in the art of making most
show with least learning. ? “ sud l
no doubt, must be and should be. bl * ; t a
den a voltefice cannot be J- where
wrench, and it is my desire now to se ^
the strain will tell, and how to _P b
social evolution with the least injury to her
sons.-Dr. T. C. Allbutt, in Popular science
Monthly for June. ,
The Prince and the American Girls.
The Prince of Wales is a man both of tact and
taste Paris society was much exercised in its
mind as to the etiquette which won d decide the
i r»f his oartner in tb@ cotillion at Lord
Lvon ? 8 balf-whether the lady of the highest
rank (of course it could be no other would be
ra ? f roul English or French claimants to
STdLttJ” Hta Royal High.es., ho.«.r,
settled the question by leading out an American
voung lady, Miss Natica Yznaga, the sister of
Lady Mandeville. Such are the advantages of a
eood education early in life. The Prince of
Wes learned to dance with American yoang
ladies when he was a mere lad of nmteen at the
E reat New York ball in the Academy of Music,
and he has never lost a chance of keeping him^
self in practice Bince.