Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

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.