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Nancy Wiggins. THE SMART COUNTRY GIRL A Story of the North Georgia Mountains. by W. A. POE. CHAPTER L ‘I say ! Nancy, do yon know I’m powerfully troubled in mind, concerning that ar speckled heifer, I baint sot eyes on her this blessed day. ‘I expeot mam, she’ll be at the pen milking time. However these are mighty risky times. I’ve heard the old lolks say > ’thar s a sight of stealing going on hereabouts. •They's on the right track, them that says times in changed, and for the worst. I can call to mind, them days, when my dad and your granddad fust moved to these parts; lolks wernt afeared of rogues, tbar wernt narry lock or bolt on no door about the larm. Our old corn-crib was shot every blessed night with a stick twixt the jicis and the door. My sakes how things is turned about since them times ! Folks who has anything to shot up cant have no peace of mind no matter how many bolts and bars they is got. I baint one of your stingy kind, but I hates to have my truck taken unbe- knowings to me.’ •Do say ! mam, how come grandther to take it into his' head to settle in these parts? I’ve heard aunt Sallie Jenkins tell, but the old body’s tongue got s laster than a mill-race, and 1 didn t catch more than half that she said. 1 reckon grandpa had good reasons or he wouldn t have Bettled here betwixt these mountains. You know as much as aunt Sallie does about it, and as I haven’t got much to do between now and dark, I’d like to hear all concerning grandpa’s move to old Georgia.’ ‘Run fetch me some wood then Nancy; as the fire is most died out. Arter you brighten up the coals I’ll give your grandpappy’s history so far as is beknowns to me.’ The young girl with alacrity obeying her mother’s directions, replenished the fire, which soon threw out a genial warmth to the room in which the two females were busily engaged in sewing. The fire rekindled, Nancy seated her self near the large open fireplace, eager to hear the history of grandpappy. ‘This haint no short story, I can tell you Nancy;’ began her mother. ‘Howsomever, as dad used to say, ‘I’ll thrash out pert. You wants to know why dad moved to Georgia. I reckon I might as well begin at the beginning, as they do say in the book. You do know dad s name was Jacob Atwood, they do say that one of the family fit in the Revolution, he mout have been kin to dad an he mout not; howsom ever dad never did know sure if he was or was not blood kin to him. He was tolerbly anxious to make out this relationship when he was young, for in them days folks were proud on thar kin who lit the Britishers. Arter a time ^ad give up his notion to scrape kinship with this Atwood (Jacob for he had the same name as dad,) and let the matter rest: I used to tell him whep he talked about his uncle or cousin or whateve? kin mout ar been this lievolutioner; that he was tasking a sight of fuss about this fietbipg Atwood, ppd it he ever found he was kin to weuns, someth?^ would turn up about him as would dipi regret tb? bp prov ed his kinship. Dad was a young slip of a fellow when he mar ried mam. She was named Sylphia Moss, and she was the rosiest, prettiest girl in the whole county. Dad had a little farm of pretty good land, and a nice double-pen log house upon^it. ’ The convention met op.** 0 " ° 7hndjjpjpjtjpneH p _‘ u ana Main lived on the farm powertui hap py; thar first child was sister Sallie; in two years arterwards 1 was born. Mam didn’t live more than three years arter I was born. She took a fever and died in lour days arter the fever struck her. Aunt Rachel says Dad took on powerful. He did nothing but mope all day. Nigh on to six months arterwards, an old friend of Dad’s come to the house and stopped all night. He had done a powerlul sight of traveling, and arter supper he and Dad set up and talked. He gave Dad a loDg story about Georgy, how cheap lands were, and ot the big crops that was made on them. Dad didn't say much, but three days arter become in at dinner, and he says to Aunt Rachel: ‘Sister Rachel,’ says he, ‘I have sold the old farm, and am going to start for Georgy day af ter to-morrow.’ ‘What has come into your head, Jacob ?’ says Aunt Rachel, ‘you must have lost your senses. Why this ar the best larm lor miles around.’ ‘No,’ says Dad, ‘my mind's just as hit always was, not powerful weak nor powerful strong.’ ‘Weil ! well!’ said Aunt Rachel, ‘who ever hearn the like ! going away trom your mother State, with these little children ! Poor Sylphia, how her heart would be troubled if she knew of this. Jacob, Jacob, hit looks mighty strange for you to leave here so soon arter Sylphia s death !’ Did hung his head and never said a word for some time. Arter a while he riz up and said: •Sister Rachel, I can’t live in no peace in this bouse. Since Sylphia died my mind is forever worried I kin hear her call; and sometimes when I go about the house at night, 1 kin hear her speak to me just as she used to. I don’t say that 1 am skeered, but then, hit makes me tit for nothing. I don’t take no interest in the farm; 1 am just like a bird whose mate has been killed, staying round the nest watching for the lost bird—mourning his life out, waiting. If I didn't know that Sylphia wern’t in yonder grave I would never quit these parts. She haint thar, and I reckon I can love her memory in Georgy as much as if I lived in this old house, i have sold the old place, Sister Rachel, but the agree ment was, that when I die I shall have room to rest by the Bide of a Sylphia. I couldn’t rest no whar else us quietly as thar, and they who are with me when the good Lord calls me home, shall promite to bring my body and bury hit thar close to Sylphia’s grave. Say no more; my mind is set on going.’ Aunt Rachel never said another word, for as Dad said, his mind was sot on going, and when he made up his mind, nothing could move him. Two days arter this we started for Georgy. Dad had two waggins full of truck; one he driv, t’other was driv’ by a hired man. We was two weeks travelin’ and campin’ out before we got here, and Dad settled in the same house whar sister Sallie now lives. When I was nigh on to sixteen, about your tittering and saying: ‘Jeems Wiggins is dead sot with Peggy Atwood.’ I kinder felt sheepish when I heard this talk, and when the first boy made liis bow, 1 nodded my bead. Jeems got up, giving me a look that plainly said, ‘You ain’t goin’ to go back on me for the ugliest boy in the room !' I mout have let Jeems < Wiggins set thar until time to go home if them girls hadn’t said what they did. Next time I set eyes on Jeems Wiggins was meeting day. He came up and ’peared right glad to see me, and I warn’t sorry to set eyes on him again. Arter that he came regular to our bouse, and ’twarn’t long till he told me what he come for. I kinder ’peared offish for sometime. Arter awhile I give in and we was engaged. Dad said, being as Jeems was an industrious man we mount get married. Thar ain’t no use telling you about the wedding, ’cause hit passed off like all of them do. Arter we had been married two months Jeems bought this farm, and we moved here. He was a likely sort of man in his looks and ways. When you was nigh onto two years old he was thrown from his horse and killed. Good Father above us, what an awful day it was when they brought him in the house and laid him on the bad,dead ! I remember screaming and dropping down by his body. I had‘a long spell arterwards. Sis ter Sallie, kind b’ody that she is, took a sight of care with me. I got up arter a while, but I haint been much account since that day. The old lady's voice faltered and she took ofl her spectacles to wipe away the tears. The brown lashes of the daughter were moist, and both were silent until presently Nancy asked: ‘When grandpa died did you all carry him back to North Carolina and bury him by grand mammy ?’ •Yes we did my dear, and that was the sorrow- fullest journey I ever made. It wao in the winter time. The rain come down in floods. Me and sister Sallie, and Jeems (fot dad died afore Jeems was killed by bis horse.) We three were the only living souis in the waggin, with poor dad s dead body in the pine coffin. Every time the waggin run over the rocks it would seem to me it was a hurting dad, and I would beg Jeems to be easier. Poor fellow, he was mighty nigh as distressed as I was, but he tried to reason with me, that dad didn’t feel the rough jolts. Well arter many long days, (oh how long them days peared to me) we got to the old farm and buried dad long-side of mam. Thar haint no grave stones on their graves, and maybe their graves has been p*owed up afore this, but the good Lord don’t care no more for them who has grave stones than for them who has none. I haint a feared cause mammy and dad’s graves haint got no marks on them, that they will be forgotten on the resurrection day.’ The renewal of these sad memories caused tears to fall from the eyes of the mother, and the daughter wept in sympathy. ‘Well,’ resumed Sirs. Wiggins, after a silence of some minutes. ‘It’s no use to be down hearted. Them was trying days but we’re all born to see sorrow, and must bear up under its burden, I have seen a heap of trouble, and yet a sight of blessings has be n given me. When the good Lord sends sorrrow you may be sure that a little way off thar will be a blessing no matter how small hit may be. Trouble and sorrow always end in good to them who are affiieted. Tell me havn’tvou brought some news from sister Sallie? ‘Cousin Polly did tell about Squire Crawford and Miss St Clare coming to tne old Squire’s day afQre yesterday. Cousin Polly said she saw him riding by on Squire’s black horse, that he was a dressy young fellow right sightly to look at. I laughed to hear her tell how he cantered along dressed up to kill, I would, ljke to see Jiitp. -f reckon he’s well stuck up being as he s Aroni the city. The city chaps put on a $ight of airs when they come in these parts. I reckon thar ‘7-I spose ’ttie ‘‘oJcT^Squire will have a grand house-warming for these kin folks of his and Mrs. Squire Crawford’s,’ replied Mrs. Wiggins. ‘You are right he will, mam. For cousin Polly said that Jane Guiton told her thar was goin’ to be a right sharp blow out at the Squire’s to-morrow,’ ‘You can calculate on getting an invite, Nancy. The Squire is a mighty proper man, and thinks lots of the folks round about here. Come, milk ing time is come, I hear the cows lowing up the lane, I kinder hope the spotted heifer is with the balance of the critters.’ They immediately proceeded to the enclosure set apart for feeding and sheltering the cows at night. Their hearts were delighted upon dis covering the missing animal with the other cat tle. While they were engaged in milking, a negro man appeared on horse hack; halting at the enclosure he delivered the folio wing message: ‘Mars Squire and Missus say they be mighty glad to see Miss Nancy at their house to-morrow arternoon.’ Before a reply could be given the sable horse man urged his horse into a gallop and soon disappeared. ‘I’m powerful glad Nancy we finished your blue merino yesterday. The Squire is mighty perlite to think of giving you an invite.’ ‘I shall feel mighty queer among these great folks, but I reckon it won’t do not to be tnar.’ ‘Go ! why course you will go Nancy, we-uns don’t have no great chance to enjoy ourselves these days, and hit won't do to refuse such a chance as this,’ replied her mother positively CHAPTER II. For many hours after Nancy retired that night she lay awake, her mind actively engaged in thought. The invitation to Esquire Crawford s the preceding day caused no little quickening of her pulses. In her secluded neighborhood, these gatherings for merry sports were of seldom occurrence. Isolated from the world beyond, the characteristics of the inhabitants were of the simplest description. They enjoyed small op portunity for mental improvement, the schools were neglected, or if established, were contin ued only a few months of the year. The brac ing air and unsurpassed scenery, and produc tiveness of the soil attracted men of wealth to this portion of the Commonwealth. By the in habitants they were considered as superior to themselves, though an acknowledgement of this superiority was never pronounced in words, yet their diffidence when in the company of these people of more refinement indicated that this sentiment was felt though not expressed. The appellation of squire was given to the male pro prietor, his wife being denominated Mrs. Squire, as in the instance we have already snown Squire Crawford, who was a gentleman of re finement and education attracted by the salub rity of the region to make it his home for the summer months, as did many of the inhabitants age, Nancy, some lolks called me poweilul hand-i of the southern section of the State. Nancy’s t- j i-:-. it- t ’*• ' u excitement of mind drove sleep from her eyes some. It 1 do say hit myself, I wern’t no slouch when hit come to good looks. Them times thar warn’t no schools in these parts, so that counts for my lack of book-larning. 1 disremember the lust time I set eyes on Jeems Wiggins, your dad; howsomever, that don’t make no great difference. If I haint bad ly wrong in my calculations, me and your dad saw each other at fc quire Higgins’ house-warm ing. The Squire had moved to these parts and built the first frame house with brick cnimneys, ever seen hereabouts. Thar was a sight ot,lolks at the warming. We played lots of games, ‘Rag in the bush,’ Fishing lor love,’ and other plays. They all said me and Jeems WigginB must take the chairs in the center of the room, and start the play of ‘Fishing for love.’ We sot thar; Jeems talked mighty proper, and ’peared like he wern't goin’ to let no girl take my place, for he shook his head to all of them as they came up their beaux. I heard the girlB and boys for many hours alter retiring. Sue was an un educated child of Nature. Her attendance at the distant school for a few months gave her the opportunity to acquire the introductory branches of an education; in these Nancy be came proficient. Association with her compan ions and relatives caused her to convey her thoughts in a phraseology like their own. These untutored people lived in contentment, the outer world possessed no allurements for them, their uneventful lives were occupied with daily toil, counting themselves wonderous rich if, af ter years ot arduous labor, they acquired the ownership of a small farm and suoh comforts as their simple tastes desired. Nancy and her mother resided alone with the exception of two or three 'hands’ and their families, who per formed the labor necessary in cultivating the fields surrounding the homestead. As Mrs. Wiggins remarked, ‘Squire Crawford was indeed kind to the inhabitants of his neighborhood, and especially so to her. The frugal desires of the mother and daughter enabled Ibem to place in the hands of Esquire Crawford a considerable sum of money for investment in profitable stocks. The interest accumulating each year and not drawn, amounted to several thousand dollars, therefore the widow and her daughter were in better circumstances than their poorer neighbors. As noon approached the following day, Nancy began to make her toilet in preparation for her departure to ‘Squire Crawford’s. When she ap peared before her mother, the old lady's pride found expression in words. ‘Well, Nancy !’ said she, carefully examining the dress worn by her daughter, ‘I calculate thar haint many that will shine over you at the Squire’s. If I do say it, you has some good looks, but folks didn’t make themselves and taint no reason they should be stuck up. Don’t be proud, Nancy. I reckon the frolick will last far in the night you can go with your cousin Polly and stay thar all night. I’ll be powerful lonely, but we-uns don't git the chance to go to the Squire’s every day. Have your fun and come home soon in the morning,’ said she, kissing her daughter. As the direct road to E c quire Crawford’s passed her aunt’s home, our heroine paused a moment at this domicile, and was delighted to learn that her yc cousin would be ready to accompany her in a short time. He was several years Nancy’s senior though not positively homely there was wanting that delicacy of fea ture which added greatly to our heroine’s at tractions. They, however, were a handsome pair as they rode off, laughing gaily. The sun was nearly obscured behind the mountains when they arrived at the ‘Squire’s’ homestead. The building was of stone, capacious in every particular, durability and comfort appeared to be the only incentive of the architect. The sur rounding mountains, the yalley between, the blue lime stone creek which flowed a few yards in front of the mansion gave pictureque beauty to the place. The clover fields carpeted the meadows with living green and the pines and cedars were lighted with the rosy reflection of sunset. Esquire Crawford having no children, it was a welcome occasion- when his nephew or his wife’s niece made them an occasional visit. The mansion was brightly illuminated this eve ning as the young girls alighted from their horses and a servant came forward to take the animals in charge. ‘I am delighted to see you Miss Nancy, and you Miss Polly; I greatly feared you would dis appoint ns in not coming. Here wife; have the young ladies conducted to the reception room for I verily believe old Ned will lose his wits if the dance is not begun,’ said the old squire meeting the young girls at the entrance door. After removing their hats and wrappers Nancy and her cousin were conducted into the large room where a goodly number of youpg men and ladies were engaged in alternately laughing and screaming at some unfortunate victim in the game they were playing. Tho formalities of an introduction ^between the young ladies and Miss St. Clare who came forward at her aunt’s bidding) being completed, Nancy sought a vacant seat near the window. A feeling of in dignant mortification possessed her, at the manner of Miss StClare, when her name was mentioned by Mrs Crawford. True she made no remark, but upon her lip appeared a smile amounting to contempt, ‘What have I done?’ Nmoy asked herself, ‘I have got nO fine name, but I never heard it was not u respectable and honest folk’s name.’ Gazing round the a^i-lf.she detected Miss S’.Cla -e <TT2. irT.-^tr-wsih * tie- man who was recefvea as Henry Crawford. His dress and manner was indicative of a gentle man. His young face was handsome, his dark eyes possessed a peculiar fascination, and as he listened to the conversation of his companion there was upon his features a pensive expression. Arm in arm they promenaded the room. From her secluded corner Nancy gazed with admira tion upon them. They were a handsome couple: Miss St. Clare was tall and delicate of feature, her grace was the acquirement of study, her beauty unadorned would attract but little atten tion, tonight she appeared in costly material,all the skill ot the mantuamaker had been bestowed upon its manufacture. Glittering with jewels she appeared as a queen among her subjects. As they approached the corner where Nancy was ensconced, she heard him remark. ‘For shame Agnes! let not your passion for ridicule mar the pleasure of any one tonight.’ They passed on. Soon'however, he returned, and extending his hand to Nancy said. ‘It appears that my uncle has forgotten me tonight as I have not been introduced to you. Pray therefore excuse this informal manner of forming acquaintances, I am Henry Crawford; and your name?’ ‘Is Nancy Wiggins, she replied bending her head. ‘Do not some call you Nannie ? he remarked a slight smile visible upon his face. ‘I never heard folks called Nannie. I’ve heard them called goats by that ar name,’ she replied. ‘Does your mother not use this name wh^n speaking to you, as a term of endearment?’ he asked. ‘Mam don’t believe in calling folks outern ther names. I reckon when she named me Nan cy,she counted on its being my name till I died.’ The restrained laughter which he had endea vored to suppress now found vent,and he laugh ed immoderately for a time. ‘Forgive me,’ said he, regaining his compos ure. ‘I know I have been guilty of great rude ness, but your manner of speech is so peculiar that I could not retain my composure.’ ‘Folks that do’nt like my way of talking need’nt listen,’ she replied, ter face crimson. ‘If yon are really angry with me, I will on my knees, beg your pardon a thousand times over; indeed I did not intend to wound you.' ‘I calculate you had better stand up, as you look better that wayA I have hearn folks tell of a man who kneeled for fun, to take off the preach er, and when time come for him to get up, he couldn’t move a peg,’ said she, evincing much spirit. His reply was interrupted by the coming of a young man, who claimed her hand for the dance. The old negro musician was busily arranging a set for a quadrille. As Nancy and her partner took their place, he began vigorously to ply his bow. While Henry Crawford observed the dancers, engaged in self-censure, Miss St. Clare appeared. ‘Ah! Henry,’ said she, ‘I fear from your grim visage you have attempted to flirt with this moun tain beauty and have received a rebuff.’ ‘You are mistaken Agnes,’ said be, firmly. ‘I fear I have wounded this young girl inadver tently.’ ‘Ah! ah!’ laughed she, ‘this is indeed a ludi crous episode. I trust you may quiet your con science before we dance.’ She kissed her hand to him as she glided across the room to where her aunt and uncle who were enjoying the dance with as much pleasure as those who were actual participants. Although the lusty voice of the violinist an nounced ‘seat your partners’ this command was obeyed not with the same alacrity as the former announcement. Again Henry Crawford sought Nancy. ‘Will you oblige me by promenading on the veranda ? I fancy the night is not cold enough to give you a cold.’ 'I hanit afeared of getting cold; I hant one of them sort who catches cold. Yes I reckon I’ll walk. I calculate you means to be perlite or ° D such a slippery floor, where, if he falls he may <• « I nrftfilr nlQ lirnha nr enan hia k An/I V you wouldn t ask me, she replied. I have no doubt you were greatly shocked at my rudeness. I assure you this apparent in tention to wound or cause you pain was not pre meditated or intentional,’ said he,as they prom enaded the long piazza. ‘I wernt sprized at you laughing at me. I’ve hearn tell ot you city chaps afore, who looks on we-uns as a sort of animal that can talk. I do reckon we-uns are a queer lot to you-uns,but my sakes alive yon city folks haint no great sight, no matter how you do fix up.’ ‘Well, well,’ he replied, ‘lam truly glad that if I find your eccentricities ludicrous, you can retaliate by laughing at me in turn. I trust this unfortunate disagreement will end in friend ship. I ask to be allowed to visit you frequent ly. Forget that I have been rude and in the fu ture I will endeavor to merit your esteem by a guarded and circumspect course of conduct.’ ‘My sakes, how you do talk. I did consider aunt Sallie as having a swift use of her tongue, but von do go ahead of any critter I ever heard. But howsoever, I haint going to bear no ill-will to you for laughing at me, and I calculate mam don’t care if you come over our way; and I wont be sorry to see you over thar.’ The announcement that supper was ready for bade any further conversation, and they repair ed to the supper hall, where a bountiful repast was spread. The morning hours were fast approaching when the guest began to depart; their hearts bounding with gratified pleasure, thankful to the good squire for the gathering ‘he had given.’ TO BE COKTINTED. DOSIA THE TAMING OF A GIRL. BT HENRY GRLVILLE. Translated from the French, e or the “Sunny South,” BY TROF. GHAS. F. QAILMARD. XVIII. The day appointed for the skating party was about the middle of January. On that day many pretty eyes looked anxiously to the thermometer from noon to night. But the obstinate mercury positively refused to rise and stood motionless at a good distance below zero. For an open air party such an atmosphere was not precisely pleas ant. Mothers had declared all day long that none would go, that it would be a folly to run the risk of becoming consumptive for an amusement of a couple of hours. Many an old general, father of beautiful children had given his wife positive orders to stay at home. A mother of a family must not expose herself without necessity. However at about nine o’clok—although the thermometer had fallen two more degrees—a long line of carriages and sleighs brought to the quai Anglais a compact crowd of young girls and young wives, chaperoned by mothers and old generals, and, strange to say, mothers and generals all looked satisfied, all faces were smiling. The reason of it was that the Imp erial family had promised to be present, Hence cold weather did not exist any more. Had it been necessary every one would have proclaimed that the temperature was deliciously sweet. T. 1 , T) 1 r.'othp break his limbs or even his head?’ ‘Especially when he has just as good a chance to do it at home while dancing the same mazurka on a wooden floor with the same orchestra,’ said Dosia. Sophie and l’lafo laughed. ‘The dance is a work of Satan,’ continued Dosia, with imperturbable coolness, ‘and that’s why Count Plato never dances nor skates.’ We dont know what Plato’s answer would have been, for Mourief came just then, ami his pres ence brought a thoughtful expression to the Captain’s face. ‘Are you not cold, ladies ?’ he asked. T iey answered negatively. ‘The thermometer is rapidly running down, and about midnight it will be fearful.’ ‘We shall be gone before then,’ answered the Princess. The quadrille was over. A new band of music took the place of the first and played pieces of a more serious character. The gentlemen engaged in skating had each a email button-hole lantern of the size of a silver dollar, and at a distance they looked like as many fire-flies moving in every direction. There was a recess during which warm water was thrown on the surface of the ice. A li<;ht vapor arose, and a moment later the skating place presented a smooth appearance, all the scratches having disappeared under a new coat of ice. ‘This party is a great deal more pleasant than the last one,’ said a young aid-de-camp who came to pay his respects to the Princess. ‘What do you think is the cause of it ?’asked Sophie. ‘Your presence here, certainly,’ answered the gallant young man. Dosia pinched her friend's arm and turned her face, smiling. Mourief s eyes had such an hilarious expression that when they met Dosia’s it was not easy for them both to keep serious. ‘Without any intention to lessen mv sisrer’s influence,’ said Plato, who always came to the rescue in such occasions, ‘I think the temperature counts for something in it. What weather had you last time ?’ ‘Not the least breeze, my dear Count, and only twenty-four degrees.’ ‘Below zero?’ ironically asked Mourief. ‘Of course, Below zero. I dont see why there were so few ladies; it was certainly a drearyparty.’ ‘Indeed !’ echoed Pierre, ‘I dont see why.’ Dosia pulled him by his sleeve and walked off a little distance. Her cousin followed her and overtook her in the gallery, where she was laugh ing heartily.’ ‘Why do you make me laugh so?’ she said, ‘the Princess will say again that 1 dont behaYe well', but really it is not my fault.’ ‘That man is so funny with his dreary party.’ ‘Well,’ said Dosia, 'I cannot go back there. I know I would laugh at him: so tie up my skates/ Pierre kneeled down before her and fastened! the straps around her ankles. He had soon put on his own skates, and both, hand in hand, started, making a graceful curve on the ice. ‘Where is Dosia ?’ asked Sophie. ‘Here she is, skating with Lieutenant Mourief,’ answered the aid-de-camp. ‘Are they not charm ing,’ he added, pointing at them, ‘they seem to be made for each other. Is there not any project b t veen them,? 1 e n-inuated. Plato suddenly turned pale, bit his lips to re frain an answer he might have regretted, and looked on another side. Sophie, who knew the world, did not make a positive answer. Those energetic negatives are generally taken for affirm atives, Joui, know.' sue said-,- I have not ' a "ars .;ny° old generals to Order them to stay at home, nothing i om , spea ^ 0 f j disturbed their serenity. Leaving their carriage j The aid-de camp left them, leaving behind him on tne quai Anglais, they went down the steps the poison of a cruel doubt. cut into the ice and covered with sand, and found j Many a time Plato had himself thought that the themselves on the beva, that was frozen to a depth j young couple loved each other—probably without of three feet. . knowing it themselves—many a time he had con- The place set apart for skating formed a rect- j s j,] ere j it ag a good thing, on account of what had angle of about five hundred feet by two hundred. I happened between them, and that thought made A wall made out of blocks of ice between which pine trees had been planted, surrounded the place on three sides; the other side was bound by a wooden gallery a few steps above the level of the river. A vast vestibule and restaurant heated by several calorifers had been erected on that him sad and sometimes disagreeable to his friends. I Should his life be unhappy because of the whims, j of that little girl? | While his mind was so wandering, the two ; cousins were rapidly passing to and fro under his i eyes like birds enjoying themselves in the air. gallery. Near by was a boudoir for the special [ ‘Brother, I am tired,' said Sophie, who under use of the ladies. It was a model ol elegance and i stood what he was thinking about and wished to comfort, with large looking-glasses all around, | pjjt end to his pains. flowers and odoriferant shrubs every where, velvet) jq e rose -without a word, called for their ear- and satin furniture, lhe whole combined with | i-mge and came back to his sister, the warm atmosphere gave a complete resemblance j ‘Dosia.” said the Princess, leaning above the a eostly parlor. Another room, similar to • railing while the couple were passing, this, had been reserved for the Imperial family, j The young girl looked at Sophie with her bright for several Grand-Duchesses had promised to ac- , f acej reddened by cold and pleasure. She was company their brothers or husbands to the skating , then a living picture of careless gayety; and Plato party. A small pavillion, surrounded with pine trees, j was occupied by the orchestra. The whole skating ! place was encircled with garlands of unpolished I globes, whose festoons joined together immense ) candelabra supporting other globes of the same j sort. A triple line of varied colored lights ran I along those garlands following all the sinuosities j of the architectural lines of the different buildings. I myself so well!’ was uselessly torturing himself near by. •I am tired, dont you wish to come home? Without a word Dosia stopped, seated herself on the wooden bench running along the gallery, and extended her tiny feet to Pierre, who untied the skates. . ‘Thank you, cousin,’ she said when he was through, ‘what a pleasant night! I never enjoyed In front of the entrance two large towers built out of blocks of ice, formed two gigantic lanterns, in which soldiers were constantly burning alternate ly red and green fireworks. Nothing can render the magic effect of these lights as seen through the transparence of an ice wall. Fantastic irradiations seemed to play in every direetion, while the wind carried away long columns of smoke and bright sheaves of sparks from the countless torches scattered all over the Neva. When the Imperial family arrived, a power ful electric battery eclipsed all other light, and the sight of innumerable dazzling uniforms inter spersed with brilliant toilettes became really in describable. The orchestra struck a waltz, and several couples began skating gracefully, following circles on a larger scale than in a dancing-room but with as much precision and rhythm. This waltz was only a preparatory pastime; the event of the day was a quadruple Lancers Quadrille, for which sev eral rehearsals had taken plaee during the last ten days. The ladies had agreed to adopt a perfect uni formity of design and color. One quadrille was dressed in white velvet, trimmed with astrakan of an ( <i^n|aculate whiteness ; another had chosen bltyjj.velvet and zibeline; a third, grenat velvet and chinchilla fur; the last one wore dark blue trimmed with swan fur. The dancers, all on their skates, performed I the quadrille’s evolutions with as much ease and * correctness as in a parlor, only a little slower. The time of the music had been calculated to that pur pose, and every final chord found the dancers in their respective places. Dosia, who was not skating, looked at it all in amazement. ‘Do you like it ?’ ashed the Princess. ‘Oh ! yes,’ she answered, ‘it is magnificent; 1 never have dreamed of anything like it. This is unlike anything I have ever witnessed.’ ‘This cannot be found but in Russia,’ said Plato, ‘we alone among European nations, have a Neva to build on such a skating place, enough money to pay for such an amusement, and the necessary grain of folly to conceive the idea of it.’ Dosia smiled. ‘So you think,’ she said, 'that we are a little crazy.’ j ‘Do you believe, Miss Dosia, that any one having good sense would come to perform a mazurka j When in the gallery, she noticed the serious countenance of Sophie and her brother. ‘Are you suffering?' she asked with that caress ing voice that rendered her so sympathetic. ‘What matters it?' said Plato, roughly, ‘provided that you amuse yourself!’ ‘We were not taking any exercise ourselves,’ answered Sophie, ‘and we got cold.’ ‘Forgive me,’ murmured Dosia, *1 have been too selfish.’ The Grand-Duchesses left the skating place, and the crowd escorted them with torches to their carriages. Our friends were delayed a few min- utes on account of the crowd. ‘No joy can last!' said L>osia to herself. ’I am not doing any harm to anybody, and still I dissat isfy every one.’ She kept silent all the way heme. On the next day she asked the Princess to ex cuse her thoughtlessness and want of attention to those who were so kind to her. Sophie consoled her the best she could, and took advantage of that occasion to give her some advice. ‘Be more reserved with your cousin,’ she said, ‘it is not-known by everybody that you have been raised together. Some one asked me if you were not betrothed.’ Dosia’s face turned crimson and assumed an expression of anger. •But I cannot bear his presence, and he hates me! What folly !' ‘It is not known everywhere that you done like each other, and your hatred does not go so far as to prevent you from skating together.’ -O, my dear friend,’ commenced Dosia. ‘Do not hate him, child,’ interrupted Sorhie. ‘Behave with him as you do with others; this* will be sufficient.’ ‘That will be very difficult,’ said Dosia with a. sigh. ‘Ana is Mr. Plato mad with me ?’ The Princess, a little confused, hunted up an answer. ‘He cannot be mad with you,’ she said, ‘but he may have Veen dis gre ally affee el.’ ‘I shall not do it any more,’ said Dosia, like a child; ‘1 shall never do it, but tell him to forgive me 1’ Plato, when informed of that candid wish, easily yielded. A few friendly words fom him to Dosia called back the smile to her face and bright ness to her eyes. [to be continued.J