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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