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DOSIA
THE TAMING OF A GIRL.
BT HENRY GBLVILLB.
Translated from the French, for the
‘•Sunny South,"
BY PROF. OH AS. F. GAILMARD.
XXL (Continned.)
As soon as Dosia had left the room, Plato said
to his sister, in a reproachful tone:
‘Can it be possible that you tell Dosia a secret
which you hide from me?’
‘I did not tell her, but you know how smart is
this ingenue. She found it out immediately.’
‘What did she find oui ?’
‘That her cousin could not be guilty of such
abominable a folly.’
‘Who is it, then ?’
‘Did he not tell you ?’
‘Certainly not. For an hour you and Dosia have
been puzzliug me.’
‘Then, my dear, have as much penetration as
Dosia. for 1 have promised not to say a word.’
One hour later, Plato left his sister, taking
along with bim all her cash. Going to his room
he took all the money he had and went immediat
ely to see Mourief. The Lieutenant was very
tired and sad, on account of his failure to collect
the money he needed. Lying on a sofa, he was
meditating on the folly of men in general, and
that of cornets in particular. The visit of his
friend did not at first change his mood, for he
thought he would have to hear a repetition of
Plato’s lec'ure.
‘I come to see if l could do anything for you, 1
said Sourof, entering the room.
‘I thank you,’ said Mourief a litt’e embarrassed.
‘I am sorry that I have been so ui.jus*; don’t
think hard of me, dear friend.’
•Ah ! she has spoken !’ exclaimed Mourief.
‘No, my friend, but I guessed at it. One can
do anything for his brother. Here is my pocket-
book ; you will find enough in it to put an end to
this regrettable affair.’
Pierre threw his arms around his friend's neck,
and the latter returned the embrace.
‘Didn’t I teil you,’said Plato, proud’y, ‘that there
is but one Sophie in this world ?’
•I am not deserving of such a treasure,’ mut
ten d Pierre, shaking his head ; *1 dont see how
she has consented to ’
•She could have done worse,’ interrupted Sourof,
‘and 1 am glad that you will become my brother-
in law. But let us speak about serious matters.’
The two friends adjusted their accounts, and
when everything was agreed upon, Sourof rose
and said :
•I am going to the Colonel’s, I think he will
be glad to see me.’
‘What are you going to tell him ?’ asked Pierre,
anxiously.
•I will let him know that your debt will be paid
tomorrow.’
xxir.
‘What did you say to Miukof?’ asked the Prin
cess to Dosia, one night on return Bg from theater.
•Ah 1 hat is the question ; what did I tell him ?’
she answered in an indifferent way. Then she
added quick'y :
‘What did he tell you bim«eir-*t
-saiis ssi'it-.«... *.»—
al Ttold e him ’ she said, ‘that T did not understand
how a man can be so unhappy as to wish to marry
me!’ . . at
‘Then it was ft real proposition . # . .
•Yes if he thinks my answer to be impertinent,
that means that I have understood bis proposition
In./ if lie Ihinka l «, j.ki.S, «■«" » P*™
I did not exactly understand him
Is not that
clear now :
speech- li™»
\lndemi>iselle. .U. eh.i.s „f ..rtieg. »re os
sacred as indissoluble. Happy ib the man who
find, in the desert of this great world the spouse
who is destined to crown his felicity and embellish
his, life. Should I be that man I would consider
myse.f for ever happy!”
•Come’ Dosia, he did not speak to you so.
.Just about. If I make any mistake, it is a very
small one. To such % cloudy question, I Could not
ftn .C he asked me if your mother would accept
him, so he is in earnest. Must I write to yo
n * t ‘No, r no !’ exclaimed Dosia, ‘let us not wake up
thr cat while he is s’.ee -•
‘Hush !’ said Sophie, putting a finger across her
11P .Yes ’ said Dosia, -I am very obedient now. 1
only wanted to say that mother did not sco.dme
fo/the last six months, and I call that a great mr-
Drovement. So, when I shall wish to marry
with the wise advice of my dear Sophie-mother
will not be troub ed about settling that question.
‘Minkofis ricn, he is young and belongs to a
od family, he has, besides, a tine appointment
■He has just as much sense as a goose 1 mut
tered Dosia, looking to the ceiling.
•Not as a goose, corrected the Princess.
•As a gosling,’ replied Dosia; -but, after all, he
mav not be worse than others.’ . . ,
• He whom we love,’ said Sophie, ‘is different
fr °l! u trueP*whispered Dosia. ‘but he will not be
th Sophie looked at her with surprise. The young
E irl blushed and seemed to keep very busy v ith
fhe trinkets on her toilet.
• NVh it do you conclude about Miukof?
‘1 dofi t know—I shall ask your brother, said
Dosia. as red as a cherry. ‘He always g.ves me good
Plato started. Although he was used to Made
moiselle Zaptine’s eccentricities, he was not pre
pared for such a question. And why not ? Was
she not old enough to marry? He soon recovered his
coolness with no other sign of his temporary emo
tion but a marked redness of the face.
‘That depends on ’
•On what ?’ interrupted Dosia.
‘On many things. Whom do you wish to marry ?
if my question is not an indiscreet one.’
‘1 don’t wi->h to marry,’ retorted Dosia, striking
the table with a teaspoon.
Plato bit his mustache.
‘Then why did you ask me that serious question?
he said after a pause,
‘Beeause I might wish to marry,’ she answered
breaking slowly aod methodically a lump of sugar
with the handle of a knife.
When yon snail have such a wish, I believe it
will be time to discuss the propriety.
Dosia made short work of the extermination
of the sugtir lump, aud looking at Plato sideways :
she said, slowly :
| ‘You taught me yourself the necessity of doing
I nothing of importance before having pondered it
well and out of the pressure of exterior circuin
stances
Plato bent bis head silently, tormented by the
desire to pull the ear of such a docile pupil
who remembered so well the precepts of her
teacher.
‘Well !’ he said at la3t, ‘explain yourself.’
Dosia began again breaking sugar.
‘Mr. Mink ff has a-ked me to marry him,’ she
saiil, ‘will it be well for me to do i
Plato became absorbed iu the contemplation of
the table cloth; then turning all his anger against
Minkof:
•Oh ! what a dunce !' he exclaimed, suddenly.
‘Is he not !’ answered Dosia, with the most in
nocent air.
Her knife kept grating on the sugar.
•For God’s sake ! cease crushing that sugar. It
makes me nervous.’
‘Is it so?’ she said, with an air of commiseration
for nervous people. ‘I am not nervous, myself.
She then rose, put her chair a litt'e farther, to
avoid temptation, leaving the lump of sugar to a
precocious fly, born among the wr.rrn folds ot the
curtains. But in changing her place she got out
of the rays of the sun, and the room seetnd dark
to Plato.
‘In principle,’ said Dosia, explaining herself,
‘do you believe that I ought to marry ? that I am
reasonable enough for married life?’
Plalo could not help laughing.
•ileasonable enough !’ lie echoed, ‘well ! some
times. When you don’t crush sugar, you are very
acceptable.’
A smile passed over Dosia’s lips. She dipped
the tip of her sugared fingers into the wash bowl,
wiped them with her handkerchief, and—kept
silent.
Plato found himself obliged to r continue,
uing.
‘Marriage,’ he said, ‘is certainly a serious thing:
both parties contribute to the mutual happiness.
If the husband is very w'se and the wife a little
less, a sort of equilibrium can still be found which
will ’
He saw on Dosia’s face something—he didn’t
know what- that made him stop short,
Dosia raised her large innoceut eyes to him and
said :
‘Them I must find an extra wise husband 1’
Plato, provoked, did not answer.
•It is an indispensable condition to my mar
riage.’
All at once, a vision of the camp, the punch, th<*
•I don’t know,’ he said, briefly, ‘do what your
conscience will dictate.’
After those words he left.
April sunrays had disappeared st rain was
now beating the windows furiously. Dosia liad
remained where Pierre had left her. I he room
was almost dark, for ihe curtains intercepted the
dim light that could make us way throug i n
thick clouds. A tear rau down the young girls
cheek followed by another. In an instant they
succeeded each other so fast that they made two
wet stripes along the corsage of her lilac dress.
The clouds disappeared, and a pale yeliow ray o
Hie «un traversed the room, then the b.uesky was
seen again and the sun put a golden .point to eac.i
to each nan « i the cn.ur
Frank Shelton.
BY STEPHEN BREXT.
•Frank Shelton, you are the most trying girl
I evet saw.’
•Thank you my friend, for yonr compliment.
It shows that you have not lost all your fine
spirit yet,’ said Miss Shelton in her calm pleas
ant voice.
•Dont look at me in that provokingly good
hnuiored w«y for I aui really angry with you,
exclaimed Mrs. Melton.
‘So I see, by the one sided way your lovely
lace collar is pinned on, and the ri,fifed condi
tion yonr hair is in.'
‘To think of your being so foolish aa to accept
a governess’s situation, when your uncle h is so
kindly offered yon a home,’ continned the lady
without teediDg the interruption.
Frank’s face flashed.
‘I do not choose to accept any thing so grudg
ingly given’she said frankly.
•But you ought to do it for the sake of yonr
family honor.’
Must I starve or leave thelastofmv independ
ence to uphold the the family bonoi ? N' no !
Aunie, I am young, just nineteen, and [ ’shall
go down to Beaehwood, and t?acb Mrs. Wilton's
five children to read, write, and spell in Web
ster’s Dictionary, and eat the bread earned bv
my own labor'
She rose from her eri, as she spoke, a tall,
slender girl. with a proud uplifted head,a e ! esr
cut face, red-brown hair, and brilliant h zul
eyes. None of your weak,clinging kind of wo
man with a perpetual dampness about the eyes,
and a perp dual moan on the lips, against the
wicked world.
Frank had come of a proud family; but the
glory of the nameofShi lton had departed. The
family tree no longer stood green, and flem ish-
iag hut lay prone in the dust, and the last cd
her race, must go to work.
Mrs. Melton sighed. Next to her hnsband
she loved the wilful girl, and it hurt her to
think that the dainty hands, mn.4 be -oiled
with vulgar work. She had off. red Her a home,
but Frank declined, g«ntJy but firmly. Once
more she ventured to it;vile her.
•Do Frank, 1 want your company sc mu oh.’
•No, thaok you all the same deer friend, bat
my pride would not allow me to live on the
charity of my friend.’
‘But it would not bo charity.’
‘Yes it would, though even to your own kind
heart, you would not aeknowfed, e it as
such.’
‘Well, well perhaps you know best.’
‘I do know best Annie,’ laying her hands on
her friend’s shoulders, and smiling in her rare
sweet way. -You are the best little woman in
the world and, would be perfectly willin'? for
me to idle away the rtstof my life here,lout 1
will not impose on you. Good bye non ; and
dont worry yourself into a shadow, thinking
about me. I shall do wbi), rest as- ured.’
Two weeks later Miss sihe’ton was at Beach-
wood, and h.'d wasted ot the joys and sorrows oi
“ governess’s life.
Mrs. Wilton w.is very kind, and agreeable,
but the five small ohildren were five small imps
of Satan.
.Make them obey you Miss Shelton,’ s,iid
their mother. Poor dears they never did have
a S °d governess, so I ixpeot they are a little
wild.’
•Oh ! how hateful it
seen ag
pi-ce of the silverware,
occupied by Dosia when she was breaking sugar;
octupic j , , t,„. ita cousin had
the fly bad comeback; but Mourief s
not moved.
•Where are you, Dosia
called the Princess,
re aic — , . , ,
the weather is good now, let us take » rnle.^
Dosia went out through one door while Sophie
was entering the other. Two minutes later she
came buck already dressed,
she had cried.
fTO BE CONTINUED. |
and nobody knew that
go
Died of Remorse.
A Singula. 1, Incident.
A remarkable c se of death from remorse for
a deed of exceptional cruelty to animals is re
ported Born Denmark. A family, well known
Fn Copenhagen, had lor g been in .he habit of
spending their Sundays in one of the parks
P whoci'v feting v. ith them a son, 7 years
old A few Sunday! ago, the little fellow un
noticed by bis parents, discovered an unusually
i.. r e toad, and amused himself by tormenting
t in various ways, finally plunging a sharp
Sick through its body, so fastening it to the
around The n- xt Sunday the family again
visited the park, and the boy, remembering nis
sport of the previous week, went in seaich oi
more toads. He found the animal he had so
Tif fwrr* £
dining room door. Abe i
dressing. to day, cousin,’ said the
‘How grave you look to uay, v
Captain. n f Mourief to his sister, Plato
Since the betrothal of Moune^ alld often
bad become more familiar wn
^‘'rlHve'tnuiFHain ycu about serious matters,’
answered the young g* rb , . ^ small table
She took a seat opposite ° * f April sun
was between lbenl - * re-ting here on a lock of
was caressing her f. > * jilac dress. She
her hair, there on a d and eun , shyness
was herse.t Apnl all o*e itself, and ruled
and confidence—April
onlv by ihc caprice of Hie bar
Plato was just to be the ba ™“ erg ; ^ gaid
•Let us hear these se ”° u man had been called
More than once tl,ey alioIl8 about dresses or
Tzxsssrszss: — ° f
that sort. ma , rv ?’ asked Dosia,
Do vou advise me to ma-ry
5 cheeks and her eyes cast down.
;iick through its body, so fastening it to the
— _ -l u.-uday
sport of the previous week, went in search oi
“Sri S«U JSltoV. earth, and ,«U
alive y As he approached, the poor thing look
ed at him, its immense eyes distended wit j
nain and suffering. The child was terror-stnek-
Fn at the sight, a!d ran crying to his mother, to
tell her what he had done. He was taken home
in a great state of excitement and put to bed,
wh^re he remained for throe days in a burning
fever which ended in his death. Just before
Si death he declared that wherever he looked
he saw the pleading eyes of the poor toad, and
begged to have it taken away.
That was the first morning Frank entered on
ktfi* How Wv>rk. Mukiu^t tu; a obey was very easily
done in theory, but almt.-’«*• auiu * i a pac .
“ShaTiied her Bita*tijffl#VT» —i. .
five drawbacks. There <va4 a Hue piano, and a
mod library at h-,-r disposal, the Bcechwood
grounds were a constant pleasure, they wore so
beautiful; with paths all through the park, and
a pici urei-que bridge across the large brook, with
its crystal clear water, and mossy banks.
Ono mornit g, two months uftor Miss Shelton
came to Beech wood, and just as she had ordered
master Fred to stand in tua corner, for pulling
his sister’s hair, Mrs. Wilton came in with a let
ter iu her hand. .... ...
‘Oin’t you give the children a holiday Miss
Shelton? My brother is comiag home, and I
must have the hou3o put iu order, as he will
bring company with him.’
Sj the children rushed down stairs with a sav
age war whoop, and Frank assisted her employer
in directing the busy servants. While doing so,
Mr?. Wilton talked a great de 1 about her
iibs-nt brother. Frank learned that he was
thirt-six, ver y handsome and very fastidious,
and had ntvor married, because he had never
found a woman that would come up to his
standard of ideal »xcelleoce. Frank's heart
thrilled w ith indignation.
•Of course it he ever finds this ideal, he things
she will be ready, and willing to marry him ? ’
Mis. Wil on opened her eyes in surprise.
•Of cours“. Who would refuse Philip ? ’
Frank longed to say, that she would if she
had the chance, but decided that it was best to
say nothing, aod so vented her pent-up wrath
against Philip Graham, by tossing his books
about, as she helped to dust them.
At last the day came when the master of the
1 ouse, and his iriends were expected, Late in
the afternoon, when school hours were over,
Frank went down to the bridge, where cool
shadows lay, and where the musical murmur ot
waters broke the sleepy stiliness.
Taking her hat off, she threw up her hands,
churning them across her bare head, and leaning
a FaiLt 8 the railing of the bridge, looked down
into the water. It had been a trying day and
for once her brave spirit was almost ready to dis
stairs,” she said wrathfully.
is to be poor ! ’
After dressing she walked np to the mirror,
and looked at herself in a grave, meditative way,
and certainly there wits none down stairs that
looked better thp.n this queenly young beggar.
The black gauzy dress, relieved by crimson
roses at her bel r , was eminently becoming, and
when M's. Wilton se - t fc r her, she went down
and across the drawing-room to the piano, with
out giving cne glance to tue company, her pride
revelling from the thought, that from some part
of the room Philip Graham wus weighing her in
the balance, to see if she was worthy of the very
honorable situa'ion of governess to those five
little wre'ches up stairs. None of the inward
tumult was visible in Frank’s calm, composed
face. She played as well as she ever did, mak
ing none of those little mistakes that show a
confused mind. She knew that someone was
standing by hor, but wouldn’t raise her eyes to
see who it was, nntil having finished playing,
she rose to ieuve, when Mrs Wilton came up and
said:
•Miss Shelton, allow me to introduce to yon
nr brother, Mr. Graham.’
Frank inc'ined her head half an inch, and
lifting h* r eyes saw the gentleman she met on
the bridge smiling down at hor.
That was ..he last straw that broke the camel’s
back. From thenceforth they would ba ene
mies. So she vowed, as she looked up at the
silver moon, veiled in fleecy clouds.
Days passed; peace and quiet departed from
Beech wood. There was a continual bustle, from
morning till night. Miss Shi lion never min
gled with the gay company. She held herself
uloot through pride, and they were willing to
pass the governess with a careless glance or
nod.
Tho men admired her, but her proud, half-
frozen manners deterred any of them from seek
ing h> r acquaintance.
Frank never spoke to Mr. Graham beyond a
simple good morning, or good evening until
one day she went down to the library to get a
book. She was vainly trying to reach the one
she wanted, when a white, strong bund £ook it
down for her. and Mr. Graham said:
Yonr arm i3 not long enough to retch so high.
Is there any other you would like to have?’
No sir, thank you,’looking up and meeting
the steady, searching eyes. He smiled.
I did not know yoa ever read such grave
books a3 Gariy It ’s.’
Why n it sir. Do you think because I am a
woman, I must necessarily read nothing bai
trash.’ It was altogether unnecessary for Frank
tire up so, bat she couldn’t h ve resisted th.
emptiUion if she ha.l tried, and I am sorry to
say that she didn’t try.
Of course not. I am very glad that you have
taste for grave books. Our noble authors
should be appreciated.’
Pardon me for my hasty words,’ said Frank
blushing. •! have a very bad temper.’
Mr. Graham laughed.
•You certainly have a truthful frankness, tha!
I admire; but I am the one to <;sk pardon for
those impertinent questions on the bridge tha!
afternoon. Wi;l yoa forgive me, Miss Shelton ?’
here was no loophole of escape and Frank was
'reed to say ye.-; and he her enemy. Verily we
know not what a day may br'ng forth.
Mr. Graham had a remarkably pleasant voice,
at d F auk,fairly < harmed from "her cold reserve,
lingered in the cool, darkened Hbrav, and talk-
to ed him. It was such a relief to thi3 girl after
her long silence to have some one to talk 'o.
From l ooks their conv. rsatioa drifted to Italy
and Art, and he showed her pictures, gems ot
Wrflta WnHBBRfw"i:-a3E
it, to her own proud heart, she began to loon for
ward to the chance meetings on the stairs, the
half hours in tbe library, when her every day
life of toil slipped away and something new and
sweet came iu its place.
There was no sentiment between them. Bove
was never mentioned.
The long tranquil summer days passed, and
Frank drifted to the borders, and then into the
dream worl 1. from which we can can never
Wo may turn away hurt and disap-
retum. Wo may turn away
pointed, and grow bard and cynical; bat some
of the romance of our youth wul still cling «o
us, and when in tho dim lighted border-land,
we wait for Death's touch to put us to sleep, it
lies a sweet memory in our hearts.
One morning Mr--. Wilton called Frans, into
her room. , , T . .-u„i
‘Has my brother told you the news Miss Shel
ton ? she asked with a smile.
•What news do yon refer to Mrs. Milton .
‘Why, that he is engaged.’ , ,
The governess's face never changed, oae did
not even look surpriesd.
Graham has nt ver toll me that he
Pa ?Will yon show me the direct road to Beech
wood,’ said a pleasant voice near her. Frank
dropped her hands, and turning faced a gentle
man. He was tall and fair with Iona blond
beard, and handsome, keen olue eye»,
After a slight bewildered glance Frank bound
her voice, and said 2 . , . ^ ■,
‘Go up the path into the carnage drive, and
you wi l be in sight <ff the house.
y Thank von. This is a very oaol, pleasant
place Delightful for a hot afternoon like this,
removing bis hat and fanning with it. -
a visitor at Beech wood 1 presume.
‘No sir, I am the governess, said Frank curtly,
‘Ah yes. Does Mrs. Wilton treat you we.) ?
•Mrs J Wilton treats me well. You seem to
JSS a very to,.MM -W f • '»
aioA inn would like to kn<
Superstitions Regarding Friday.
It is strange enough, that Friday j 8
in all countries as a peculiar day. In England
it is generally considered unlucky ; many peo-
nle will not commence aDy undertaking on that
day ’ and most sailors believe tba t the vessel is
Bitre to be wrecked that sails on Friday. If a
marriage take place on that day, the old wives
shake their heads, and predict all kinds of mis
fortunes to the bride and bridegroom. -^ay>
they even pity all children who are so unlucky
S to be born on a Friday. In Germany, on the
contrarv Friday is considered a lucky day for
weddings, commencing new undertakings or
other memorable events ; and the reason ot this
snDerstition is said to be the ancient be e ,
that tbe witches and sorcerers held their week-
S meeUng on this day ; and of course, while
they were 8 amusing themselves with dancing,
and 5 riding on broom-sticks round the Blooa-
sperg, they could have no time to_work any
evil.
anything else you would
know ?’ She
reaHv angry now, and the amused smile in
the*gentleman's 5 eyes. didu’t soothe her feelings
h ?There is just one more thing, I would like t(
ask you. Has Mr. Graham come home yet ?
‘Not that I know of.’
•You haven’t seen him then ?
•No, and I hope I never may. Now will yon
^•Certainly.’ He lifted his hat and passed on
After he was gone, Frank felt ashamed, and
anerv, that she had been so rude, but she was
go tir»d that the man’s coolness irritated her be
yond endurance. Going back to the house she
Started to her own room, when she met Mrs.
W -They are all here,’ she cried ‘and Miss Shel
ton will yon please come down this evening tc
nlav some ? You have a very fine touch, and
then I want doar Philip tosoe you he is so par
ticular about the ohildren. . . , ,
Frank felt that she positively hated dear
Philip, Mrs. Wilton and the whole world, as she
locked’her room door. ...... .
•To think of having me on exhibition down
Mrs. Wilton's eyes
at MiiS Shelton, I
She Ifftel her head, aud locked into PM p
Graham's face.
•Way did you leave Baeohwood so sad Mil/?’
heaskel sternly.
•Is it anything to you Sir ?’
•Yes, do you suppose that I would h»73
searched for you so long, if it had not uuhq
something to me ?’
The hot color burned like a flame m Frank's
pale face. She drew back haughtily.
•I ought to feei compliment-,1, that Miss
Thorn s lover has been searching for me.’
‘Miss Thorn’s lover?’
•Yes, or husband, I don t know or care which.’
•Who toi<l you that I was engaged to Miss
Thorn ?’ he asked quietly.
‘Yonr sister.’
Wonld her womanly pride carry her through ?
He came close, and clasped her white folded
hands in his.
•Is that the reason you left Beech wood?’
Sbe lifted her head.
•How dare yon !' she cried
‘Frank, be still darling, nntil I explain. I
never was engaged to any one. ft was a mistake.
I never loved any one but you Frank ; my
proud Frank; and darling, don't send me away
now that f have found you.’
‘I am poor and unknown, anil—’
•fa that ail ?’
•Yes.’
‘Then l have woo my wife.’
‘But Philip where is your ideal ?’ after a long
silence.
‘Here,’ lifting her face, and k’ssing her seedl
ing lips. T would not have thought of loving
you, it you ha In t been my idea!. Now are «oa
contented ?’
Perfectly.’
No other word could have expressed i ; ; so
well. Perfectly contented. Through all her
ufo, Frank Shelton never regretted the spirit -,f
independence, that caused h r to reject the
charity of friends, und go out to earn her o wn
living.
A Chat Willi .Ui’s. Wilson.
The Author of‘ftpiilaV and ‘SL El-
nit/ Sojourning for a YHiile in
New York.
LProm the World J
Mrs. Augusta Evans Wilson, the author, has
j”8« arrived from Mobile, and is the guest of
Mrs. Cornelius V.tnderbiH, a* No. 10 Washing
ton place. She received a World reporter with
genuine Southern cordiality last evening.
Among my fii< ads at home,’ she said, *1 am
called - ‘\Iiss Augusta.” They knew me as Au
gusta Evans before I ww married, but.lam Mrs.
Ytison new. I was married ten years ago.’
Wilson i.s a pleasant, affable, attractive and
bright looking ia iy, with an easy grace of ges
ture and a Southern warmth of tone.
Iu response to an introductory compliment on
the success of %S f . Elmo,’ ‘Beulah’and other riov-
als from her pen, she -aid:
‘Success ? If the golden opinions I have been
so fortunate as to win from my circle of kind
friends can be called success I accept the oom-
plimen, but’—and she smiled significantly—‘I
am not so certain about my publisher's opinion
ot iny saccos '. Oh, yes,’*hpoor«tip»»rf,
old. It was "not a success. Are you surprised
at the confession ? With ail the ripe judgmenc
and vast experience of sixteen tbnt book du.n t
succeed. But f got older aud wrote others. ‘Ic-
felice,’ -Beulah’ and *3t, Elmo’have lone better.
I am here only on a short visit —in answer
to the reporter’s question. ‘I left Mobile about
two weeks ngo. How I love New \ork . Hera
and not in Florida is Ponce de Leon’s fountain
to be sought. The air is so pure, so bracing,
so crystalline ! And yonr galleries ot art and
vour libraries ! I conld spend a lifetime in too
Astor Library with all of \rgus's eyes and three
brains to store ail I could gather. And such
splendid people as you have here ! The friction
ot intellectual contact wi'h you New Yorkers is
so invigorating ! No, I am not doing any hcer-
ary work now. I um resting. My health has
been pooe. I have written nothing in two years.
I hope for restored health iu this city—tms mod
ern Athens—yes, it is tha modem Athens in
spite of th9 arrogant claims of Boston. You
have names in this city that you ought to he
There’s Mrs. Harris, author ot •Avea-
her—and
No, Mr. —
was engaged,’she answered steadily
•Yes dear Philip has fouud his ideal, and I
am so glad. Tressa is a sweet girl.’
Frank actually laughed
flashed angrily.
•What are you laughing
wonld like to anow ?
‘Why at the absurd idea of your intellectual
brother finding his ideal in silly Tressa rh 0"b
and with another scornful laugh, I rank walked
back into the school room. For a minute she
stood by the open window, white and still, a
shamed, humiliated feeling, mangling with the
deadly pain ber beftrt - Unasked she had
given her heart to Philip Graham and now-and
now -a long shuddering sigh ended the thought.
A servant brought her a noie from Mrs. Wilton.
With a dreary feeling that nothing more couid
hurt her she read:
Miss Shelton: .
After your singular behavior this morning,
do not think you are a proper teacher for mJ
hildron.’ , _ ,
Instead of feeling offended. Frank was reus
ed. She could leave Beech wood urn I h r io /,
and some day she would gain oacii utr dolt-
1 She was hardly embaressed when she con
fronted Mrs. Wilton.
•I would not submit to this insulting dismis
sion if I did not wish to go,’ she said, an aDgry
«leam in her hazel eyes. ‘As it is, I find that
the life of a governess does not suit me, so your
note was very welcome.’
The summer idyl was over, and Miss bbelton
left Beocbwood, without se.ring its master any
more. Sue went lor away to a little New Eag-
land village to teach school, and her vague
dream of irathorship changed to a reality. She
wrote brilliantly, and her articles were eagerly
accepted by leading magazines, and what was
more important, well paid for.
The winter sno.vs piled high and the bitter
cold wind shook the bare trees, but Frank
dreamed and wrote, trying to crush down the
dreary heart sick pain that never found utter
ance in sigh or moan.
Spring days came, and the soft spring sun
shine warmed the frozen eartn. Nature awoke
to new life putting on her verdant color. One
eveuing, tired and spirtless, Frank went ont
into the orchard. The apple blossoms lav in
drifts of pink and white on the ground, and a
little slender silver moon, shone through the
tender primrose light of the sunset.
L-.aning her head against the gnarled trank ot
a tree, Frank gave way the tears falling like
"flam so tired, so tired’ she moaned pitfully.
Some one came softly across the grass towards
he'.
•Frank.’
proud of.
chffe’-I am sure you are proud
Marion Harland, jnst returned from Enropi ;
;'he lives in N-wark, but tbat is near enough to
be called New York. By the way, do you know
I think the arc! toologioal letters that the 11 orld
publishes from time to time are worth a five
years’ subscription. I am passionately tend of
all that pertains to arc’ seology. H ive yon never
read Anno Brewster's books ‘St. Martin's Snm-
mer’ and ‘Compensation ?’ I leva those two
books as well as aov I have in my library. Mu
sic and art are my twin delights. _ I have visited
nearly all the private art galleries herein the
c’ty. Yes. pretty nearly ail except Mr. Bel
mont’s. No, there’s not. much classic music
down South. I am so pleased to know that you
New Yorkeis have such a keen appreciation ot
it. Well, you do appreciate all things that are
intellectual and n fined.
The. reporter asked about th9 condition of af
fairs in the South, and the ravages of the fever.
•Ah,’ said Mr3. Wilson, her pliant voice sink
ing into t0D6.s of earnest sadness, ‘picture your-
S' If in the streets of Memphis—litrie children
■•• their parents lying in the grasp of death,
, v . aderiag homeless, shelterless at d friendless
in the streets and clutching at she skirts of
sirung« T s, begging in voices of despair to be ta
ken borne. Ah, as I sit now and think of it,
the widows and the orphans left, heaven knows
bow and wh' re. rise before me and fill my heart
with sorrow. But the eRger haste with which
the generous North has flown to the rescue of
her stricken sister will ever be cherished in the
Southern heart—a living, lasting tribute to yonr
noble nature. Nothing iu Ihe annals of this na
tion’s progress has done so much to bridge tne
chasm which the cruel war has caused io yawn
as this sympathy from your overflowing heart.
Ah, there i.s a comfort in this thought that g a «-
dens the soul even amid its dire distress.!
thank God that from under the wing ot Death
has come the angel of Peace. There has been
that gush of goodness- I can ready riot find 1
on age fltlv to express it-which mist cement the
two sections of this country in bonds of eternal
l °^\nd did yon come iuto personal contact with
sufferers from the fever, madam ?
•Not this last time. Yon see we live three
miles or so across the water away from the town.
But in previous years I have nursed many and
many a poor sufferer. I am so constituted that
I seJm to be proof against all contagionsi dis-
eases Why, during the war I nursed C onfed
erate soldiers who were afflicted with all possi
ble kinds of sickness—mfectious, too and I
never felt the least effect.
In reply to the reporter s suggestion that the
AU * . . __ l. „ La,i .lno/triKal wmi i.i anmfl
scenes of distress she had described wonld some
dav form the baris of a Southern romance. Mrs.
Augusta Evans replied that there were chapters
in the lives of those who had suffered throngh
the scourge that would thrill the coldest heart.