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Jean’s Winter
in the City.
BY STEPHEN BBENT.
CHAPTER VIII.
The days slipped by, each one a golden grain
in the honr glass of Time. The Christinas holi-
d:yg passed, and January came in, with sleet
ana rain, and howling winds; bnt the weather
was no check on the pleasure seekers. Morning,
noon, and nigLt, there was something to do. The
season was an unusually brilliant one, and
Folly, and Ftsbion, were the order of the day.
Of our friends, each one played his part in
thedruna well. Jean’s wordly knowledge en-
creased each day, but she remained as free from
the evil in 11 uences, that surrounded her us when
she first came. She acopted the good, and
rejected the bad, and went her way, untainted
by cynicism, or coquetry, which blight all the
flowers of love, ana trust in the human heart.
She was faithful to her drawing, and never
failed in visiting Meg and Cacile, keeping them
supplied with necessary comforts.
Cecils wau slowly, but surely slipping out of
life. Each day she drifted nearer, and nearer,
the shining shot es oi the great Beyond. Even
inexperienced Jean could see it, and knew that
when the early fiiwers began to bloom, on
sunny hillsides, she would lie down in peace,
and sleep.
It was patent to all New York that Sir Angus
Lynn, slow, heavy, and thoroughly English,
would soon lay his atc«trel name at Miss
Rivers feet, aDd no one entertained a doubt,
that she would accept. Lennox Holmes would
net pet his fate to the touch. The stakes were
heavy, and he grew cowardly at the thought of
losing. To all appearance, Palmer was still liv
ing an idle purposeless life, standing eloof and
sailing in cynical amusement, at the follies,
and miseries behind the scenes. He was still
Jean’s guardian, and friend, nothing more,
nothing less, and no one ever thought there
could be deeper feelings under the surface. He
was too proud, and fastidious to ever really love
any one, and then there was a large fortune in
the balance.
Mrs. Danleath must be pleased with bis choice
of a wife, and it was absurd to think sh9 would
give her consent to his marrying the French
artists daughter; who had neither name or
money to recommend her. So things stood when
a new character appeared, Mis. Wilton. She was
a large lair woman, of nine and twenty, with
blonde hair, milk-white skin, and large light
blue eyes.
‘I saw her to-day,’ said Lennox, walking into
his friend's room.
‘Who?' p.sked Palmer, knocking the ashes eff
his cigar.
•Mrs. Wilton, end sho inquirea about you.’
‘I am much obliged to her, and by the way
Lennox, did 1 ever tell you that Mrs. Wilton,
widow of the late lamented Matthew Wilton,
millionaire was the heroine of my love story ?
yes she played a very important part in that
little drama.’
‘Thunder !' exclaimed Mr. Holmes with more
force than elegi.nce, and came very near upset
ting the table in his surprise.
•You seem very much surprised, I am sorry
I didn't break the news more gently/
‘I am surprised.* To think/^met her last
year—’ , *-~r— V-
•Tile year before y m mean'*
‘Well, and I talked about her a hundred times,
and yon never said a word. By Jove ! what a
strange world this is.’
•Yes, strange indeed my young friend,
learned that years age.
Lennox gathered up his scattered faculties
•Mis. Wilton is very hands ime,’ he said slow
ly, but not the woman I thought you could ever
fall in love with.’
•There is no accounting for taste. A man may
be wise in all other things; but show himself up
a perfect idiot in selecting a wife. I never will
be a vain man. Even if 1 could climb to the
last round of the ladder of fame, that piece of
youthful folly would keep me from being puff
ed up with pride at my greatness. My blind
ness and idiocy will always be a reproach.’
Lennox was not the only one that spoke to
Falmer about Mrs. Wilton. When he went to
Mrs. Carroll s, on his regular morning visit, Mrs.
Danleath said :
•Gordon I have seen that woman this morn
ing. She had the assuranco to call on Grace as
an old friend.’
When a woman wishes to crush any one with
contempt, she always puts the word that before
their name. Palmer knew perfectly well who
she was alluding to, bnt with an amused smile
he said:
‘How am I to tell who that woman is.
‘Mrs. Wilton of course,’ with a sharp glance
to sea bis face changed. It remained unmoved.
•Ah yes, I met Mrs. Wilton abroad and found
her quite as charming as ever.’
Mrs. Danleath looked at him keenly.
‘Perhaps after all you didn’t get over that—’
she hesitated.
‘Perhaps I didn’t,’ was the calm reply.
She watched their meeting; but it only
quietly, conventionally polite. Mr. Palmer
went up to her, and held out his hand.
•M:s. Wilton this a plea.-ant surprise. When
did you arrive?'
Something like a flush passed over her face,
and the soft jewelled hand trembled slightly.
Only yesterday,’ she answered looking up
into his face. ‘I grew tired of foreign faces,
and foreign tongues, and longed for home.’
Her voice was smooth, and well modulated,
but lacked the subtile charm of truth, and
sweetness. Wnile commenting on the people
around her she spoke of Jean.
‘Mis Dtlare seemed to a favorite in society,’
sbe said fanning herself with slow grace, ‘and
that is a mj sfery. She is passably good look
ing, but ber face is tuo childish, and her man
ners too unformed, to be attractive I think.’
•It is that very childishness that attrac s,’
said Palmer. ‘You know we always look on tbe
days of childhood as the happiest*, and when we
meet anyone like Miss Delare, it brings back
the freshness, and inncoance of our own early
youth.’
He spoke in a perfectly dispassionate tone of
voice, and looked at Miss Delare with no more
interest than he would any other young lady.
His heftrt was not piin d on his sleeve.
Jean was introduced to Mrs. Wilton some
time during the evening, and with one glance
into the light blue eyes, she felt an instant
aversion to her which sue knew was returned.
‘I cannot account for it,’ thought Jean, ‘but I
could no more trust her than—than—’ she could
not find a suitable comparison, and she dropped
the thought.
‘Who is Mrs. Wilton, Del'a ?' she inquired as
they stopped in the upper hall to say goodnight.
‘She is Mrs. Wilton, and Gordon Palmer’s old
love my dear, and that is all I know.’
The faint color waned, and left Jean's face.
‘I did not know I only thought—’
•That Mr, Pal tier could be so foolish as the
rest of us poor mortals. Well he has been,’ and
in a few brief words, she told the story.
‘You see, Mrs. Wilton has more Eense than
anyone weuld give her credit for. You lock
tired,’ suddenly noticing the white, weary,
young face. ‘Go to bed and to sleep or you will
bi s'ck.’
Safe in her own room, Jean knelt down on
the hearth rug and laid her head in a chair.
Her cousin’s words were a revalat.cn of her own
feelings. In a flaih her whole heart lay revealed
and she fonnd that it was forever gone from her
own keeping. Oh the pain, the shame and hu
miliation of knowing that she had given her
loveunsuught. Her oheeks burned at the thought
that perhaps he knew her folly and was amused
at it.
All at once she stepped from the borders of
girlhood iDto womanhood and left the lest of
her free, careless life behind. It was useless to
struggle against that which could not be un
done and all She could do was to bury her secret
from all human eyes. Her woman’s pride would
carry her through and for the first time she was
almost glad at the thought of going back to dull
Cross Corners.
Days pushed. One afternoon Jean filled a bas
ket with dainties and went to see Cecile. The
child welcomed her with a glad smile and put
ting aside everything else, the girl read and
talked to her until the shadow's began to fall.
‘Have you been on a charitable mission again,
Jean ?’ asked her cousiu carejjpts y when she re
turned.
‘I have been seeking knowledge,’ was the re
ply, with a smile.
•You went to a queer place to find it,’ said
Della.
They were going to the theatre and from there
to a ball that evening, but J#an decided to stay
at home. The thought of the poor patient, lit
tle cripple slowly dying, made so much gaiety
distasteful to her.
‘Do as you like, my dear,’ said her aunt care
lessly.
‘You had better go, Jean, Mr. Carew will bo
bitterly disappointed,’ said Della.
Jeon blushed.
‘You are mistaken, cousin.’
‘No, I am too wise for that.’
Jean stayed in her own room until nine
o’clook, then went down to the library for a
book. She did not know anyone was there, so
she pushed open the door and went in. Her
uncle and Mr. Palmer were sitting at a table
looking over some papers. Jean would have re
treated, but it was too late.
•Come in, child,’ said Mr. Rivers. ‘I thought
you had gone with your aunt and cousin.’
Jean bowed to Palmer and walked to the book
case.
•No sir, I thought I would stay at home this
evening.’
Tbe gentlemen concluded their business and
Mr. Rivers drew on his overcoat and glasses.
‘I must be at the Merchant's Exchange by ten
o’clock, so I hope jou will excuse me, Palmer.’
‘Certainly,’ said Mr. Palmer with willing
grace.
•Jean will entertoia you,’ and the master of
the house disappeared.
•You heard what your uncle said, Miss De-
lare,’ smiling.
‘Yts sir, but I am not vain enough to think I
could do it.’
•Why not?’ he placed a chair before the fire
and seated her, then leaned against the mantle
and repeated his question.
•Why, am I so hard to entertain ?’
‘No sir,’ meeting his keen eyes with a frank
gaze, though it cost her a good deal to do it,
‘but a country girl could not be very entertain
ing to one who has seen half the world.’
•Yet I may prefer your conversation to that of
the most learned in the land/
Jean shook her head with a skeptical smile.
•That is hardly probable.'
Whatever rash words trembled on Gordon
Paimer’s lips remained unuttered. A brief si-
fell. I- ^
into tbe fire. The light flickered over her dresi
and face and Palmer gave himsdf up to the
pleasure of looking at her. He remembered the
time that he first saw her, his own hurry to
catch the train, the darkness outside, the dim
light in the car and the slender, pale-faced girl,
quietly asleep on the seat opposite him. Even
then he had taken an interest in her beyond
anything he had ever thought possible and now
looking down at her, he felt for the first time
that he could willingly resign anything to have
her for his wife.
•Are you so soon tired of fashion and folly
that you stay at home tc-night/fcesaid abruptly.
‘No, I am not really tired of it, but I am not in
the mood for music and dancing to-night,’ and
something like a shadow stole over her face.
‘I met Monsieur Ferrial to-day and he in
formed me that your artistic talent is wonder
ful. Will you show me some of your sketches.’
‘I am afraid when you see them you will be
disappointed,’ said J«an laughing.
She brought her sketch book, then they drift
ed into a pbamnt conversation on art and ar
tists and Jean forgot her last gloomy thoaght in
her eager interest. The clock struck eleven.
‘It is later than I thought it was,’ said Jean in
surprise.
•Yes, I promiied to drop in at Madame Lind-
ly’s and it is lime I was on my way. All pleas
ant things have an end.’
•Was it pleasant to you?’
‘Certainly. Would I have remained if net?’
‘I thought perhaps you did it out of kindness
to me,’ lighting thos6 frank clear eyes.
‘Never have such thoughts again, child, and
now you must promise me to go to sleep and
win some color in your face. You are looking
entirely too spirit like.’ For the first time he
lifted her hand to his lips and left a light Lis
on the white fingeis and the next minute she
heard him close the front door.
She had just settled herself for a long, idle
reverie, when there was the rattle of silken dra
pery on the floor and Delia came up to the fire.
Jean uttered an exclamation of surprise.
•Why, Della, is it r»ally you.’
‘Yob, are you so astonished V 1 was tired and
so came home.’
She let her cloak fall on the floor and held her
hands to tbe lire
Cousin, you are shivering, are you sick?’
asked J.an gently.
Sick? no, I am only rejoicing over my bril
liant conquest,’ she held up her left hand. ’See
the deed has bean done and Della Rivers will
soon be merged into Lady Lynn.’
Jean looked at the glittering circlet, then at
ber cousin’s beautiful, mocking face.
‘Della, Della 1 you have not accepted Sir An
gus Lynn.’
•You innocent, ignorant little lamb 1 did you
think I would refuse him ? Why, It would be
sheer madness.’
‘Oh Delia 1 don’t. You don’t love him.’
‘Love him ? of course not I would as soon
think of loving a clod of earth.*
•Then, my cousin, you will never be happy
as long as you live,’ said Jean solemnly
Mist Rivers moved impatiently.
•What a foolish, romantic child you are.
Young ladies of the nineteenth century are not
expected to have such a useless organ as a
heart. “ You must marry well, ” are the first
words rung in their ears and the refrain is re
peated, over and over again, until it ia indeli
bly impressed on their poor, weak brains. Love
is never mentionel.’ She turned the ring on
her finger with a bitter smile.
‘Poor mamma! how she has longed for this
triumph.’
Jean was. shocked and wounded. To her,
marriage had always been such a sacred thing,
ratified ia the courts of hta /en and approved of
by God, that she recoiled frem the thought that
people male it the stepping-stone of their own
selfish ambition. She made one more appeal to
her cousin.
‘Della, do you know yon are committiog a
deadly sin, for which you will be severely pun
ished, here or hereafter ? Dear, think better of
it and return the ring.’
‘It is too late now, even if I wished to do so. ‘
‘It is never too late to do good and then what
of Mr. Holmes? 1 very softly.
Della sighed drearily.
•Poor Lennox !• she said with a tenderness
very near akin to love, ‘I have treated him bad-
*ly, but it is too late to be sorry now/ she rose
up and shook cut the rich, shining silk, her
jvwels catching the glow of the firelight, send
ing out brilliant rays of prisoned fire every time
she moved. She walked to the door, then turn
ed and said:
‘Don’t let what I have done trouble you, Jean.
Ramember it is my own choice.*
The next morning at breakfast, Jean could
plainly see that her uncle and aunt were pleased
at Della’s choice. Mrs. Rif era beamed compla
cently and was unusually affectionate towards
her daughter, whose pearl-fair faee was as calm
as if no ripple cf passion ever passed over it.
‘Come up to my room and read some, will you,
Jean?‘ she said. 83.they roso from the table.
‘Certainly. Wh^t shall it be, poetry, history,
or romance?" *
•Poetry, if you can find anything worth read
ing. ‘
‘Fancy our great authors hearing you say that,
Dalla/ said Jram laughing. ‘Why, I believe
they would almost burst with indignation. ‘
Miss Delare had jast commenced reading
Queen Meredith’s exquisite poem, Lucilie,
when a servant brought up Lsnnox Holmes’
card.
CHAPTER IX.
Miss Rivers hattpsaid ‘No’ to a great many lov
ers, sanding them off without any feeling of
pity for their despair; but she shivered at the
bare thought of the cruel pain she must inflict
on Lennox Holmes. She went into the drawing
room nervously conscioas that she had lost her
usual calm self-p-usession.
With an insane desire to keep as far as possi
ble from the subject of love and marriage, she
began to talk about the weather, the last ball,
and the unusual number of brilliant people in
New York, but the usually talkative Leanox was
silent, and an awkward pause ensued.
‘Miss Rivers—Delia—’
But she put up her hand.
‘Lennox please don’t,’ she said entreatingly.
‘But I must—I)uil],’ he said with more firm
ness than he had ever displayed before. ‘You
must know—you must see how much I love you,
and will you be my wife? I know I may seem
presumptuous in asking you, but dear, you have
been so kind to me.’
Yes, so cruelly kind. How bitterly Miss Riv
ers regretted her foolish coquetry. How could
she teil him the truth. He suffered the torture
of silence for a minute, then said:
‘Please look up and tell me, may I hope ?’
She raised her eyes, their brilliance dimmed
with tears.
‘I Lave been very weak, very wicked, Lennox,
and I date not hope that you’ll ever forgive me;
but I could not help it.’
A very weak argument, but the only one sha
could think of. It would never do to tell him
that it was the pleasure she took in his society,
that made her act as she had. He rose up, his
face very white.
‘Then there is no hope, in a low, quiet voice?’
‘None,’ she answered, locking her trembling
fingers, and unconsciously bringing her engage
ment ring into full view. Lennox saw it, and
felt his last hope crush and crumble into dust.
•Forgive me ||r troubling you,’ ho said in the
same slow, quicg»j»,y, ‘but hope blinded me to
t* n ‘r.u.rlfc'
‘What truth? » h6 asked.
‘That you are engaged to Sir Angus Lynn/
There was a faint ring of scorn in his voice,
harder to bear than angry reproaches.
‘I deserve all that you can say or imply,’ with
a tired sigh. ‘I hold my otfn self in contempt
at times, that I am so weak. Lennox, will you
forgive me ?'
‘There is nothing to forgive. My blindness
in supposing that you could care lor me, is
alone to blame, and now good-bye, oh my love,
my love 1 he said, almost breaking down.
As the drawing room door closed, Della felt
like somebody had rolled a stone, and closed
the sepulchre of her happiness. So U{fuch for
false teachings.
eat crimson, and her eyes flashed angry fire.
‘What an unpardonable mistake you have
made,’ in liquid, scornful tones. ‘Women are
not supposed to be troubled with so light a
thing as a mind.’
He bowed.
•Thank you for correcting me. I see the er
ror now.’
‘I am glad that you do.’
‘I hope though you will not look down on
me with contempt for my ignorance.'
‘Certainly not.’
•For there is a chance that I may learn/
Sir Angus Lynn came up, his heavy face
flashed with heat, and looking unmistakably
ill-tempered.
‘I don’t see why s > many people come to
these things,’ he said impatiently, ‘just see what
a crush!
‘They come for the same reason that wo do,
Sir Angus, said Palmer. ‘To see and be ssbd/
‘A sorry eight/ grumbled Sir Angus. He
turned to Della. ‘Wouldn’t you like an ica ? It
is so miserably hot in here, it is enough to
melt one’s brains. ‘
‘Provided one has any/said Palmer with a
peculiar smile, that Della folly understood.
‘I suppose you have no fear of youts melting,'
she con’<’ not resist saying as she took her lov
er’s arm.
•No; none of us need have any fear, Miss Riv
ers. I thick we are all singularly free from
such a useful article.'
Palmer looked across the room to where Mr.
Carew was making himself agreeable to Jean,
and a stern line came arouu l his lips. If he
could not wear the woodland flower, no one
else should. Very selfish, but, very natural.
Della's wedding day was Sit for the twenty-
third of April, and Jean was to be first brides
maid.
•I must go home then, cousin/ she said grave
ly-
‘Why, I think mamma and papa will want
you to remain with them. Think of the glories
of a season at Long Branch, or New Port. •
‘I know it would be very pleasant, but I must
go homo/
•To that dull, lifeless place ? Why ? I asked
you just now/
•Because Aunt Dehly will be very lonely with
out me, ‘ a tender chord in her low voice.
‘Indeed 1 I was mistaken in thinking you
had no vanity. How calmly and confidently
you speak of people being lonely, doprived of
your society.’
The sensitive color tiug6d Jean’s cheeks.
‘I never think of any one's missing me but
annt Dabby. Dear aunt DjbOy, she loves me,’
with a little sad undertone of heart pain, in her
voice.
Della looked at her curiously.
‘Yon speak as if no one else loves you but this
aunt’
‘Then I didn’t mean it, dear. You are all too
kind for such ingrntitute as that, still, no one
will ever love me as she does.’
Mins Rivers sighed. Ia a worldly point of
view her future was unclouded sunshine, yet
she sometimes thought that she, so blessed by
the gods, had missed all of the real pleasures ol
life.
Jeon was half hidden in a velvet chair, her
chin resting on one slim hand, the other idly
holding a book. She was pale and dark, with a
deep shadow in the lovely dark eyes.
‘Are you sick bonny Jean?’ Della suddenly
and anxiously asked. ‘You look like a ghost.’
*<My ghostly looks are my natural ones, cous
in. I am perfectly well.’
One rooming when the mail was brought in
thefo wtlio two leuerk ior o fan. (faeYfom^aiss
Gray, and one—
•Who is it from I wonder,’ she said, 03 with a
laugh Dalla handed it to her.
‘Break the seal and see, * her cousin suggested.
‘You remomber the flowers, don’t yon?’
With the traitor color rising in her face, Jean
slipped the letter in her pocket, and leaving
the breakfast room, went up stairs.
She had a presentiment of what it contained
before she opened it, and the thought brought
her no piers ure.
She read it slowly, then laying it on the table
folded her hands and looked soberly at the line
of pale winter sunlight on the carpet.
Mr. Carew had offered his heart and hand to
the country girl and she was thinking how best
a fragrant havana to comfort him in his search.
Lennox had ju«t turned the key in his travel
ing satchel, whsn Lit friend opened the door.
Ooe fciglt of his grave, pale face, and Palmer
knew that he had failed.
•You were right, Gordon,’ he said, with a faint
forced smile.’
why her perverse heart would not be satisfied
with his love.
‘It is vary strange,’ she said with a sigh. Ev
erything seems to go wrong, and I the worst of
all.’
If Jean had been taught in the school with
_ . , ...... ,, the young ladyhood of the day, her head and
‘It gives me no pleasure to think so, was the I no t her heart would have been consulted; but
swer. Heaven knows, I wish it bad been R h« had missed all such ad van times ; so nor honrt.
otherwise.’
‘Thank you cla fellow, but it couldn’t be, and
I shall leave ia an hour.’
‘I am sorry for that. Where ar8 you going?’
•Home, and thax., do you remember the par
ty that wanted us to join ihem in a tour through
the East? Well, 1 have made up my mind to go
with them. Then,’ with a short, bitter laugh,
‘I don’t know what will become of me.’
‘Don’t talk £tat way, Lennox,’ said Palmer
gravely. ‘Be too proud to let a woman gay she
ruined your life. Believe me, I would m>t give
one that much pleasure.’
she had missed all such advantages; so her heart
was judge and jury, and passed sentence in the
case.
Mr. Carew was profoundly astoniihed at her
reply to his letter. Ha was vain enough to be
certain of success, and I think his pride was
hurt worse than anything else by her rejection.
‘By Jove;! doss she mean it?’
She evidently did, and when he thought of
all he had lost, surprise gave place to pain, and
he bowed his head with a heavy sigh.
Important business culled him from the city
at this time; so he told his friends, and as no
one believed that a girl would be mad enough
couraging. , , ..
‘I may be a veay foolish old woman: she said
after a pause, ‘but I c innot rid my mind of
the presentiment, tLat there will come a day
when you wili give up fortune and all for your
There was the rustle of silken garments and
Mrs. Dunleath entered the room.
Her cold, proud face brightened at the sight
of her nephew, and she held out one white, aris
tocratic hand.
‘I see you remember your engagement.’
‘To drive out with you this morning ? My
memory would not play me such a trick is
that.’
‘I wish you would join us, Grace,’ said Mrs.
Dunleath.
■Not to-day, thank you, Valeria. Miss Delare
is coming to spend the morning, and-take lun
cheon with me.’
Jean came came true to her promise to spend
the day with her friend, and Mrs. Carroll wel
comed her with true, motherly warmth, and
etjen Mr. Carroll left hi essay on Fossils and
tafcked to her.
Jean always enjoyed her visits to tbe two old
people. They treater) her with the tender, lov
ing kindness* that touched and warmed her
whole inner nature.
Mrs. Dunleath and Mr. Palmer returned neat
luncheon time, aad the gentleman was easily
prevailed upon to remain. It was two o’clock
At three Jean put on her wraps to leave.
‘Don’t leave, dear, it is early,’ said Mrs. Car-
roll.
‘Thank you, but I must go. Monsieur Ferri
al will think that I have deserted my painting.’
‘Have you been promoted to that dignity ?’
inquired Painter, with a small show of inter
est.
•Yes sir,’ answered Jean briefly.
Mrs. Dunleath lifted her cold eyes languidly
to the young girl’s face.
‘Ah, I suppose you intend to teach,’ with
something very disagreeable in the flue, smooth
tones.
‘Miss Delare is taking lessons simply for
amusement,’ Palmer said, as he also rose to go.
‘Excuse me, Mr. Palmer, but you are mistaken.
I may teach, indeed it is highly probable that I
will,’her clear eyes fixed on Mrs. Dunleath’s
face.
Mr. Palmer walked dawn to the studio with
her.
‘When do you think of returning home,’ he
asked as they reached the step3.
‘The last ot April.’
‘You have some time to stay ye; then.’
‘Yes, but it will soon pass.
‘More quickly than you wish :* with a keen,
searching look.
She turned her face away, ga/ng down the
crowded thoroughfare.
‘No sir, following the old adduge, that ‘bless
ings brighten as they take their flight,’ Cross
Corners appears almost interesting to me now/
‘Bat your friends here, are they nothing to
you ?’
•Yes, I shall always remember their kindness
to the country girl, and then some day we may
meet again.’
They were now at the top of the third flight
of stairs, and was at the studio door.
•I suppose new friends are not like old ones
and tue^country lover particularly.’
Jean turned with an indignant flash in her
eyes.
‘Mr. Palmer how—
He took her small gloved hand in his warm
clasp.
‘Good-bye bonny Jean, and do not be angry
with m-e.’ %■ * ' t
He was gone, and with a sigh half pleasure,
half pain, Jean went in to her work.
TO BE CONTINUED.
The Boston Whittling Schools.
A NevvDeparturc in Deference to the Taste
of’ Yankee Hoys.
‘I will remember your advice alter awhile, I j to rt j ec t hjjn i no suspicion of the truth oocured
am too reckless now to care what becomes of me.
Palmer had always looked on Lennox in th’
light of a younger brother and was honestly
very sorry for hire. He knew the wound struck
deep, and that it would take years to heal it.
•Confound women,’ he thought, with Bternly
compressed lips. ‘There never was nor ever will
be any trouble in the world that a woman is not
at the bottom of it. From Eve down, they have
proved more a sorrow than a j >y to poor man.’
Poor man indeed! It was well that a woman
was not there to hear him; or there might have
be6n a warm argument on the 6ubjec‘. The time
would never come again when Mr. Palmer would
believe that women were all angale. With the
untried faith of youth, he had once believed it;
but his eyes were very rudely opened and hia
faith in woman’s angMio qualities melted away
like a morning mist, and ojuld never again be
fully restored.
Miss Rivers received the congratulations of
her friends with the calm self-possession be
coming in a young lady betrothed to a baronet.
There were no sudden flatters or so;t blushes.
If the young lady’s heart was not altogether her
own, it certainly was net in the possession of
h6r lover. If her fae.v honors were already
proving Apples of Sodom, no one kn6W it. Sir
Angus did not trouble her with too much atten
tion. He held her promise and was satisfied.
Mis. Wilton drew a sigh of relief when she
heard of Della‘s engagement, aad turning to
her mirror surveyed the fair, plump reflection
very thoughtfully.
•Why shouldn t Iwin,’she said at last. ‘There
is no one in the way aDd I look very near as
well as I did that summer;’ and she wore pale,
rose-colored satin and pee.rls to the reception
that night, and when Palnlfer came up to speak
to her, she tried the oharm of one of ber old
time smiles on him. They were once very af
fective, why not still?
Della wrs standing near a window and was
for a wonder alone, when E*aimer spoke to her.
‘Allow me to congratulate you on your sensible
choice,' he said with keen sarcasm, ‘although I
could wish for my friend’s sake that yon could
have made up your mind earlier.’
The girl s fair, perfect face flushed to deep-
to them.
Mrs. Carroll discovered the truth froieu Dalla,
who had guessed from her cousin’s very silence
how matters stood.
‘I knew I would not be disappointed in the
child,’ said Mrs. Carroll to Palmer. ‘WEat oth
er girl would have done it ?’
‘Perhaps she aspires higher, like her cousin,’
remarked Mr, Palmer with due gravity.
‘How can you make such remarks, when you
know they cannot be true. When my Joan mar
ries, her whole heart will be freely and fully
given to her husband and it will be worth pos
sessing too/
‘That in a matter open to doubt.’
‘Not to one that has studied her lifea3 Ihave.’
‘I fear love has blinded your usual sound,
clear judgement, Mrs. Carroll; you know it
hides all faults.’
Mrs. Carroli was indignant,
‘I once thought—I don t know what I thought;
but I see I was mis'akete’
Mr. Palmer threw baok his head and laughed,
in a pleasant, genial way.
‘Will you allow me to make a remark?’ he
asked at last.
‘Certainly. What is it ?’
‘That the clearness of your speech is, to say
the least, remarkable.’
Mrs. Carroll rais3d her eyes to his face.
‘Would you like to know what I really
thought ?’
‘If you will kindly tell me.’
‘That you would lov9 this brown eyed, true-
souled little girl youise’f.
Mr. Palmer smiled S6renoly.
‘Are you aware how much it would cost me ?
‘I do not know, but 1 can guess.’
‘Then I hope you will appreciate my pru
dence.'
•Gordon, would you allow that to influence
you?’
‘The question is, would I ba reckless enough
to throw away easo and comfort for so small a
thing. I am entirely past the age of romance,
and can view these things by the calm light of
j reason,’
j Mrs. Carroll resumed her work. She lal
(learned nothing; still her defeat was not die-
Formerly, al! the American schools were whit
tling schools; but the art was practiced surrep
titiously, the sott pine desks aad benches furn
ishing the only whittling material. With the
advent of highly finished, hard-wood echool
furniture, all jack-knife practice in school was
rigorously suppressed; and for a generation or
so, the art has fallen into decadence. It has re
vived, however, under improved conditions, the
natural spirit of constructiveness—usually call
ed destructiveness—incident to boyhood, being
made the basis of systematic training of the most
enjoyable and useful art.
The pioneer institution is the Boston whit
tling school, a private enterprise housed by the
city. The school room has been fitted up with
work-benches, divided into four feet sections,
and each boy is furnished with such tools as
he may need. Thirty-two were admitted the
first year, their ages ranging from 12 to 1G Tue
school report 3aya that perhaps twelve of them
had rscaivjd some instruction in the use of the
jig-saw and knife, but none bad any previous
training in wood carving or the use of the chisel.
There were more applicants for admission to
the school than could be received. If any boy
was absent two successive evenings, his p’aee
was taken by another. A rank list was kept and
pasted upon the wall, and each boy knew how
his work was estimated by consulting the list.
A course of twenty-four lessons in wood-carv
ing was prepared with special reference to se
cure the greatest amount of instruction with the
least expenditure for tools and material. It was
only designed to make finished workmen in wood
c rving, but to take f d\cntp.ge of the natural in
clination toward handicraft,the Yankee taste for
whittling which belongs to most boys, and to
develop it and guide it to useful applications.
The experience of the founders leads them to
believe ‘that it would be easier to ts.abiisb, in
connection with all our grammar schools for
beys, an annex for elementary instruction in the
use of the half-dczen universal tools ie, the ham
mer, plane,saw, chisel, file and square. Three
or lour hours a week, for one year only of the
grammar school course, would be enough to give
the boys that intimacy with tools, and that en
couragement to the inborn inclination to handi
craft, and that guidance in its use, for want of
which so maDy youcg men now drift into over
crowded and uncongenial occupations, or lapse
into idleness and vice/
Northern and central Europe have been doing
this or similar work for years; and such teach
ing has done very much to hasten the industrial
development of the countries that have tried it.
The proposition to erect a monument to Major
Andre, hanged as a spy by order of General
Washington, does not meet with popular appro
val. The Baltimore Sou exp:esses our senti-
menls as to the matter when it says: ‘There
cannot be a doubt as to the justice and equity
of ms sentence, and such a monument as Mr.
iislds was origDaliy supposed to suggest would
have impeached both. A memorial of the criti
cal event c tn offend nobody. Bnt first let us
f memorial « ** tell where Nathan Hale, of
Rhode is and, was ex:cuted, aud where Isaac
Hayne, of South Carolina, died a felon’s death
tor his love ot country. These men have at
least an equal title in this country with And r0
to monuments. His motive was at least a mixed
one theirs is beyond question, but their tombs
aie still unmarked, while Andre’s monument
may be seen by Mr. Fields and all other visiters
to Westminster Abbey,’
The property of Pins IX. is being sold at the
Vatican. Everything, from superb j swelled
crucifixes totmpty bottles, iscffrrel at the stile.
I