Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

LIFE'S SUNSHINE. BY MRS. MARY WAKE. Some grcpeamid the shadows here, Nor dream life's sunlight is so fair; Like “Peter Eell” they only see The color of each flower and tree. No higher, deeper meaning lies In golden clcuds, or summer skies, Than that which needful nature claims, To further her most sordid aims. And all the sweet imaginings, That lend to life its golden wings, And win the heart from sin and strife, Are wanting in that sunless life. Give me the simple heart that finds Music in the mountain winds; Companionship in birds and flowers, Aud blessings in this world of ours. Columbiana, Ala. . DEI A MERE; -OR— Corinne the Sphy nx BY PAUL C. LE SUEUR, CHAPTER XL To Eryc the weeks of Diana’s visit glided by almost like some deasant dream, and when it was gone he had an indescribable sensation, as if he had been toying with something danger ous but irresistibly attractive. Of love he did not speak, and dared not; bnt there are tones of the voice that tremble, and glances of eyes that grow tender which speak more strongly, truly, than can words. Bnt if ever at unguard ed moments his manner betrayed his senti ments toward her, his conduct afterward be came more distant and constrained, for to as pire to the love of this beantifnl creature, so far above him where wealth had placed her, in him seemed almost madness. But the impulses of love are seldom restrain ed or guided by the calm, cold dictates of ex pediency or judgement. The very fact that her love was not for him served but the more to urge him on, and though he sometimes thought bitterly how impossible it was for him to at tain it, he yet felt himself drawn resistlessly to ward her. Diana herself had learned from Mrs. Delamere much of the smugglings and misfor tunes of his past life, and yonng and yet unsul lied by a cold world's teachings she had felt for him at first a strorg, admiring sympathy. When with total unreserve he sometimes un bosomed himself to her and spoke of all the bright aspirations which filled up the measure of his dreams, her kindly gray eyes would light np with sympathetic emotion, and flash forth glances dangeronsly fascinating. The honr of such bursts of confidence and inti macy, however, would be followed on Eryo’s part by moments of bitter regret and a look of melancholy would appear in his face which Di ana conld account for on no other snpppcsition than that some secret tronble of the past was weighing on him. She unconsciously guessed right, but the past over which he grieved was a very recent past, extending no further back ward than two short months, sometimes days, ago. He had S6en from the first how dangerons it was to be near her, and had endeavored in some feeble and reluctant manner to keep away, but now, under the same roof, exposed to the intimacy of every dsy life, be yielded entirely to tha|. to which 'ye tad biW-rijirtifilly yielded before, ’ ’ One day when Corinne had retired to her rcora to repose, Diana tntered the parlor and -at down to the piano. She tad not seen Eryc since early that morning and ehe wondered why he had not been near or spoken to her. Love she thought not of, nay, the probability of it had not yet occurred to her, but she missed him much when he was absent, for she had come to think that the tones of his voice were pleasant and bad in them a magnetism which she had heard in no other yet. It was the last day of her visit lor she was to leave tomorrow. She did not feel sad, but she played sad, soft pieces and sang occasionally the words of some monrnfnlly tender song. She sang cld songs that had long since grown out of date like the fashion of all things earthly—songs whose mel ody welled ont as sweetly as of yore from grief- burdened hearts, but which had been displaced by noisier and more showy ballads. The room wis heavily curtained and dark, and she knew not that she had a listener until she heard some thing like a softly uttered sigh behind her. She turned and confronted Eryc. His eyes were fastened on her with an expression strong in them of a sentiment she could not well mistake — an expression of the tender regard of an ar dent, youthful heart. She felt it plainly, and confusedly blushing, began playing again with out speaking a word. Eryc came to her side and together they sang the old songs over again. There was the unspoken melody of love within their hearts but they did not ntter it in words: only occasionally by transient but all- elcquent glances was its presence revealed’ On the next day she left After her departure Eryc noticed some change in Corinne. The change had been silently and gradually going on for some time, bnt not nntil the joyous influence of her visitor had gone ont from the hause did Corinne decidedly manifest it. She became more gloomily thongbtfnl, and if possible more pale. Her spells of dejection were sometimes increased by fits of severe coughing or lightened by moments of hysteric al exhilaration. She had been morose and mel ancholy for several days, when one evening, as Eryc, endeavoring to draw her away from her gloomy thoughts, related some little adventures in which he and Harry Wilmot had been en gaged. her manner suddenly changed, •Rather a clever thing in Harry, was it not ?’ asked Erjc in conclusion. •No!’ answered Corinno energetically and with fretful emphasis; ‘I can’t say that I think so. I do not like your friend Harry, and I can scarcely conceive how any one else of good taste can.’ •Why ?’ asked Eryc. •Why ?’ ■he repeated with impatience—‘I should think your question silly if I had not seen before now how fond of him you are. There are a thousand reasons why—more than 1 conld well mention at one sitting I am sure, though he is not very much more hateful than the balance of the contemptible jackanapes that call themselves young gentlemen.’ ■Saying which yon give me also a thrust.’ •If you are willing to incur reproach for his sake it is no affair of mine,’ replied Corinne. •Why almost the very lsst time I had any words with him, he said to me what no gentleman could say to a lady.’ •Pray, what said he ?’ asked Eryc. ‘It is hardly worth repeating or remembering,’ said Corinne, vainly tndeavoring to replace her HDgr- mood with one of contemptuous indif- rerenca; bnt since you seem bent on knowing, yon shall hear it. merely because I once ven tured to reprove mamma in his presence for some oversight she had committed he asked me it I didn’t think there was a hereafter, and then broke out laughing in that silly, boisterons rnaoner of his. Gtntie reader, do yon not think Mr. Wilmot was more than half right? This little anecdote, and more especially the manner in whioh she brought it in and related it, were peculiarly amusing to Eryc, and he langhed too, it mast be confessed, with some thing of malicions pleasure at this timely coup de grace of Mr. Wilmot. Seeing, however, that this only irritated her he remarked, as if by way of extenuation of the palpable lack of gallantry of his friend. ‘Perhaps Harry is ratheranbions on that sub ject himself. He generally acts as if he thought the cbances of there being another world were somewhat slender. Corinne’s manner lost for an instant some part of its irritation and after a short, thought ful pause, she replied: •There is no peculiar merit in disbelieving in a hereafter—and not one grain of comfort, eith er in believing that there is —especially for one of Harry Wilmot’s inclinations.’ She paused again for a short time during which her face aud voice grew hard and joyless, and then add ed . ‘It is some comfort to me also to think that this life is all., • Eryc looked at her searchingly and with amazement. ‘Yon are snr-'ly jesfing ?’ he said. ‘Bah !’ exclaimed Corinne with a bitterness so deep and so ample that there was in it a portion for each one of the human race—‘jesting? I never jest, I do not know experimentally what jesting is, Don’t look at me in that manner— as if yon were grieved at my depravity. Hear me once and for all—if I believed and were con vinced that there is snch a thing as this that long-faced men tell ns of—of a life beyond the grave,—an eternity of agony or bliss, do you not know that I would sit down in sack-cloth, ashes and prayer, apart from all haman kind for the balance of my life ?’ She spoke with fierce irritation and in rapid, restless accents as if harried forward by surg ing tides of nnrepressed emotion. •My dear cousin,’ asked Eryc with serious ness and increasing surprise—‘where did you learn snoh sad, nnhappy doctrines ?’ •Do bnt listen again !’ angrily burst forth Co rinne, for she was now thoroughly aroused and cared not how she might appear or express her self. ‘When did I learn—as if I were a child and had no other ideas than those picked np in conversation. Here, read that and see !’ She reached and took up a book that lay close by upon a table, and flung it savagely toward him. He picked it np from the floor where it fell, smoothed down the leaves which had been bent and torn bv the violence with which it had been thrown, and examined the title page. It was one cf the works of Voltaire. Inasmaoh as she had never before given evi dence or intimation of such belief or tendency Eryc, when he saw she was in earnest was to some degree astonished, forjat first he had thought that being in a fretful and despondent mood, she had giyen utterance to expressions whioh in a calmer honr she might repent of and wish unsaid. In all probability he was partly right in this supposition, for, thongbtfnl by nature aud with her soul made full of gloom by dark and subtle premonition of incipient disease, Co rinne had brooded in secret over the mystery of Being—with its ‘hopes and fears that wander through eternity’ and unadvised and unassisted had taken refuge in the skepticism in which too often the troubled soul seeks relief from the darkness that environs it. In this hour of doubt she had turned with eager hope to the writings of such men as Hume and Voltaire. Let her not be blamed too severely for this. It was the grasp of a drowning man for a straw— the grasp of a despairing soul for hope even though it were a phautom hope. And let not these men be called shallow. For surely th*re is a Hereafter au.d a beneficent God, ay,’ De claimed loudly to every heart by th an’ a nig-- proa,oh of f,ven Mca Hu? f~- ’r |»‘ solemn Night—but these two men have strong ly torn down old landmarks, and skillfully shrouded in mists and obscurity the beliefs that have grown venerable, ot the origin and des tiny of man. ‘I am weary of doubting and thinking,’ said Corinne, ‘and I could believe anything and what I want is some proof beyond the sickly, ghastly threats pf deathless flames I’ve had dinned into my ears so long,’ ‘As an answer let me read to you,’ responded Eryc, what one of the deepest thinkers of this or any other age has said in this connection, of Voltaire. By chance I marked the passage only yesterday.’ He took another volume from the table and read: ‘That the sacred books could be aught else than a Bank-of-Faitb Bill for snch and such quantities ot enjoyment, payable at sight in the other world; which Bill becomes waste paper, the stamp being questioned—that the Christian Religion conld have any deeper foundation than IBooks, conld possibly be written in the purest nature of man in mysterious,ineffaceable characters to which Books and all Revelations and authentic traditions were but a subsidiary matter—were but as the light whereby that di vine writing was to be-read—nothing of this seems to have even in the faintest manner oc curred to him, Yet herein, as we believe that the whole world has now begun to discover, lies the real essence of the question, by the neg ative cr affirmative decision of which, the Chris tian Religion, anything that is worth calling by that name must fall or endure forever. We be lieve also that the wiser minds of our age have already come to agreement on this question; or, rather were never divided regarding if. Chris tianity, the Worship of Sorrow, has been recog nized as divine on far other grounds than ‘Es says on Miracles,’ and by considerations infin itely deeper than wouid avail in any mere ‘trial by jury.’ He who argues against it or for it in this manner may be regarded as mistaking its nature; the Ithuriel though to our eyes he wears a body and the fashion of armor cannot be wounded with material steel.’ ‘Ob, that will do,' interrupted Corinne impa tiently, ‘I have neither cariosity nor patience to listen to the rest. I shall tronble myself no more upon the subject. Death is a mystery any way we look at it—the Mystery of mysteries and neither you nor I nor any one else knows what comes after or indeed that anything comes after.’ She seemed to wish to say no more, and hear no more and so the subject was dropped. How painfully a few short weeks hence was Eryc to recall this scene and conversation ! CHAPTER XII. ‘Eryc, Corinne is going ever to see Diana this morning and I will be very glad if you will go with her. ’ It wi s Mrs. Delamero that spoke, and Eryc replied; •Certainly, and with pleasure if you desire it.’ ‘With how much pleasure?’ asked Corinne, who bad heard her mother's request as she sauntered languidly into the parlor. Eryc per ceived the hidden drift of her question, and steadily met her searching, half-aarcestic gaze, while he responded: ‘No more than is consequent upon riding over and coming back immediately. I do not intend going in.’ ‘That will not suffice,’ said Corinne. 'I shall not be ready to start before it is too late to re turn here to dinner. It will be alincst twelve before I can get prepared. Besides, mama says she wishes Vista to go. Of course in that case the carriage cannot come back nntil evening. I should very much dislike either to go or come back alone with her, as she always seems con- Btiained when she is with me, and I never know what to talk about It is time I should return Diana's visit, but if there are others there I shall merely take dinner and return in the even ing.’ •Make your own arrangements, answered Eryc; ‘I shall be guided by your programme.’ It was no difficult matter for him to be guid ed by a programme that carried him in the di rection proposed. He had been straggling for some tim9 against the desire to go in that same direction, but with gradually weakening resolu tion. He dared not of his own accord indulge himself in the folly of another interview which would rivet bat the stronger the bonds that even now be conld not Jay aside. But. if go he must at another’s instance, he was not prepared to offer a very long or obstinate resistance. He wondered at himself sometimes—wondered why he did not leave Delamere forever, since he saw his presence had grown objectionable to one, at least of its inmates, and go forth into the world to seek what lot therein life had for him. But with these canw generally opposite thoughts and feelings. ‘If I might but see bar just once more,’ he would say to himself at such times, ‘I could go away more contented.’ Opportunity after opportunity however, had come and gone bfft he found himself no nearer than before to his departure. His aunt and uncle would not listen to any talk that related to his goiug away, and scouted at the idea as a thing that could not gain footing even for a mo ment in their minds. Preliminaries being thus satisfactorily agreed npon, Corinne gave herself no further trouble about the matter, and walking to the piano, which stood open, made an iffort tc sing, but not being in a musical mood, gave np the at tempt, and began making preparations for her visit. It was a raw, ohiRy day when they started, despite the spffiig-like look of the green young April foliage around them. A oold moist wind had set in from the East, and light, watery looking clouds had gathered on the horizon and began drifting slowly across the bleak and cheerless sky. To Eryc, as his fiist had been, this was a lonely ride to Mr. Ether’s. Miss Devon seemed to have lost all of her original vivacity of dis position; Corinno leaned moodily back upon her cushions, and occasionally smiled in an absent, condescending kind of way at the sallies by which he attempted to introduces little liveli ness among them. So when the carriage reach ed Mr. Ethmer’s, he drew a sigh of relief. They had scarcely entered the gate when (hey saw Colonel Fenton with Diana walking in an other part of the yard. As Corinne beheld him she involuntarily quick ened her pace and drew near Eryc’s side, as a child draws near the strong arm of a protector in the hour of danger. She did not speak, but he noticed that she was paler than usual, and wore upon-tier countenance an anxious ex pression. More in her appearance he did not note; his eyes were busy elsewhere. ■> Diana and Colonel Fenton now espied them through the shrubbery, and came forward to meet them. After greetings were over, and they had entered the house, they found Harry Wilmot engaged in a game of cards with Mr. Ethmer. At entrance the former desired to leave off the? b^me. ‘Not till we finish the rubber,’ said Mr. Eth mer. W Harry did not manifest any further interest in it however. In fact, he played with the utmost indifference, and by the time dinner was an nounced, which was soon afterwards he was pretty thoroughly beaten. At the table, Eryc, who sat opposite Miss De von, noticed with a degree of curiosity that she appeared Rejected aud when he began to speculate fact, he could not arrive ■rA-guv; f*r“i' *'■• canse. there of, though hec| fflembered that this was her habit in general whenever she was in gay com pany with Harry. ‘Ah,’ he thought, ‘she fears he drinks too much.’ Perhaps he was right, for, a3 the meal and the day wore away, and Harry p.ftor having ha i ample opportunities, had indulged only to a very limited extent in the ‘perishable’ fluid, she gradually grew more and more animated, and finally joined iightly in the current small talk of the evening. This was not one of Harry-s drinking days, as he observed to Eryc, who sat beside him, and so, when the meal was over with, the whole party retired to the parlor al most, if not altogether quite as sober as they had left it, making due allowances, as a matter ot course for the enlivening, invigorating tifeet which always fallows, as a direct consequence, the eating of what, in common phrase, is de nominated, ‘a good square meal.’ Mr. Ethmer now retired to his own room, and left his guests to their own enjoyment. In the meantime Diana perceived that Cor inne bad grown dissatisfied and restless, and she made every effort to entertain her. In this she was not wholly unsuccessful, for the former with all her whims and humors, had shrewdness enough to observe that, after the departure of Mr. Ethmer from the room, there was a certain j tendency, among these who were left, to sepa rate into pairs. This tendency being unchecked ! and uninterfered with, she readiiy saw that Harry end Miss Devon would form one couple, and either E'ya or Colonel Fenton with Diana would form another, leaving herself alone with the nnsuccessful aspirant to Diana's exclusive companionship. As for the first mentioned couple, she cared not whither they went or what they did, but she now exerted all the diplomacy of which she was possessed, to prevent Diana from leaving her. She did not desire to be left alone with either Eryc or Colonel Fenton. Of the former she had a secret hate, of the latter a mortal dread. The very love even, if love it conld be called, which she bore to Diana had something intensely jeal ous and selfish in it. She could not endure for her to have a single pleasure, such was the nn happy bias of her nature, unless she herself could be participant. This love, which in sober truth was nothing but a whim and would in stantly have passed away, the moment Diana neglected to comply with any one of her nu merous demands and caprices, was not very ar dently returned by the latter. Of this, Diana made no secret. She acted to wards Corinne merely as she would have acted towards any other person whomsoever with whom she might have been thrown in contact, and tho latter mistook for a love whioh she did not merit, that which was nothing bat civility. Not, however, that there was anything of the dupe in the general make-up of Corinne. Her eyes and thoughts ever wandered with lynx-like scrutiny for everything that savored of decep tion against her, and generally searched it out with an accuracy that was sure and unerring. But all that Diana did seemed to be done from the dictates of a warm and generous heart, and pitying Corinne, she did to her what less dis interested souls had often done before—she pet- led her. Moreover Diana had the rare faculty of bringing out in other hearts whatever was most laudable in her own, so that the former rarely, when with her, ever showed tue unhap piness of her disposition. As the evening passed away the clouds which, had been all day thickening, gathered dark and lowered overhead, and descended in a deluge of rain. All hope of returning home ere night were given up by Corinne and Eryc could not find it in his heart to advocate depaiture. Col onel Fenton, however having enveloped himself from head to foot in an enormous overcoat of Mr. Ethmer’s by Diana’s suggestion, declared his intentions of setting out without delay, as he bad some business that called him home that, night, and mounting his horse, he dashed out into the fast falling rain with headlong speed. ‘He will get terribly wet, ‘ said Diana as she watched him from the front verandah whither she had gone to see him depart. ‘Hardly,‘ answered Eryc, who stood by her side and bad some faint, wild hope that the Col onel would either drown or break his n6ck, for he liked not this show of sympathy—'twenty minutes* ride will carry him to town at that rate.’ After Colonel Fenton left, Corinne breathed more freely. At her request Diana now went to the piano and sang, Eryc sat on one side of her and Corinne upon the other. About this time Bose, who had just come from Delamere, appeared at the door, dripping with wet and shivering with cold. ‘What do you want? 1 asked Corinne, rightly divining that his business was with her. ‘Miss says how is yer?’ answered Bose without ceremony or preliminary. •Eryc smiled, much to Ccrinne’s wrath who mistook his intention. ‘Take yourself out of her e, ’ she sternly said to the envoy—‘Mamma never did or will have any sense of propriety anyway.’ The latter part of her remark escaped her in spite of herself. ‘She sent a note but it crumbled to pieces in my pocket.’added Bose apologetically—‘rain so hard.’ Eryc seeing ’the condition of the shivering negro went over to Harry Wilmot and spoke something in a low voice to him, which Corinne unsuccessfully attempted to overhear. ‘Certainly,’answered Harry in a louder tone, would like to have some myself.’ The two now left the room. •Take yourself away from here, sir,’ again commanded Corinne in a tone stiil more sharp after her failure to overhear what Eryc had said. ‘She say don’t come home dis evenin’, added Bose who had not yet delivered ail his message. ‘Go!’ said Corinne, pointing with exasperation to the door. Bose put on his dripping hat which hitherto he had held in his hand, and tnrned around sleepily to leave. At this instant Harry Wilmot reappeared closely followed by Eryc who carried in his hand a tumbler ol brandy which he presented to Bose. ■Surely, Eryc, you do not think there is any thing worth living form life except the “pleas ure of the glass, do you?’ asked Corinne in an angry and sarcastic voice. The icsinnation was a telling and venomous thrust, and for an in stant she eDjoyed it supremely. Eryc tnrned without a word and for a short while looked up on her with 9yes so fnll of stern, reproachful an ger that she quailed before them. Bose, however, took the tempting portion and swallowed it with great relish, and, as he hand ed back the glass, by way of expressing the depth of his gratitude he said in a low voice to Eryc: ‘Wish Delamere b’long to you, Mass Eryc.’ •Amen!’ shouted Harry laughing recklessly; ‘Gad! old boy, new yon see what wh skey will do, don’t you?’ Diana sat near the door, smiled no less at the argumentum ad homiuem of Mr. Wilmot than at the flittering remark of Eryc's outspoken bat good-intentioned well-wisher. Seeing this, Cor inne bit her lips in vexation, imagining what had been said to have had some reference to her self. The plenipotentiary departed however with out further delay, Eryc resumed his station at the piano by the side of Diana, and there was more music. Bose and his messages were for gotten by all save Corinne. And so the day 31 nee. '.‘ha niolit came on, ao^i Ery/j, like men in general, tooif" ‘ho note off tii 'S'^’Ero i the hour came for retiring he had fJgotten j that he was poor and a wanderer—had for- I gotten his hasty but honest resolution never to see Diana again—had forgotten the great gulf which wealth had fixed between them, and which, like that between Dives and Laza rus no mortal strength could bridge—had for gotten everything save that bright sweet face beside him radiant even now although he knew it not, with the light of dawning love. The next morning Corinne hastened her de parture from Mr. Ethmer's with as much haste as was consistent with decency. When she reached home she fonnd a letter from Mr. Glenville, informing her that he would see her that very day and would like to have an ex planation with her. With regtrd to what sub ject the proposed explanation was to be, was wisely withheld. Her heart heat rapidly at this intelligence— beat with dread of something terrible and in definable. Mr. Glenville had studied effect and consequence to some slight extent in his day. He would have made a tolerable fair ac tor. Corinne made her toilet in haste for she was all impatience and could not endure to lose one moment of time. Indeed, before she had completed it, her expected visitor arriv ed. She went quickly in to see him. As she entered the parlor Mr. Glenville arose and cauie forward to meet her with dignity and an aspect of unwonted seriousness. There was also upon his face a look of grief express ed that frightened her. Never before had he met her thus. Altogether his manner was cal culated to produce no slight impression. As he greeted her he took her hand, held it, and, gazed into her face as if to read her inmost, thoughts, siid simply but significantly: ‘Ho has come again, Corinne!’ By the he thus so abruptly and incoherently alluded to, Mr. Glenville designfled Colonel Fenton. He might very readily have imparted this startling information to Corinne on that memorable day when he had ridden back with her from the lake; but his programme was not then made up. Moreover he did not then have much of an opportunity. For the same reason she too,had been silent upon the subject. But still had his course of action been deter mined in his own mind he might easily have found an opportunity both thou and since. •1 know it she answered calmly, and seemed to pause as if awaiting some funner revelation. •Yon do not appear to regret it very much,’he said with reproach and surprise as ho took a s>at—‘or rather you do not seem to care much about it.’ ‘Why should I care?* asked Corinne. ‘Is this the explanation you referred to in your letter? She seated herself in a looking chair and be gan rocking gently backward aud forward, re garding him with an expression which he scarcely knew whether to consider one of indif ference or doubt. He was not abashed but merei-y surprised. He had not expected this calumtss on her part, though he was well a.vars that what he had told her was no news to her. ‘This is the explanation, 1 he said in a tine of tender upbraiding. ‘I thought I would have seen some sorrow, some surprise at loast in you. Corinne, as your conduct to me heretofore Las never led mo to suppose you so utterly heartless aud indifferent to me. My brother, Arthur, re vealed uicaseif to me a lew days ago. I had seen him several times before, but so cleverly is he disguised that I have never suspected him. As you wiil know, as long as even his very spectre haunts me you are free from your engagement to me. I release you now. Some worthier and happier man may claim your hand. I surren der ail claim whatsoever I have ever had upon it. I cannot ask you to be the wife of the broth er of a ’ Mr. Glenville sagaciously left the remainder of the sentence to be filled by her own imagina tion. The tones of his voice were affecting ami his attitude dramatio. He might have affected even a cold, disinterested spectator, for it was nicc-ly done. Corinne was visibly affected. In this place and with this man, where she should have been all eye and esr for the detection of fraud, she felt the blindest confidence. ‘Yon have known me too long to very little purpose, Geeffrey,’she began eagerly, in spite of her efforts to appear calm and collected, ‘to suppose that this information can have any weight in determining my future relation towards you. No, I shall not consider myself released from my engagement to you.’ Mr. Glenville was about to make use of some strorg expression of love and admiration, for, in expectation of this turn of affairs he had pre pared it beforehand; but Corinne interrupted him thereby preventing him from overacting his pait perhaps. ‘You wonder,’ sho continued, at my lack of emotion at what yon say. I have seen Arthur Glenville myself. I accidently discovered him a short time ago, and lie threatened something nameless and dreadful if I ever betrayed him, and l hnve not dared to speak of him to you since. I have long suspected he was not dead. It was something like instinct in me, until I be gan to make enquiries. Then I grew more and more certain. 1 made enquiries about the skel eton that was found, and was told by those who examined it critically, and who studied about such things that it wa3 that of a weak and slen der vonDg man. When I was in Florida I en deavored to banish the thought from my mind. But one night I overheard two men talking at a supper table in a certain hotel. From these I learned, that three or four years ago, there had been, near the place where I was then stopping, a young man of feeble health and moody tem perament, who finally became insane and ran away from his friends. They traced his course as far as a few miles from the spot where Arthur Glenville was -aid to have been drowned. When I heard this I knew the truth. I hastened home but I told no one what I had learned not even you, Geeffrey, for I knew your generosity—! knew how painful it would be to you to know— to have him around you again.’ She came very near saying ‘to know your brother was alive’ bnt as this, to say the least of it, was not a very flattering assertion she changed it into a milder one. ‘But it shall make no difference with me, Geof frey,’ she continued. ‘If we part it shall not be my fault.’ ‘But such a life as you will lead, darling,’ ob jected Mr. Glenville, too sure now, as he was at first, of his game, to fear the result of urging objections. ‘It will be happier for me than otherwise,’ re turned Corinne. She blushed at her own bold ness, Mr. Glenville told her he could scarcely believe what he heard—but that his joy was largely dashed with the fear that her motives were those of pure generosity rather than of love. He thus moreover informed her that he had come, intending, as much as possible to soften the severity of the parting pang, but that now since he found himself more firmly united than ever to her, he could hardly credit the great amount of joy that had coma to him. In short, Mr. Glenville swam in a summer sea of glory. Ouce or twic9 Corinne was upon the point of asking him about the scene at the lake, but she did not wish to marr the enjoyment of the present hour by any reference to the un pleasant part; and thus went by an opportunity which was not destined to be many times re peated. To be Continued. fiSlit aud Humor. person‘s Cole* Necessary evils—butchers and bakers. Humility is always becoming to otlur people. No more cider. It is now fluid extract of ap ple. No law agin that. No use trying, yon eau’t make a voice clear by straining. Busy-bodies, anomalous as it may seem, are almost invariably idlers. It suggests itself whether “Oil Kins was a descendant of Anthracite. Some men think it‘s virtue keeps them from rascality, when it's only a full stomach. Notlazomahuiztespixcatziu is, says Humboldt the title of respect given to the priests of Mexico. Chicago wants the next world's fair, bat per haps the next world won’t have any. Some one says Miss Kellogg has a “voice of two registers. “ Thai's why she sings with each warmth, It has long siuee been discovered (by manu facturers! that American corn makes the best Scotch whiskey. The old gentleman who never touches ^‘spir its, “ except as a medicine, was carried, home yesterday on a shutter. Au advertisement of a now soap in a London newspaper began with “every man his own washerwoman." Talk of Irish bulls, The New Orleans Picayune says that fishin? leads to philosophy. And sometimes both the fish and the philosophers are in-seine. Oar foreman wants to know why a man charg ed with crime is like type ? Cause he should not be locked up until the matter is well proved. At a parish examination, a clergyman asked a charity boy if he had ever been baptized. “No sir,“ was the reply, “not as I knows of, bntLve been waxmated. “ A seaman who had escaped one of the recent shipwrecks, was Jasked by a lady how he felt when the waves dashed over him. He replied. “Wet, madume, quite wet. “ Leve rules the camp, the court, the arove tue earth below and the heaven above, but never sewed a gray patoh on a husband's black trousers. That isn’t love. xhat‘s revenge. How pleasant is a loveiy thing a little out of season—a rose bud in winter, fur instance or a .ass in church when the deacon s eve’s are closed, bmlen apples don't begin with "it. An old sea captain used to say he didn't care how he dressed when abroad, “because nobody knew him,“ and ha didn't care how he dressed when at home, “because everybody knew him. “ A sailor, looking serious in a certain chapel In a recent case ot assault the defendant pleaded guilty. “I thins 1 muss be gulp-, .. said he, "because tue plaintiff and 1 wore only persons in the room; aud the first ‘kino I knew was mat I was standing up , a d U guUty^f dj ° r °“ hiS Da0k " Wd cafl Old Tom Purdy, Sir Walter Scott’s teiuiaat, once s.tid: yourn me. for s iavorite ht- . f| — •.titnuo inem are fine novels rn, Sir Walter; they are just7v, \T ° “ I am glad ’to hear it, ^om ' -V 6 ‘° when I've teen out ail dav har/i . blr j aud come home very tired aud^ake "nn * W °‘r your novels, I'm asleep directly •• Up 0ne of w