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••rf* r
'V. .
THROUGH THE WILDS
Adventures in the Arkansas
mid lied River Regions Half
a Century Ago,
PERSONAL REMINISICEN'CES OF C L. WM SPARKS
THE AUTHOR OF * FIFTY YEARS AGO. ”
The rain commenced with the setting of the
si)n. and we were in the hut of the pa'rtarch of
this tribe. He was a man of more than eighty
years, wan aud withered almost to a skeleton.
His heai wa* almost without hair, his gams en
tirely witho-t teeth. He was attired as an In
dian, and save in complexion he was one. For
more than sixty years he had resided at th s
point, and a nnmerons family had grown up
abont him. The hamlet consisted of at least
a dozen hats, scattered aboat without order in
their arrangement.-; each one was tenants i by
a desoeudant, and there was some forty souls
in the couiranni y. We were alone with the
venerable mao; there was bat two rade seats in
the hut, these we occupied, whilst upon an un-
dres • 1 deer skin,spread upon the dirt floor, sat
the patriarch of this tribe. Incidentally I men
tioned the fact ihit I came from Goorgia.* The
old man stated, looked np i..to my face, whilst
his long, spidet'-like fingers were moving about
over bis bald cranium.
•You came from Georgia ?’ he said, listlessly,
still his fingers wandered abont his forehead
and temples, his cleft lips expo-iog bis red.
irregu ar gams disgustingly. Evidently, I had
touched a chord which vibrated jn his feelings.
Ht-ohe-*, which was bate and boay, heaved
with a ha : f suppressed sign, as he said:
•I come from Georgia -from not far from ‘Pas
ta, 1 still he eyed me closely, and there was a
suspicious glance f rom hi» small.dark and deep
ly set eyes. Furtive and ferocious, that organ
aeem-'d to maintain its yonth. I s motion was
quick and expressive, and save the shining red
of the inner lids, would have appeared those of
a young mao.
•Y-s, he said, as he looked down on his fad
ed ii-ther limbs, and sighed, 'L cimei from
Georgia.,
Evidently, in this afennated pieoe ef mortali
ty there was a history, and I commerced to
skirmish with him to draw it from him. He
looked np for only a moment, then as his eyes
drooped, his lips movtd. but no sound indicat
ed that be was talking. His bony fingers with
l n ng, booked nails —more resembling the talons
of some immense bird than human fingers.—ic-
c-k antly wandered over and abont his hairless
b-u-i. At length his whispering, grieved voice
muttered:
N i, no, it has been too long ago.’
Evidently he had a secret and he distrusted
me. Bv degrees, I gained upon bis confiience.
and assured him that oiy motive in being at bis
buns , or in the wilds of the West, was an idl
cariosity only; he said he wonid tell me his sto
ry
He went from his seat to the door, which was
shne with a well stretched dry skin, looked oat
and said: - It is raining,‘ and then resumed his
Seat <ud began:
•Weil—and yon corned from Georgia; I was
bora there, and if they are alive I snpp. sa uiy
wile and children aie there now;bat 1 snail nev
er see G-orgia any more. *
He shook nis head, and drooped it npon his
bare b mom, aod was silent. His fingers went
over his head. Looking up, he cautioned:
•l ve se« n the time I would have di-d sooner
(hau tell any one what I am iu ten you,
but peaiS to me I mu-t tell it. It von t be shnl
Up any louger. I had a brother-in-law, my wife's
biothei; he was mighty bad temp-red. When
my wife's father died and h>s property was to be
divided, I had a quarrel with this brother-in-
law abont a negro woman; we had a fight, an i
I was too many for him. The next day he sm'
me word he meant to shoot me. I was afraid
of him, because l knew he weuld do it. I told
my wire what he had said, ani she took bis p*rt
and said she wished he would. That a as enough,
they was both agin me, and 1 should be shot or
killed somehow, for they was mighty determin
ed people. I went out wit my gun, aod in the
woods I thought on it. We didn t live far apart.
He was ploughing his oorn, and I knowed at
twelve o clock be would come to water bis horse
at the spring. The woods and the small grow h
were thick about the spring, and somehow I felt
that I could shoot him there and nobody we ild
ever know any tbiDg about it,and then I thought
I wouidu t I started to go home, but someaow
I went to the spring and PidMown in the bash
es close by it. I was settingTnere when he came
to the spring—we got water from the same spring
— I seed my wife coming down the hill with her
pail tor water. I eat sun, aud they had a long
talk; tuey spoke too low for me to hear. She
dipped up uer water, and as she put the pail ou
her nead, I heard her say: ‘You’d better be
quick about it,’ aud I thought that meant to be
q nek about shooting me, and when his mare
was drinking out of the sprint, I took good aim
at him and shot him dead. I loaded my rifle
and walked up the road. As I got to it, two of
my neighbors rode up, and one of ’em said:
•What did you shoot at?’
I knew then it wonid not do for me stay
there. I had an nnole living in Tennessee, so 1
got a few things into my saddle-bags and took
my horse and left I don't know if I was fol
lowed, but it I was, I wasn’t caught. I gpt safe
to my ancle’s, and I told him what I had done.
He told me to stay there and he would keep a
wa ca if any strangers came about and let me
kuow it I etayed there till winter.
One night, alter I had gone to bed, uncle oatn*
and woke me up end told me there were two
etrauge me n in the yard and they had asked the
negtoes if I »as not in the bouse. The negroes
eaid their horses were hitched to thefenoe down
in the lane, a good way from the hoase. I was
up in a minute and got into my clothes quick.
I took mv gun—I always kept her close by me —
I opened the back door and stepped oat into the
<wk ‘Sareader !’ said one of them. I stepped
‘Look here, you must have been doing some
thing. What makes you afraid of everybody ?'
This scared me. 1 had got acquainted with
an Indian who kept telling me of the oonntrv
beyond the swamp and what a fine country It
was and I thought it would be a safer place for
me than where I was, s > I male a bargain with
him to steal two horses and we would go throngh
the swamp to the country beyond. H« s >on had
the hors* s and one night, when the moon didn’t
rise till late, we started Tne Indian led the
way. The swamp was wide, full of creeks and
lakes and boggy places, but there w-»s plenty of
deer and we killed and eat there, but there was
very iiitle for our horses to eat. They had be-n
raised in the woods and made out, but they f-ll
away fast. B-fore we got through the swamp,-
it began to snow and then it siou beoame very
cold. We had but two blankets and wesoff-red
sometimes when we could not get fire. The In
dian rubbed sticks together until they would
blaze, aud from this we got fire, but the sticks
had to be dry. For many days we travelled and
saw no body. Oue morning, the Indian’s horse
died and he had to walk. One day just before
night, a deer ran by and the Indian shot and
wounded it It got up and started off. he asked
me for my gun to kill it before it escaped. As
soon as he got the gun, he told me to get oil m v
horse or he would shoot me. It was a hard
ohoioe between giving np the horse and being
killed. I gave up the horse. He got on him
and rods away and left me. I did not know
which way to go and my thoughts were bitter;
they were of my little girls (t had two of them)
and my home. I repented killing my brother-
in-law, but for this, I might have beeo at home
aud happy, and then I tnougit of my wife, and
I cursed her as she was the omse of mv killing
her brother. I knew from what the Indian had
told me that we were not a j^-at way from the
river here, aDd I started to find it. Tne snow
was a foot deep aod w>is soft aod walking was
very Lard. It began to get dark and it was
cloudy. I was worn out and I looked around
for a good plaoe to lie down and die, for with
no fire and only, one small blanket, I knew I
should freeze before day, and I think if 1 had
had my gn > I would have shot myself to be rid
of my suffering. I foun t a big tree the wind
had blown down end I rolled my blanket around
me Hnd lay down by it to keep the cold wind
off of me. Mv f-et were wet and began to get
numb and I was sure they were fre< zing. I rub
bed them together as well as I ooul I, then f
thought 1 heard same body holler. I got up
hear t ita^ain an t s:a ted towards it. I heard
again, and again, and pr-sently, I saw a light
and then I ansve ed and w-nt on as well as I
ould and kept boiUring. Af er awhile I oame
to a camp of Indians. It was right over yonder
not two miles from here. They had a rousing
re an-i I was soon warm. Tceirtown was over
mere, but higher up the river. I went with
them there and there I found the squaw I took
np *i h. and she is the mother of these children
of mine you see living heie.’
He b >wed his head and his fingers went creep
ing aud feeling over it as he seemed to mink.
Have you never wished to return and see
again your wife and coil Ireti ?' I asked.
•Many a time. I loved my wife, but somehow
I ) she did not tmnk so muon of me. I reek >n it
was beoacs > i hared her brother Ji n. She loved
J.m and 1 killed him. and I koew she would al
ways hate me, aud that mads me to care less
about ever seeing her again. But the little girls,
they were pretty little things and I loved them.'
His head sunk upon his chest and he war si
lent, with his bony fingers wandering curb usly
over his bald nead. A deep sigh dismrhe 1 that
almoat skeletonized chest aud lifting his head
he looked inquiringly into my face.
•Maybe, strangers, you are like me, hiding
from the law! I can't think what else yen can
find nothing a wbfte - mail ty&hi^'lSat 1 have
git used to it and it seems natural now. I am
alm->8t an Indian; my children are half breeds;
they are all here with me aud I think a heap ot
them. They are mighty good to me and sta>
with me when all their tribe is gone awav ua to
the moonfain8. and I ought to be satisfied. But
somehow, I don't feel towards them like I do to
wards tin se little white beaded girls 1 left in
Georgia. They were mighty pretty and I always
remember them, and how they used to run to
meet me when I came from plowing in the field.’
The tears were in nis ey«s, and his voioe
grew husky, the effort was too maou for him and
he was silent again.
•If yonr children are living,’ I said, ‘they are
old women now, and would have no love for you,
and were you to see them, you would be disap
pointed.’
•D) yon reckon so?’ he raid, ‘well I shall
never go back to Georgia now. I wanted to
otes, but the fear of the gallows kept me h-re,
that was a mighty fear to me. For a long time
I did not know whether 1 had killed the man I
shot i i Tennessee, but I was afraid 1 bad, and
that they might find me. For more than twenty
years, I never slept in my house, but always
where no one knew; and when I left home, on
a hunt, or to go anywhere, when I oame bask i
had a sign from the house that there was no
danger before 1 would oome up.’
Again he paased, and sighed, when he re
sumed his narative.
•It has been so long, and I am so old tLat I
reckon all who knew me in Georgia are dead,
and maybe if 1 was to go home they would not
know me, and maybe, if they did, they would
never hang me, bat I shall never try it. But I
would like to Know what become of my pretty
girls.’
When asked to give me his name, he lookoi
enq i-ingly into my face, and with a guitteral,
gulping laugh, answered:
Nobody knows that, I passed by tbs name of
ns, there was not a chirping cricket, or croaking
frog to break ths monotony of the desert soli
tude.
Here was the guilty criminal, attenuated and
wan. whose accusing conscience had made him
miserable for sixtv years; still fearing the
v*ngeanceof theoffmded law, hiding from all
save his own thoughts and feelings; eternally
pursue I by a terrible apprehension, wasted
to a skeleton familiar only with the savage aud
th« wilderness; with every tip dear to the civil
ized man sundered, and yet remembering and
sighing to return to these, and daring not,
lest bis guilt should be expiated npon the gal
lows. The memory of his children, preserving
them as they w*-re, and the devotion of a par-
ant’s heart surviving still within him. Wbat a
picture he w*s to contemplate, and wnat a
destiny he ha i endured !
With the rising sun we were away ou our
desert track, foolishly to follow, a profitless
whim aud to endure countless hardships, and
to dare the dangers which beset our way.
(TO BE C 'NTINDED )
MAN’S OATH,
—AND-
A WOMAN’S VOW.
BY JOHN MABCHMONT.
dark. ‘Sureoder 1
back into the bouse and sbut the door and went
to the front door, and tLe.-e in the yard was an
other man and I saw I had no chance without I
killed one of them. I asked the man what he
wanted aud he said :
•It is you we want, and the words were
scarcely out of his mouth before I shot him and
he fell. I then took my uncle’s shot gun and
rushing from the house went over the fence into
the lane and darted down it. I * us a good run
ner when I came to the horses, I saw one of
them was a good one, I was on him in a minute
and a going. It was cold weather. I turned
the other horse loose and he followed me for
sometime, when I lost him. I went all night
and I was tired. I stopped and turned . ff from
tne road into the woods and th»n I rode slow
till I came to a house. A poor man lived at it.
He did not know me, bat he fed my horse and
gave me my breakfast. I left there pretty soon
and rode five days before I realsh<ad the Missis
sippi. I crossed over and then I felt sate. I
never knew if I killed that man or not I wan
dered about until I came to a place they called
New Madison. There wete 8 t«ogers constMtly
coming there and I felt jubous. I Bold my
horse for sixty dollars and got me Bome clothes
and I hired to eat wood w » ol eMing tor a
Spaniard for two dollais a week and board. I
kept oat of the way of everybody. One day a
negro that was working with me said.
Tompkins, but that is notJhy real name.’
1 had urroused his susproions, and he grew
less communicative.
•You may go back,’ he said, ‘and betray me,
and they may send out here to catoh me.’ Look-
iog at Giiminot and myself, he added. ‘But no
two men could take me; my boys woulu be a
match for ten men. I am felt it for a long time,
bat somehow, I felt the old Scare on me to-night.
But you two are young and look honest, but I
am afraid of every white man. I was he’ e ten
years before I seed one. and its mighty few I have
ever seed, I have told my boys all about my
killing my wife s brother, and now white men
are coming into this country they want me to
break up aud go higher up into the mountains
where all their tribe has gone. I teil them no.
I am mighty old and must soon die, aud I want
to die here where their mother died, and be
buried by her. She was Indian, but she wss a
mighty good woman to me aud som'-how 1 want
to be buried by her, and by our ohildreu. Yon
wont speak of me if you ever go back, will you ?
but somehow I can’t help thiukiug you are like
me, hiding from the law, that is what most all
those whites oome here for, that I have seen.’
I, with my companion, assured him oib secret
was safe with us, and that oar object was to cross
over the Bio Grand and go to Mexioo. After a
pause, he said:
‘Well; you aint no interest betraying me-, and
I believe yon.’
it was ^rowing late, the rain was over, and we
left the hut for our oamp oy the spring. The
wind was aotive, and the leaves rattled in its
gusts; our camp-fire was dim, and in oar
blankets we rolled ear weary limbs and found a
oomfortabie sleep on the damp g.-asa, which was
sufficiently abundant to keep ns off the wet
ground.
The morning oame, bright and beautiful, bat
then were no Biaging birds to weloome its ad-
‘As surely as my name is Lionel Aspiuwall I
swear that I love you, aud that I will marry
you !‘
The voioe uttering these words was deep and
true, in the ring given it by the passion of the
moment With as c!<ar enunciation, and un
wavering tones, thongn law and s veet a woman
answe ed.
‘And I vow, as oertaia as my name is M-ibel
Seymore that I love you, but that I will never
marry you ’
In the distance was heard the warning whistle
of the steam engine announcing the near ap
proach of the exprtsi train for the city of New
York, to the little siution of Lehigh. Without
euotber word the young mau turned, hnrrie-t
down thb rugged pith leading from the rastic
bower, woere the oath and vow had been utter-
e 1, and as the train s'opped, was ready to step
on the platform, and, in a moment more the iron
boras snorted out of sight. Mate! Seymore
Witched the tall iorm uutil lost to view, theu
burying her face in her hands, wept as a break
ing heart, sometimes gives expression to an-
gni-h.
‘Several hours later she came into the presence
of Mrs Hunter, the lady to whose children she
was the g .'Veruess. This lady saw the shadow
of a grier resting on the beautiful young face,
and with womanly tenderness, parsed her
hand otressiagiy over the velvety ohe*k, then
pressed a motuerly ki s on the girl’s forehead.
•Mrs. Hunter,’ said Mabel Seymore, ‘you
have baeu verv, very good to me since I have
been n*re let us sit down here on the so r a. I
wisu to show you that I do appreciate your
kiu Iness, although mv manner is o dd, aud re
served, and to ask ot you one more favor.’
•Anything in my power, you know Mils Sey
more, it would be a pleasure. Lif* is uncertain
and i often think id t ie revolution of years, my
little girls may be placed as yon are, aud the
measure I ou-ta to yon. may be given to them.’
•You kuow. Mrs. Hunter, that Mr. Aspin-
wail was here to-day. I never wish to meet
him again. We love one another, but his father
ar>te me a week since a cruel letter, showing
his great displeasure, and that of the eatire
family to the projected match. L onel came to
sitiou. I will not; I am not one to'bring ais-
sensioa between father and sou, or seek to enter
a finally who think that i am b n^atb them. I
kuow bow men change as life goes ou, how the
glamour of an early love falls down into the
commou-place, jogtrot of common-sense. Li
onei is only a man.’
Mr. Aspinewall is a nobleman Miss Seymore,
aud will be a true lover always, be is a man
who has worked hard in uis profession, in spite
of the paternal wealth, be is quite independent
of bis father iu his pecuniary sffiirs, and has
a right to marry to suit himself.’
Nevertheb as, I will not marry him, but it is
too bard to see him with this resolve, and so, I
am going away. The tavor I am going to ask of
you, is to recommend me to a gentleman who
wilt call on you to-morrow, to whom I ve given
your name as my reference for fitness for the
position of governess to his little girl, aud that
you will promise not to enquire of him his
place of residence. If I am to lose myself to
Lionel A*; in-wall, I must also be lest to you.’
But Mabel!' said Mrs. Hunter, ‘you s aould
kuow w o your employer is, you should rt quire
a reference us well as give one.’
I chance to know of him, although he is
ignorant of who 1 am. I assure you tout it is a
respectable aod safe position that 1 take, but
not a pleasant one.’
There were some words of remonstrance and
advice from Mrs. Hunter, iu addition to those
here detailed, but Mabel Seymore was firm, and
a mouth later, when Lionel Aspinewall came
again to L thigh, he oould not find a trace of
the girl he luvad.
Tne young man went baok to his work, seem
ingly calm, but bis family, soon felt be was not
the same biyh--hearted young mau. His
rooms were at his cffice, but t e came home to
breakfast and often to dinner. H ■> was respect-
tat to ais lather, thongh- fully kind toward his
mother and sist- rs. but silent, where one* he
was talkative, sad where oaoe he was gay. In
every issue of the Nsw York Herald, among the
paragrapha in the column on the first page,
headed ‘Personal,’ was one sentence.
‘Mabel, - Where are yon t I will never forget
what 1 have sworn. Lionel.
A word or two in the phraseology w«s cl a aged
every week, but the substanoe remained the
same, and thiB was the one outward expression
that he gave, of all he felt or Buffered.
Five months passed by, when one morning as
the Aspinewall family were all together at
breakfast. Mr. Aspinwall, Senior, suddenly
broke a silence that had fallen on the circle, say
ing petulantly ‘Lionel! how long is this sort of
thiug to last i*
Wuatdoyou mean father?’ said the young
man, quietly.
Wnat do I mean sir ! Bather what do you
mean sir, by your changed manners to your
family ? I tell yon sir, I will not suffer it in
you any longer ! Far the truth must be told,
Aspinwall Senior, in spite of his aristocratic
respectability, had worked himself into a most
plebeian rage.
•1 have never had any intention of treating
my mother or yourself with want of respect sir,
and ueartily beg your pardon. I am mortified
to believe I have been remiss or unkind.
Mother you believe me.’
•Ou Lionel sobbed his mother, ‘yen have
been ail that is respectful, never nnkind, but
my son, you are so cnanged.’
Yes sir I roared the father, ‘you greet me
good-morning, and kiss your mother and sisters
good-night, ai if you were an automatom or a
ghost 1 No heart in it, ao cheerful ring of
voioe, no petting jest, you are a cloud in the
family. What do you mean eir!’
•Father ! said the young man in a tone that
oompelted attention. ‘Wnen a man’s brightest
hopes are blotted oat in the oatset of life, he
ntee i icily becomes grave, no fleroe fire ever
I have loved my family well, but I loved Mabel
Seymore uomeasnrably more than all else in the
world; in losing her [ am left desolate. Bit, if
I darken yonr home by my presence. I will come
info it uo more, if yon so prefer,’
No! no, ray son !' cried his mother. ‘I love
yon better now than before.’
‘Marry the girl if nothing else will satisfy
yon !' thundered Aspirw.ill pere.
•I would have done so long ago, raid the son
•if she would have married me, but after you
letter she discarded me. and has gone clra
way, purposely leaving no clue by whicu I
might fallow und find her.’
Iu a few words he teld the story of the de
parture of Mabel as he had learned it from Mrs
Hunter.
‘Ah well!' said the father rubbing his hands,
cheer np Lionel boy, there’s as good fish in the
sea as ever came out! Addie Hartridge is a
great beauty, fly round her, she has a plum too,
by way of a dot.’
•No father!’ replied the son, he had taken his
hat to leave the house. ‘I swear, that if I do
not marry Mabel Seymore, that I never will
marry ! With this he kiisud his mother and
left t.£je roam.
•Blood and thander I A nice kettle of fish
He is the last of the name after myself; my only
son ! cried old Aspinwall.
The elder lady and the girls, all with a fem
inine love of romance, tnrned with reproaches
to the old gentleman, How dared he even to
have meddled with the course of true love?
So, let the curtain fall on the scene.
•uen wen » u k u ‘b ~ ww«wnn iw w otoe | trily becomes grave, no neroe are ever
vent. The stillness of the desert wss all aroand IBged without leaving desolation in its tiaok.
CHAPTER IL
Mrs. Aspinwall had decided, that they wonid
take a house in Washington, tha‘ winter. Li
onel had been made an M. C. The girls wanted to
see a ^ay season, and it would keep Lionel from
being so indifferent to society. He always is
ready to escort his sisters,’ said that lady sapi-
in ly.
Tee Aspin wall menage was all that it should
b«; very few Washingtonians were more ele-
i.aut or grander, and the young M. C. was a
lion.
The wife of one of f he members from a west
ern state, was an old schoolmate of M's. Aspin-
v-all, and Boon the ladies were inseparable.
Hence, one day, t'e ladies bad the o lowing
talk Slid Mrs. Bildwim *N-xs week, Mrs. As-
p nwall, ray hmbmd’s ward will be with us.
Liura Ipsdera, she is only seventeen, her elder
sister Vliss. lps ieni, is coming too, I ve chosen
her out as the woman to marry your sou. I
wish \o:r husbandJand yourseif to meet her
first. Came in, to a quiet eveuing next Tues
day, they will arrive chat morning.’
•Ah! if Lionel ouly would marry her’ said
Mrs. Aspinwill, ou the qii-vive for some one
to blot out the image of the loit love. But
with a sigh she' remembered the Herald par
agraph addresse 1 to Mabel, that for three years
w>8 a! *a\s to be found among the ‘personals.’
Toes a/ cveniug, the Aspiuwalls’ husband
ami .vife, duly met Miss ipsdem. She was a
womuu of stately demeanor, showy icoomplish-
mnuw, and most elegantly dressed. The elderly
g utleuiau was delighted; as they rode home,
quoih he to his wife:
Mrs B ild win is right, she is just the woman
fir Lionel.’
Tue m >ther knew her son's steadfast, nature,
and raise! no blocks toward thecastle-bnilding.
Old As dawatl did not rest, until he intoduc-
e i his son to the beautiful Miss Ipsdem. As
the young man approaohed the lady with his
father, for a moment the color forsook his cheek,
he had scarcely recovered his rquauimity when
his f ther presented him. the pater-iamilias no
ting his pa’lor, remarked:
•Why boy, yon look as if you had seen a
Wawfiuig<>s«.‘dLaf the ioveliest woman who graces
‘At fi st Miss Ipsdem was strangely iixe a iauj
* bom l have known,’ replied the son.
•Cnance resemblauces are not nnasual,’ said
the ladv. ‘Strange it is that those totally nnal-
lie i by blood, are much alike, and again near
relatives are entirely dissimilar. The lady, my
young sister, to you* left, by the bay window
how unlike we are!’
‘Cerminiy, yoa ar9 very different,’ replied:
Lionel Aspinwall with a sigh. ‘Yet she is very
like the lady of whotn you reminded me.’
•Give me your arm Mr Aspin wail, I want you
to kuow my sister, ‘said Miss Ipsdem; and pres
ently she adroitly left the young man and tba
girl, in a pleasant strain of conversation, and
wttudrew herself to another part of the room.
Laura Ipsdem w*8 unspoiled,by even the lav
ish indulgence of home love and vast wealth.
Her‘s was a nature; that seemed without alloy,
and not lor three years, had Lionel Aspinwall
found the retl enjoyment that his evening with
this ’ounggirl had g.veu him. She too, seemed
to enjoy it, and he only left her, when he handed
her to her carriage.
Old Aspinwall famed and fretted. ‘Here‘sa
pretty kettle of fish, • he said to his wife. ‘Li-
ou*d falling in love with a child.’
•She is growing older every day, ’replied his
wife* Tt I could only see Lionel like his old
seif; aud happily married, I would be happy.'
Oi<l Aspinwall was more reconciled to the
idea, when he his friend Baldwin told him that
Laa a l is deurs fortuae, was larger than that of
the older sister. ‘Tuey are half sisters, and
Miss Ipsdem, to my own knowle Ige, dec’a-ed
that she would not take one penny of the Ips
dem property, if it was left equally to them
both, so at last, the old man compromised by
giving two thirds of the estate to Laura,and she
is therefore worth a cool half a million. * Qioth
Honest Mr. BaMwin ‘I wish the child was
well married, and I rid of the heavy trust, for
its no small care to an honest man, no matter
now handsome the commissions are.’
■Lionel is a good business boy,’ mentally so-
liloq i zefi his father. Had he possessed the
powers of a ola x vo ant, what would he hava fe;t
to have been in rapport with his son, for just
then Lionel was sayiug to Laura:
•You remind me so maou of the woman I leva
and the only one that I will ever marry, that
your socie y is to me a luxury.
Aud then he told the girl of his lost love and
his oath, aod she adopted him to a brother s
place in her heart, and between the two, tuere
rose up a true, deep triendship, not common,
bat very canstint between a man and a woman.
The session was nearly to a close, the lather
day by day waited impatiently for the announce
ment of his son's engageme it, for it was appa
rent to all that Lionel Aspinwall and Lan-a Ips
dem were deeply attached. Tne mother alone
knew her son better, and believed that his alle-
wiance to the memory of Mabel Seymore was un
dimmed.
Caliingat Mr. Baldwin's one day, Lionel As-
pinwa'i found only Miss Ipsdem at home. After
the usual greetings were txohanged the lady re-
maiked:
•Mr. Aspinwall, I am glad to Bee yon alone; if
this interview had not chanced I would have re
quested it. You have not aiked my consent to
my sister’s engagement to yon; unasked, I of
fer it.’
‘Pardon me. Miss Ipsdem, you misunderstand
yonr sister and myself. We are dear friend 4 .
I have pumosely avoided attentions that might
hive excluded other suitors. Her delicacy pre
vented her from telliag yon, that in the begin-
ing of our acquantaooe I told her that I loved
aud I had sworn to marry a woman of whom
yourself and herself remind me. The lady of
whom I speak is lost to. me now, bat my cv i
will find her ont, no other woman can ever it ks
her place in my heart'
'Do not think me indelioate, Mr. Aspinwall,
but I love my dear young sister so well \ pray
that she may marry a min who is u ibie—loyal.
I know you to be this. [ caul 1 trust her hip
piness to yon. Yin oould win her. Nj other
woman c in be more lovable than she is. If you
are Dot plighted to this other woman,forget her,
and save my sister from the perils of fortune-
hunters and perobance an unworthy marriage.'
‘No more unhappy marriage could she make.
Miss Ipsdem, than the one you suggest. 1
weuld chill her young life, absorbed as I am in
the memory of another. I love Mibel Seymore,
I do love her, and no time can lessen my affie-
tion, no space weaken it. My first thought is
ever, how can 1 find her? To save my reasau,
aud bocause no man liveth to himself, I strive to
serve my country and my fellow men. Fear not
for yourdeir young sister, she.in her own good
ness,cirries a foil to their wicked machinations.
I honor your devotion to her, and the strength
of character that enabled you to make this ap
peal for her seeming good, but I would do her,
as well as myself, a great wrong, if for one mo
ment I thought of aoueeding.’
It was the next day that Liu/a Ipsdem ohanoed
♦j talk to Lionel Aspiuwall of her sister. Said
th i young man:
•Sue is the oaly woman I have ever seen that
I oonld imagine for odc moment oonld fill the
place of my lost love. She seems to avoid me;
nntil yesterday I thought that she disliked me.
I am always desiring to know her better, but
she is so oold and reserved in manner, I seldom
oad approach her.’
•Yet, under that oold exterior,’ returned the
girl, ‘she carries an intense nature. I do not
think there is any sacrifice she would not make
for me. You know we are only half sisters, we
had the same mother. My mother was left a
widow when she was quite yonng. with this one
child. She wss very poor. My father met her,
fell in love with her and she with him. He had
an intensely jealous nature, and required that
she should n it bring her child by the former
marriage to his home. There was no sacrifice
she would not have made far him. He never
even knew her daughter's Christian name. He
educated the girl splendidly and would have
coniiuned to give her a handsome allowanse,but
in some way she learned what my father had
done; that he had separated her from her moth
er, aud she ind’o intly spurned his bounty.
My father bedneousJy ried to exclude all mention
or even though «_>t uer trom bis 'amily. In some
way an old nurse of ours dared his displeasure,
and told me of my sister. She impressed me
with the idea that my father was to be ignorant
of mv knowledge of her. This mystery fired
ray imagination, and all my little plays aud day
dream* were filled with thonghts of my sister.
Tne first tetter I ever wrote wai to her, and the
old nurse forward»d it. Sbe replied very lov
ingly, but told me that T mustdo nothing in de
ft uce of my father’s wish, or unknown to him.
It was a noble letter, and moved me to oonf s*
to my father what I had done. I was his t lol
and he w^s j 'alons of any diversion of my aff rn-
tions. I was firbullen to think or speak ot her
again. N at long after this, my mother died; my
father went on to New York and advartisid for a
governess, and soon brought to our borne a most
beautiful woman. Sbe had the most glorious
blonde hair I've ever seen. Sbe taught ine pat
ted me, trained me, m ire than all she loved me.
I was taken ill with a malignant fever. Serva its
fled, nurs' 8 would not come; my teaoher.staid
by me, tended me baok to life, and tbeu herself
was stricken. My f ther and the physician nur
sed her, and dating her illstss, through the
ravings of delirium, my fither learned that his
govern* si was my sister, his own step-laughter.
Tne true nobility of both natures reconciled
them to one another. He asked her pardon tor
the past; s ip, to assure him of it, beoame Miss
Ipsdem, took his name, and was indeed his
elder daughter. I cannot tell you how changed
she was by the illness; tue blonde hair fell our.,
zlingty iair »mu u- . i. p u .. ...„
a nut-brown maid; but the noble heart was just
the same. The trasformatioa of face was as greit
as that of name, for my sister is no m ire .ike
her former self than Margaret Ipsdem is in
sound, like her formemame of Mabel Seymore.'
•Ah!' said Lionel, ‘did not my heart always
quicken in her p eience? I never toll to you
wuen talking of her the name of my lost love.
It was Mabel S*ymore. ‘
No need for me to tell of his advent into the
presence of Miss Ipsdem. His upbraidings. At
last she said:
•But I vowed never to marry yon. ‘
•I swore that I would marry you. Besides,
you are absolved; you said ‘assure as my name
is Mabel Seymore/ that is net yonr name now.'
•For onoe then, a woman's vow is to be brok-
keu, and a man's oath kept,’ said Miss Ipsdem.
■Wnat about the old song, ‘Men are deceivers
ever?'
Final tableau. Aspinwall pere slowly talking
in tas lea»11 a mt. vl'-s. Aipiavatl banning,
girls char ned.Loaa los lem delighted. Mr. aa 1
Mrs. Baldwin complacent. Lionel and Mabel
happy.—Let the ourtaiu drop.
\\\iy Women Marry.
Vanity Fair in a recent issue says: The ques
tion wdiou we considered last week, ‘Why Men
Marry,’ is an interesting one; but it must be
pronounced inferior iu interest to the question
•Way Women Marry’ iu the degree iu which
men are in all respects less interesting than wo
men. The wiilingaess of women to marry is
greater and more potent than that of men; and,
*e will add, that it is a great deal more wonder
ful. Tne women have, to use a colloquial
phrase, the worst of it all through life, we en
tertain no doubt, and that the matrimonial state,
as understood* by experience, has, as a rale,
fewer attractions for them than for men, we also
bedeve to be true. Yet, while there are many
men who from choice abstain from marrying,
and still more who pat off marryiug, till the last
practicable moment, we doubt if there are auy
women woith mentioning who refuse the mar
ried state from option a id deliberation, and not
many who postpone marrying till a late period
of life from a general repngnanoe to having u
husband. That women refuse individual men,
and sometimes go oa refusing man after man, is
true enough; but then their objection is to the
man and not to the condition of life man pro
poses; or, not nnfr queutiy, their refusal arises
from mere skittishuess, from a feeling that they
may do better, or from a cheerful conviction
ihit there is pleuty of time to ‘think about it.’
As a rule, however, women who have the chanoe
of marrying, marry, and they wouli marry yet
more promptly than they do were it not that
they are frequently held baok from taking a
foolish step by wise parents or dissuading
friends. IL>w is this apparent paradox to be ex-
plained ? There is less to indued a woman to
marry than to induce men, yet men hesitate to
marry and women jump at marriage. S ame will
answer that man is a rational aod woman an ir
rational animal; but over and above the dis
tinction being too uncomplimentary to be true,
it is one of those plausible explanations that ex
plain nothing. Again, it is sometimes affirmed
that, in marrying, men sacrifice liberty, where
as women, in marrying, acquire it.—But this is
an epigram easily disposed of. When men sac
rifice what iB called their liberty by marrying,
they are already tired of their liberty, or that
particular form of it which bachelorhood en
joys, and, were the point thoroughly examined,
we suspect it wonid be found that they aban
don a form of liberty of whieh they are weary
for another form they have not yet possessed.