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“I told vou you'd be lively here,” said Achilles’
derisive whisper. “Have you seen the ghost ? No
answer; well, I know what’s the matter. You ex
acted to meet Ralph Medway here and you haven
You are crying for a sight of the handsome mur
derer. Women don’t mind a man’s being a viilian
so he’s got long legs and a straight l>ack.”
“You will say no more about Ralph Medway
me if you please. You torget he is my kinsman
the only one who has—my blood in his veins
“What is blood ? Nobody hates us in his heart
like our own kiu. though they ure obliged to keep
up a farce of good will for the sake of family pride.
If she could, my mother would turn me entirely
into the ape she came near making me at first.
“I’m sure rhat’sa wrong feeling,” Valesaid. No
mother dislikes her child.” ,
“That’s all you know about it. Animals kill
their puny and missh ipen offspring. Society dis
courages such a wise proceeding, and the human
mot her of a monster has to make the best of it.
“I should think the human mother would feel
tenderes'. towards tne misshapen child, due gut >
loved best at the convent was little .Mickey aithe,
who had no arms, and one shoulder higher than the
other^ *
“She was meek and fawning, no doubt, and
moved your pity.”
“Pity is a strong part of love. ’ . .
“It is false. Love wants no pitv mixed with it
Pity may do from women to women, but a man
wants none of it. And no woman mixes up real
love with pity. Women love Strength, and beauty
loves beauty. That is why you love that halidsi>me
cousin you are sitting here crying for. \ 0 M.Y e
been told you are beautiful no doubt—the silly
nuns and the school girls told you so, didn t they
“The girls did.” . .
“Yes, I knew it. They are always ready to fist-
ter, in order to get flattered in turn. They told
you your eyes were as blue as skies at twilight and
your heir goldbrown as wood moss; but 1 tell Jiiu
it is red, your eyes are green, and your white
skin has a hundred freckles on it, 1 il be bound, if i
could see theinjiii this moonlight, and so have these
soft "soft hands.” .
H: had seized both hands and was crushing them
in his. He had his face so close to hers, she could
feel his hot breath. She tried to get away, but he
held her fast. , ,
"Ho, Ho,” he laughed, “you find the manikin has
a mail’s strength. 1 could throttle ail enemy as
easily as your tall, straight, men. You are angry
because I said you were not pretty. VV hat f you
were beautiful as Cinderella, nobody would marry
you, because you ure poor. Nobody will ever find
you here to fall in love with you in this old place.
No one ever comes here. You will stay here and
wither and dry up like the dahlias, and no one will
ever kiss these lips—unless ”
With the quick motion of a Chimpanzee, he dart
ed his head forward and pressed liis mouth to hers,
still holding her hands in his grasp. She wrenched
away from him and rose to her feet.
“ What do you mean, yon impudent little wretch?’
He stood looking at her, panting wii h excite
ment, doubling his small hands spasmodically.—
Gradually the purple flush passed from his luce.
“Yes, i am a wretch,” he said. “You do. right to
mock me. I was a fool. I’ll not be so again. But
you keep away from me. You have no business
here anyway’, I want no women here. Curse ein.
I wish they’ were all dead.”
Vale took him at his word. She kept away from
him. She would have liked to have bten friends
with him, for he moved her pity, but his strange
moods frightened her—the fierce passion.be seemed
capable of, the malice and mischief that his eyes
expressed. Yet these eyes could look wonderfully
soft sometimes, and he iiad the sweetest voice Y ale
ever heard. She could hear him singing to the or
gan in the drawing room. Sometimes she stood
near the closed door listening. Once, he stopped
playing suddenly and opening the door found her
there.
"You here?” he asked.
“Yes: I was listening to your music.”
“Why did you not come in?”
“I enjoyed it better here.”
“Because you could not see the musician,” said
he, with his bitter laugh.
“No, not that. 1-
massy door she started at hearing the sound of a
human voice—a gutteral voice, and presently, it
seemed a groan. “Was it really human ?” she ask
ed herself, and as the thought cros-ed her mind she
h^ard a rustling sound, and a heavy step, and the
overseer, Hennessey came from the rear of the
tomb. He was muttering as he strode on and did
not see her until he was within a few’ feet of where
she stood. Then he stoppe : short and stared at
her, surprise changing inioscowliug displeasure that
gave a still more sinister asp et to his heavy’ fea
tured, small pox marked face, set on a thick short
neck—a physiognomy indicative of coarse deter
mination as well as of strong animal passion. Vale
wondered what he was doing here. Usually he on
ly came to the hall to his meals, which he took at
the family table much to Y ale’s surprise and dis
gust. Yet fair and dainty Mrs. Medway seemed
not to be disgusted. She seemed considerate of his
comfort and anxious to make up fot her sou’s rude
ness to him, which was no doubt good po ic y,for Hen
nessey was certainly’a clever manage) ami seemed
extraordinarily alive to the interests of his employ
er, Occasionally, he held short, private consulta
tions with the mistress of the place, and from these
he sometimes came out looking angry, while the
lady’s face wore a faint shadow of discomposure.
Evidently’ Mr. Mike Hennessey had a will of his
own, and h d been so long a trusted employee on
the plac; that ue was somewhat spoiled and took
more authority than was his right. Achilles some
times took exceptions to this in liis rude, scornful
fashion, and it required all Mrs. Medway’s tact to
smooth over such domest ic rouglmessess.
Towards Father Maurice, Hennessey’s manner
was so peculiar as to attract the notice of the sharp-
sighted Y'ale. Outwardly', he was respectful to the
priest, as it befitted an Irishman and a Catholic to
be, but Y 7 nle ' hougbt she perceived an undercurrent
of strong dislike, and she more than once caught the
overseer regarding the priest woth a keen, distrust
ful look.
And jus r norv, as she stood watching the rain
within an arch of the old shell-paved basement,
she overheard words confirming her suspicion
that Hennessey had no love for the smooth-faced
g ’iest. It was near noon, and she had just heard
ennessey gallop up to the side gate through the
rain and call the stable bov, Toby, to come and
take his lior.se. Toby did not answer, and presently
she heard the heavy tread of Hennessey approach
ing the house. At the same moment, Toby, with a
wet blanket over his head, came into the basement
fi am the stables, and, on the overseer angrily de
manding where ha had been, answered glibly:
“Feedin’ farether Murris’ mare.”
“He here again? Damn him, he’d better take
possession here at once,” said the overseer kicking
tee mud savagely from his heavy boots.
Father Maurice, cure of the little church at the
sea port town, five miles away, did ride over to
Ivy Hall ofiener thau seemed necessary for the
madaine’s spiritual instruction, but then he no
doubt liked the wine and pastries, the old pictures
and books at the Hall, to say nothing of the society
of its intellectual mistress. There was no harm in
this.
The rain ceased, the sun shone brightly through
the parted clouds, the wet ivy leaves glistened, and
a bird sang in the magnolia tree. Vale’s elastic
spirits rose from their depression. In the afternoon,
the grass was so well dried by breeze and sun that
she w’ent for a long walk.
“I will try to find YY r ingina’s cabin,” she said, as
she took the path leading from the orchard. Pass
ing by the tomb in the green covert of live oaks,
she took her way through a pleasant hammock
here the fresh-leaved bough < met overhead and
the birds fluttered and twittered in careless glee.
It seemed an enclosed pasture, for presently Y’ale
came to a fence and a stile, on the top of which she
sat down to rest. She took off her broad hat and
fanned herself with it, and ran her fingers through
her curls. Life didn’t seem so dreary out in the
good green wood.” Ah ! if she were only Maid
Marion and somebody—that ideal somebody of a
oung girl’s dream—were Robin Hood! YVould not
this be pleasanter than living in *hat musty old
house with a lot of gloomy people f tat looked and
acted as though they might have disagreeable se
cts in their lives? Pleasanter too than going out
governess thrumming gramiq^r into the thick
a scarecrow in any drawing room, but it is not
every one who tells me so to my face. I admire
your candor, Mademoiselle.”
He was gone before she had time to explain. She
went no more to the (loot- of the drawing room to
hear him play. In this queer household, she seemed
to have no place. Mrs. Medway left her to her de
vices and she spent the most of her time reading in
the musty little room called a library, and roaming
over the grounds with Zach for a companion and
sometimes Y’iney—the dusky little imp she had cut
down from the apple tree. Y'mey waited on the
table, ran errands and handled the bioom. She was
the grand daughter of the grim old b'nck housekeep
er, who was cook as well, and w ho w ;li Vmey and
the stable boy—also her grandson—were the only’
servants kept about the yard, the grand carriage
driver, who also officiated as gardener, slept and eat
at the “Quarter,” situated a mile away, convenient
to the cotton and rice fields.
' Vale sometimes had a glimpse of the black, slick,
good natured faces of the field hands, and was
cheered by their friendly curtseys and the broad
grins they gave her. Every body at the house was
as gloomy as giant Grim, and seamed ' some
how on their guard; even Y'mey’ who had been ev
idently drilltd by by her grandmother and was in-
counnuuative on some subjects. For instance, she
woulu not talk a bit about Ralph Medway. She
shook her w oolly head and crossed herself when his
name,was called, as her granny’ had done. But she
did say once to Y’ale-
"Ef you wants to talk about him y’ou must go to
old YY’ingina’s cabin down by de creek. Old Win
gina don’t live here any’ more. She moved off fore
de old mi n died. She’s Injen you know, b’longto
de Seminole tribe, but she lived here most all her
life. She uussed Ralph’s ma all de long time she
was sick. She was Ralph’s nuss too when he
was a baby and he was mity fond of her. Dey’ say
he went to her house and told her goodby e dat
night he had to run away’.”
“YY’ill you go to Wingina’s cabin with me ? ’
“Not dis chile. Granny’d beat de life out me.
She don’t gee horses wid YVingina. Granny and us
aint Medway folks. YY’e come here wid Miss Mar
cia; Granny used to b’long to her fore freedom come.
I’ll go w id y’ou part de way. De road leads back
from de orchard by old marse’s tomb. Youv’e been
long dar.”
Yes; Y T ale had been to her uncle’s tomb. First
with Mrs. Medway, and afterwards by herself. The
low, circular, tower-shaped affair, built of mortar
and shells was already moss stained, and covered
with a growth of vines—ivy and wild grape partly,
but the most luxuriant climber was the gaudy-flow
ered trumpet-vine— a most riotous wild growth in
this warm, moist climate. It quite covered the
tomb to the top, and it and the muffling ivy had to
be cut away from the thick door, deeply set in the
masonry’.
“The key is misplaced to-day, but I will find it
and we will go in sometime,” said Mrs. Medway to
Vale. “It will be a comfort to you to see the re
mains of your aunt and uncle, and you can see them
seemingly, in a good state of preservation, for they
are both in air-tight metallic coffins with glass over
the faces. Both coffins are placed side by side on a
marble-covered table surrounded, according to your
uncle's desire, by the portraits of his parents and his
daughter that died while she was quite young; also
by the busts of his favorite philosophers, while at
the foot of the coffins, crouches the stuffed figure of
his favorite dog, the father of Zack. The room is
lighted from above and there is an old fashioned
beaufet with a silver wine service upon it that was
presented to your uncle for some service done his
state. It was bis wish that these things should be
about him. It does not strike me as an unnatural
desire.” *
nAr j
. i^^^ndfHV^oatiently, hiscy<*be- f kul | s a P arca ‘ ot ctn J ldre "- a 3iit‘ eil1 S patronized
giriWgtortiuni. ; ' * ^ W^^>nd hv*
“Afraid*! "you are frank at least. I know I am AndJ^lS'w^ ani unt£mS^lJr^Sving
thing. If only there would come a Robin Hood!
She started hearing the near thud of a horse’s hoof
deadened by the grass. Before she could clap the
broad hat back upon her head, a horseman came
riding up; a graceful, easy figure, in a gray, some
what worn and rough dress, and with a soft-
brimmed Western hat slouched over his face! He
glanced at her a little surprisingly, bowed and was
passing - on, when a sudden impulse seemed to make
him stop and wheel his horse round and ask of Y’ale
with a keen look into her face:
“Can you tell me if the steamer Belfast touches
at Greenport now and what days she is due?”
“She is due on YY'ednesday, day’ after to-mor
row,” answered the girl.
He thanked her with another bow. His long,
half wistful look made Y’ale's heart beat strangely.
He was sunburnt and somewhat haggard and reck
less looking, but singularly handsome, with a proud
strong beauty such as Y’ale had never seen before.
“He might answer for a Robin Hood,—almost,”
she thought as he rode away. “Only he is not joyous
enough. How hard he looked at me, and what dark,
sad, burning ey’eslielias! But he is going to take
the Cuba steamer; and will never cross my path
again. Good-by’e, possible Robin Hood.”
(To be Continued.)
THE SECOND WIFE.
BY OLIVER OPTIC.
CHAPTER I.
THE FIRST WIFE.
She gave these details with calmness. Vale won
dered if this woman, so beautiful as she stood there
under the live oaks with the sunlight sifting down
on her blatk, silken hair, her ivory skin and superb
shape—had ever loved the old man that lay yonder
in his vine-covered tomb. He had been a line look
ing,stately manjit is true,and might have easily com-
njanded respect and affection, but there was a depth
of passion slumbering in this woman’s eyes. You
caught a glimpse of it when she was stirred by mu
sic. For her son had his gift from her. She sang,
but it was rarely, and vale remembered on one
night how she had abandoned herself to the impas
sioned tenderness of a German ballad.
The next time Vale visited the tomb she was
alone. It was nearly dusk, and as she stood by the
“I am the most unfortunate man in the world !”
exclaimed Frederic Rodman, as he threw himself
in a ohair in the sanctum of his friend and confidant
Thomas Sumner.
“YY'hat is the matter now. Fred ?” said Thomas,
with a smile upon his face, for he was not wholly
unaccustomed to the repinings of the other.
“I am miserable !”
“Pooh, nonsense !”
“You can’t understand my case.”
“I can’t be miserable; I don’t want to be; I
couldn’t if I tried,” laughed Thomas.
“You have everything to make you contented,
and nothing to make you unhappy,” groaned Fred
eric.
“Just as much as you have, Fred.”
“No.”
‘I am sure I have.”
“No, you havn’t.”
“You have a salary of eighteen hundred dollars
a year, which is one-third more than I get. You
own a good house; you have three healthy children,
and a pretty and accomplished wife ’’
“That’s all you know about it. My salary is all
I want and everything else is satisfactory,” inter
posed Frederick. “I complain of none of these
things.”
“What do you complain of then ?”
“I’m miserable in spite of all these things.
“YVhat, with money enough, a wife—”
“There’s where the shoe pinches.”
“Your wife ?” asked Thomas', with a glance of as
tonishment.
Frederick nodded, though very much like one
who is ashamed of himself. Let it be understood
before our story proceeds any farther, that the two
gentlemen are friends of twenty years standing,
having been “boys together,” and having kept side
by side thus far through life. Each was the con
fidant of the other; so much so that Tom’s wife was
half jealous at the intimacy that exsisted between
them.
“You are not going to complain of your wife,”
continued Tom.
“I can’t keep it any longer. I shall feel easier
after I have unburdened my mind of this fearful
secret,” replied Fred, with a woeful glance at the
other.
“Out with it, my dear fellow.
“I was deceived in my wife.”
“The deuce you were ! And you have just found
it out after living with her seven years.”
“I could not speak of it, even to you, Tom.”
“What has happened, Fred ?”
“Nothing new; it is the old story, only aggravated
by long continuance.”
“What ails her ?”
“I am not happy with her.”
“I am sorry for that; but is it your fault, or hers,
or both ?”
“I don’t think it is my fault. I am sure I try to
be a good husband I have alwaysdoneeverything
I could t,o please her, and make her contented and
happy.”
“That long face of yours is almost enough to dis
gust her with humanfi y,” continued Tom laughing.
"Don’t laugh at me, Tofn ”
“I don’t; but I am astonished. Why’, when you
married Julia, you thought her the handsomest wo
man in tqe world. She is very pretty now, and
half the men in tqwn envy y’ou.”
“Beauty’ is nothin‘s compared with—”
“With what ?”
“YY’ith lieetness. ”
“YVhat! Fred, you are an old Betty ! You are
an Old Betty ! Yfou are an old fool ! exclaimed
Tom, jumping out of his chair.
“If you had suffered one-half what I have, you
would think differently.”
“Do you mean to say that Julia is not a neat wo
man ?”
“I do, Tom.”
“Don’t believe it. Just explain a little.”
“YY'ell, for instance, she is not neat about her per
son.”
“If that were true, Fred, I would give you my
sympathy’, but it is not.”
“I sometimes come home and find her with a dir
ty calico gown
“YY’ould you have her to wear silk to take care of
the baby ?”
“Perhaps not silk, Tom, but—”
“You’ve no business to have babies. Do you ex
pect your wife to take care of a child all day’, and
look as nice as waxwork ? You are wrong, I have
heard mv wife speak of Julia as a very neat wo
man; not nasty-nice,” but much neater than wo
men generally- are.”
“Khe’s mistaken; I could speak of other things.”
“Don’t speak of any more of that sort. Is she ill-
humored or fretful ?”
“No.”
“1 hen go home ai!d thank your stars you are so
well situated.”
“You don’t understand my case. Tom.”
“Yes I do, precisely. You are more nice than
wise. It isn’t possible for y-our wife to keep your
house perfectly nice while she has three children
about her. She does very well. I think Julia is
one of the best women in the world. Does she
neglect your wants ?”
“No.”
“Does she not take good care of y r ou when you
are sick ?”
“The best in the world.”
And Tom questioned him on a dozen other points,
and everything was satisfactory.
“You are an~ff,ld Betty, Fred. You ought to
have, been an old woman. I see through it. You
are fickle. You are tired of her. You have lived
with her for seven years, and she has become an
old story. The novelty of existence has worn away’,
and y’ou have selected one thing, considering that
you might makaout a good case against her. You
have not. Noaoubt she has her faults and foibles.
Perhaps in some particular instance, y’ou have had
reason to complain for want of neatness; but she is
not generally untidy. I know to the contrary.
Now, Fred, you must look on both sides of the ques
tion. You must give her credit for all her love, pa
tience and fidelity; for the weary days and nights
she has watched by’ the bedside, when you and your
children have been sick; for her gentleness, her soft
words that turn away wrath; for herself, as an an
gel on the whole, who was descended from heaven
to brighten your path; and against this long list of
blessings, you are to debit the accidental leaving of
a slop pail in the entry’, and the unpardonable sin of
wearing a calico dress which baby had soiled. Get
out, Fred ! You are a heathen !”
“You don’t understand my case,” moaned the
poor husband.
“Havn’t I summed it up for you ?”
“You don’t know what I have endured.”
“I don’t want to knew. By’ the way, Fred, have
you got fifty’ dollars in your pocket to lend me for
a fortnight ?”
“I have,” replied Fred, promptly pulling out his
wallet and handing over the money.
“Sorrv to trouble you again.”
“Glad to d¥ it. Tom,” he added with a smile,
whicbiayjiic^.a if iroy.^tv.
i -*•rlKnfcnoIftreoFyortf «r»*, -
must bear a good deal, and you Lave less than your
s'hare.
“I can’t help thinking how different it would
have been if I had married Emily Berard.”
“Married the town pump !” exclaimed Tom,
indignantly. “She is an old Betty.”
“You wrong tier. YV hen I was married she was
very’ beautiful. ” •
“Beautiful enough now; but I would sooner
have married my grandmother. Why .didn’t you
marry tier ?”
“Because I was a fool. It would have been dif
ferent with me now if I had.”
“That’s a fact! She is no more the equal of Julia
than Biddy Moreen, the washerwoman. ”
Frederick Reiman went home not at all comfort
ed or assured by the eloquent rebuke of his friend.
Emily Berard, the old flame, was uppermost in his
thoughts. It had been said that she was a volunta
ry old maid on his account. She was a very’ nice
body, and no doubt would have made him a very
good wife ; so did Julia, but it always takes two to
make a happy couple.
CHAPTER II.
“That is our way,” said Tom pleasantly.
“Itis a very vulgar way. Don’t put your feet in
that chair, Frederick. It is a dirty trick.”
Fred quietly removed the offending foot, and
looked sadder than before.
Willie took no part in planting it; but with unusu
al interest, noted everything that transpired.
So the long cherished object of Julius Latrain
was at last accomplished; but gaining one object,
he was soon to lose another:—two da vs more and
“Think we shall have some rain !” asked Tom, : bis ever dear friend, YVillie Montgomery, would
disturbed by the silence. ! leave Georgia to resume his Collegiate Course in a
“Don’t drop your apple-core upon the floor j distant State, where the sacred chain of Twelve
Frederic,” said Mrs. Rodman with a frown. “I Links would be again united. Sad was the part-
declare it’s no use trydng to keep things neat where bigI but with mutual promises of eternal friend-
you are! And if y r ou haven’t got your muddy boots ; s “ip, the farewell was spoken, and Julius was left
on !” i alone to think over what he had gained; to think
“So have I,” interposed Tom. “I didn’t think to , ov ^ 1 ’ w hat he had lost!
bring my slippers with me.” Alone, time passed on and brought the last day
The lady frowned. ! °. f March—the day before he was to assume the du-
“VVell, I believe I must be going,” continued 1 t* es of a teacher when the boy casting off his
Tom. | youihful habits, was to assume the responsibilities
“I feel kind of stupid to-night; I believe I will Die man. Having never gone to school a day in
walk over with you,” added Fred, rising. bis life, he knew nothing of theduties of theschool-
“Frederick,” said Emily smartly, “you know I i room. He had, however, learned that all efforts
don’t like to be left alone in the evening.” ! are important, more or less, according to the na-
“Poor Fred !” ejaculated Toni, as the door closed j ture of the material upon which they are exerted;
behind him. “He is in for it now. ” ; and tliai no work performed by man, is more
“YY'har. do you mean by offering to leave me alone worthy of consideration than that of the teacher.
in the evening ?” Snarled Mrs. Rodman, when the
door closed behind the visitor.
“You have driven my friend away, and I thought
you might as well drive me out too.”
“It is time he was gone. He is the coarsest, most
brutal fellow’I ever saw; and you must discout iu-
ue this intimacy.”
“Never ! He is my best friend.”
“I don’t care if he is. He had the impudence to
answer every time I spoke to you.”
“I am not accustomed to be snapped up in that
manner before my friends. ”
“In—deed!”
“1 w’ill not submit to it,” replied Fred, beginning
to have a little grit.
“You will not, ?”
“No;” and Fred proceeded to button his over
coat.
“VY r here are you going?” asked the astonished la
dy.
“Over to Tom Sumners.”
“Are you going to leave me here alone?”
“1 am.” •
“No, you are not.”
Fred moved towards the door.
“You shall not go; I’ll go with you if you do.”
“Come along,” answered Fred, desperately, as
he lotted out.
Mrs. Rodman had gone too far. She had roused
the tiger in the nature of one who was disposed to
be very yielding and quiet. He had gone and she
threw herself into the rocking chair and wept from
sheer vexation. Was this the beautiful Emily’ Be
rard 8 Fred had caught a tartar; but he was rap
idly changing into a Hottentot to meet the emer
gency.
“What, Fred! you here,” exclaimed Tom, as he
entered the sanctum of the latter.
“I am here;” and he briefly related what had
passed since Tom’s departure.
“Give me your hand, Fred ! That looks more
like you. Keep it up. If either is to rule, you are
the one.”
“Tom, I am miserable.”
“I don’t wonder.”
“Neither Julia nor I used to rule. We were
equals. There is not a day, scarcely an hour, in
which 1 do not think of Julia. She was so differ
ent.”
“So she was,”
“Now I am snapped up every two minutes, for
the most trivial things.”
“Sorry’ for y’ou, Fred, but you must fight y’our
way through.”
“I shall; I have begun now.”
“By the way, Fred, I see she had a calico gown
on.”
“Yes; since the baby was born, she is not as neat
as she was. It has taken the starch all out of her.
I wouldn’t care for that, if it hadn't also raised a
devil 1 knew not of before.”
Thus Fred complained, and not without reason,
now, of his other half. He knew what an angel
Julia had been, and sighed for the joys that had
passed forever away.
But he fought his way to a peace, for the virago,
having fully roused him, found that he carried too
many guns for her; and though life was a misery,
it was a continual conquest.
Reader, God made your wife or your husband on
But though knowing this Julius did not know
how to go about the important work that was soon
to be committed to his keeping. He had some con
ception of toe extent to which industry and deter
mined energy lmd sometimes carried their votaries,
even when unaided by fortune; but he considered
himself so far without the circle illuminated by
this fickle goddess, that he wed nigh gave up in de.-
spair. Aa if to increase his fears, lie found his
studies frequently interrupted by foreign thoughts.
YYDiile buried in some difficult problem, tlie"lair
form of Coralie Summerville, or the mysterious re
semblance between himself and Nelly Montgomerv.
would cast a shadow upon the light just beginning
to dawn in his mind.
A thousand times lie asked himself the cause of
this feeling; but echo only answered, “what is the
cause of it ? ’ He hud read the story- of Alonzo and
Melissa, and some of the poets, the burdens of whose
song was love and its bewitching wiles; but he did
not dream of being himself caught in a net cast bv
a young girl to whom he had never spoken, and
who, in all probability, would always be a stranger.
Like all other boys of his age, lie had thought that
the object of his affections would be a full grown
woman, at whose feet bearded men were kneeling
while girls of tlie age of Coralie would be devotiifg
themselves to bread and butter. But all uncon
sciously, he bad placed his affections upon Coralie
Summerville, his lirst, his last, and his only- love.
The warm showers of spring had alrrady unlock
ed the icy fetters of winter, and the drumming of
pheasants was heard in the forest.
Children were roaming over the fields to see who
could find the first fiowers of spring, and the little
yellow butterflies—the seventh generation of those
of Julius’earlier yoqth, were chasing each other
in the sunshine.
Surrounded by’ such scenes, the y-oung teacher
made his way at an early- hour to the log-cabin had
been erected for a school-house. He found it in
the midst of a forest, vast and solitary. Near it a
spring of crystal water gushed from beneath a great
rock, overhung by a giant beech, among whose
boughs birds were singing their morning madri
gals.
Being first at the school-house, Julius, after stud v-
ing the scent-rv, took liis seat, and anxiously await
ed the arrival of his pupils. There was only one
door in the house, and r..de benches were con-
structed around the walls. Soon they- were nearly-
filled with bright eyed boys and girls, upon whose
faces mischief and frolic, were written.
A greater number than he had anticipated were
already present; but still he saw others coming in
the distance.
Presently recognizing John Montgomery- among
them, he arose to go and bid him welcome; but
finding that Nellie and Coralie accompanied him,
the astonished teacher resumed his seat in confus
ion. Mr. Montgomery soon arrived, and making
himself easy and agreeable, he txplained by say
ing that he had come to show his daughter, Nelly,
and her cousin, Coralie Summerville, the nearest
way-to the school house, as well as to assist hif
young friend in opening school.
Julius had not anticipated the presence of Nelly
and Coralie. He thought them already too far ad
vanced in their studies to become his pupils; but
when Mr. Montgomery* informed hint that they
"FORTY YEARS AGO,”
Drifting Sands from the Mountains
ami Foot-hills of Northeast Georgia.
A Brilliant Romance Based Upon Facts.
By G. i. N. WILSON.
THE SECOND WIFE.
The lapse of a single y-eur produced a great
change in the household of Frederic Rodman. The
seurlet fever had raged in the town, and his two
y oungest children had fallen victims to its violence.
Julia, worn out by the loss of sleep and the poign
ant grief of their sickness and death, was pros
trated with typhoid fever, front the effects of which
she did not recc ver.
Frederick wept bitterly and sincerely- over the
grave of his wife. He was now alone with his old
est child, and he could not but feel that the good
Father ha 1 afflicted him for the repining thougnt
he had cherished.
He had seen his wife patiently watching for four
weeks by the bedside of his dying little ones ; he
had seen her refuse to sleep or to rest ; he had seen
her wear herself out in her devotion to her dar
lings.
He was alone now, and the grounds on which he
had complained of her seemed too trivial to be re
garded. He saw her as she was now that he could
no longer see her with his bodily ey-e. She was, as
Tom had said, an angel. He could see only her
good qualities, and mourned her departure as much,
more, than though she had never complained.
Tom was his friend now more than ever, if he
could be more than he had been. He did not rebuke
now. He had spoken plainly at the right time,
and now he had only words of hope and consola
tion.
“1 shall never forgive myself, said Frederick.”
“Take a cheerful view ; it is hard, very hard,
but it is all for the best,” replied Tom.
“It is very hard for me, when I think how unrea
sonable I have been. You are right, Tom. She
was an angel and I was a demon.”
“Never mind £hat now.”
“I have got real woe now. I miss her every mo
ment I am in the house, even more than I miss my
two children. Everything reminds me of her. No
one places my slippers on the rug now : no one,
with anxious care, watches to supply my every
want, adjust everything to suit my humor ; no one
welcomes me wit ha cheerful smile. Oh! Tom, I
feel as though I should go mad ?”
“Be calm, Fred.”
“And what a brute I was ! I did not appreciate
her. Tom,'1 wronged her. She was a neat wo
man. I see it now. I was a fool ? I shall be miser
able for the rest of my life.”
He was not, for another year found another
change in the household of the disconsolate hus,
band—found Emily Berard the mistress there. For
a time there was a novelty about his new existence
v hich pleased hit fickle mind ; but this soon wore
away, and Fred discovered;.to hisurprise, that Em
ily had her faults. It is true, she was as neat “as
wax.” She never permitted her slop pail to
be left in the entry- for a moment; always looked
as tidy before breakfast as after tea ; and in every
respect, suited the fastidious taste of her husband.
But it was not time yet to visit him.
Some two years after his second marriage, Tom
dropped in upon him, to spend an hour. Fred
looked moody and sad. In vain he rallied and tried
to be cheerful.
“Take an apple, Tom,” said he, passing the dish.
“Thankyou.”
“Tom !” exclaimed Mrs. Rodman, “Is that the
way you address your friends? You talk like a
bear.”
CHAPTER VI.
According to promise, YVillie Montgomery was
atAzilitisoon after sun rise; and, finding Julius
already there, they began work at once. They were
so busy that noon came before they were aware of
hitherto he had not found a limit to his knowledge,
of this important science.
Still, feeling l lie social position of these two pu
pils so far above his own, their presence, though
heartily- accepted, was embarrassing; hut by the
assistance of his ever ready friend, the first step to
wards organizing his classes were taken, and he
called the school to order. YYYien all were silent,
Mr. Montgomery arose and addressed the teacher
and his pupils, telling them of their duties and the
responsibilities that, rested upon them.
“All toe men and women in the world,” said lie
in conclusion, “were once little boys and girls like
you; and all the educated men aim women in the
I future must commence with the alphabet, and from
I these pass on to whatever station they may fill,
j Those who are to occupy- the highest places "in so
ciety, whether in the arts or the sciences, in the
learned professions or in civil affairs—those who
are endowed with talents of the high order, wheth
er as writers or orators, as iuventors or discover-
ginning YY'illie had noticed a look of anxiety- about
J ulius, and while eating, asked him if he was un
well.
“O, no,” replied Julius, “I never enjoy-ed better
health in my life. I confess, however, that I have
strange feelings I do not understand, unless they
arise from curiosity; for I am all anxiety to know
something of the strangers who accompanied y-ou
yesterday, especially the little girl who gave me a
white rose.”
“O, indeed 1” said YY'illie, smiling. “I see where
the land lies ! I don't wish to tease you, but allow
me to say that you are not the only one who has
been made serious by the appearance of that fair
young creature. You need not blush so, my friend;
for your curiosity, as you call it, is excu-able. A
similar fate has been the lot of many others;
their susceptible natures
are most easily’ impressed by- his example a id in
structions. Some teacaer has shaped more or less,
the destinies of every person who has ever lived.
Those who have been successful carry with them
through all of life, the faithful admonitions and
cheering words of their much loved teacher.”
YVhen Mr. Montgomery had finished his well-
timed address, he took leave of the school, promis
ing to return frequently for the purpose of doing
all he could for both teacher and pupils. Were
such men to visit the schools of the present day,
and in the spirit of John Montgomery, labor to
promote their welfare, a vast amount of good
would be accomplished. The condition of teachers,
who by the way. are the hardest worked and the
poorest paid class of laborers, would thus be placed*
does not seem a being of earth, but rather of the
world of spirits; and it appears to me that her pa
rents dress her in such a manner as to increase this
illusion. But this is not all. She is as brilliant in
mind as she is in person—as truly good as she is
beautiful! Her name is Coralie Summerville, and
she lives in New Orleans. Her father, Leon Sum
merville, is of French extraction, and while on a
travelling tour through New York became ac
quainted with, and married Einma Hester, my
mother’s oldest sister. Sd y’ou see that Coralie is
my own cousin. The tall young man who wrote
your name in bis note book, is Harry Summerville,
Coralie’s only- brother. She has two sisters, one
older, and one younger than herself. Of the other
young gentleman, 1 know but little. His name is
Horace Morone, and is said to be very wealthy.
He also lives in New Orleans, and is the traveling
companion of the Summervilles. They are all on a
pleasure trip, and in order to avoid the sickly sea
son in their native city, will perhaps, remain with
us through the coming summer. The other little
girl is my only sister. Her name is Nelly; but we
sometimes call her Celestia. She and Coralie are
nearly of the same age—twelve sometime this year.
I do not remember that I ever before spoke of her
in your presence. YVhen you were at our house
she was absent at school, though onr parents have
often superintended her education at home. This is
all that would interest you now, and sufficient per
haps, to gratify, to some extent, your curiosity in
regal'd to these strangers, with wnom I nope soon
to see you well acquainted, especially Coralie; for
I think her cheerful spirits and sunny smiles will
serve to chase that sadness from your brow. So
let us now turn our attention to gardening. It is
so pleasant that I am anxious to be at work again.’
Though Julius’ mind was more than usually ab
sent from his work, he instantly caught the will of
his friend, and together they devoted all their ener
gies to the accomplishment of the task before them.
At the end of the second day they had the infinite
satisfaction of seeiug their labors completed—the
garden was planted, all was ready for the magical
transformation of spring—ready to receive the
mysterious touchings of tne plastic hand of nature.
The sides of the walks were devoted to ornamental
shrubbery; the square in front, on the, right, to
flowers, that on the left to vegetables; and the two
remaining squares at the back side, to frnit trees of
various kinds.
In the midst of the flower garden, within plain
view of the cottage door, Julius carefully planted l
the white rose given him by Miss Summerville. As
this particular cutting appeared to be so sacred, I
Soon after Mr. Montgomery’s departure, Julius
began his laboi-s in earnest. He felt awkward and
ignorant; but still he worked, and, as in everything*
else we are called upon to perforin, he soon found
that the more he did, the better he understood his
duties, and was, consequently, more able to per
form them. Thus the days passed into weeks, and
the young teacher, though not always as successful
as he desired, found the duties of the.school room
exceedingly pleasant, and Ins efforts to “teach the
young idea how to shoot,” highly appreciated by
the public generally.
YVith few exceptions his pupils were industrious
and obedient, rarely- giving hint any serious trouble.
Of course all this gave him much satisfaction; but
to the influence of Nelly and Coralie, which was al
ways exerted for good, he attributed much of his
success. Theirexample had a salutary- effect upon
the entire school, the little boys and girls looking
upon them as superior beings, whom they all de
lighted to honor and love.
“How are you getting along with your school?”
asked Joe Harper one evening of Julius, desiring to
bring up the name of Nelly.
“Much better than I at first expected,” answered
Julius.
“Are any of the pupils hard to manage?”
“Only a few, and even these give me very little
trouble.”
"That is strange; for I know some of them belong
to a rude class.”
“I have two pupils who, if you will let me place
them with any number of turbulent children, f can
successfully control every one of them.”
“How?”
“The boys will obey through pure love, and the
girls through respect and love too.”
“Love for whom ? The teacher or the pupils?”
“The two pupls mainly. ”
‘ Is it Nelly and the white / ^gel who have this
wonderful influence?” /
Yes; their power seems/
the little child as well as V
do you call one of them V
Because of the white/
hat that she wore whr
rose tied with a why
know any other nar
kind of a spirit, ar
“Yes; I see. If
force to argu i ne-
this allusion to
saw her, remi'
ise. She is
company w
’me over all—
But why