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THE SUNNY SOUTH
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al out iringing tbe ‘faded fancies of an elder
world’ into these ‘"irgin solitudes’ ?”
“Faded fancies!” cried Arnold. “Do you
call that a faded fancy? It is ns fresh and
graceful as youth itself, and as natural I
should have thought of it myself, if there had
been no fou M tain of Trevi.”
“D > you think so?” smiled the girl. “Then
imagination, it would seem, is not entirely
confined to homesick women ”
“Come, fill the cup, Miss Frances! Nicky
is almost here.”
The girl held her hand beneath the trickle
again, until they were brimming with the
clear sweet water.
“••rink first.” slid Arnold.
“I’m not sure that I want to return,” she
replied, smiling, with her eyes on the space
of skv between the tree trops
‘‘Nonsense—you must be homesick. Drink,
drink!”
“Drink yourself; the water is all running
away!”
He bent his head, and took a vigorous sip
of the water, holding his hands below hers,
inclosing the small cup in the large one. The
small cup trembled a little He was laugh
ing and wip ng his mustache, when Nickv
appeared, and Miss Frances, suddenly bright
ening and recovering her freedom of move
ment, exclaimed, “Why, Nicky! You have
been forever! We must go at once, Mr.
Arnold; so good-by! 1 hope”—
She did not say what she hoped, and Ar
nold, after looking at her wi'h an interroga
tive smile a moment, caught h’S hat from tbe
branch overhead, and made her a great bow
with it in his hand.
He did not follow her light figure, pushing
its way through the swaying, rustling ferns,
but be watched it out of sight. “What a
great simpleton I've been making of my-
sell!” He confided this remark to the still
ness of tbe little canon, and then, with long
strides, took his way over the hills in an op
posite direction.
It was the middle of July when this little
episode of the spring occurred. The summer
had reached its climax. The dust did not
grow perceptibly deeper, nor the fields
browner, during the long brazen weeks that
followed. One only wearied of it all more
and more.
So thought Miss Newell, at least. It was
her second summer in California, and the
phenomenon of the dry season was not so im
pressive on its repetition. She had been sur
prised to observe how very brief had been
the charm of strangeness in her experience
of life in a new country. She began to won
der if a girl born and brought up among tbe
hills of Connecticut could have the seeds of
ennui subtly distributed through her frame,
to reach a sudden development in the heat of
a Californian summer. She longed for the
rains to begin, that in their violence and the
sound of the wind she might gain a sense of
life in action by wuich to eke out her dull
and expressionless days. She was, as Nicky
Dyer had said, “a good un to ’old ’er tongue ”
and therein lay her greatest strength as well
asher greatest danger.
Miss Newell boarded at Captain Dyer’s.
The prosperous ex mining captrm was a good
deal nearer the primitive type than any man
Miss Newell had ever sat at table with in her
life before, but she had a thorough respect
for him, and she soon felt the time might
come when she would enjoy him—as a remi
niscence. Mrs. Dyer was kindly, and not
more of a gossip than her neighbors; and
there were no children—only one grandchild,
the inoffensive Nicky. The ways of the
house were a little uncouth, but everything
was clean and in a certain sense homelike.
To Mies Newell’s homesick sensitiveness it
seemed better than being stared atacro-s the
boarding house table by Boker and Prate,
and pitied by the engineer. She had a little-
room at the Dyers’, which was a reflection of
herself so far as a year’s occupancy and very
moderate resources canid make it. Perhaps
for that very reason she ofren found her lit
tle room an intolerable prison. One night
her homes ckness I-ad taken its worst form, a
restlessness, which began in a nervous in
ward throbbing and extended to her cold and
tremulous finger-tips. She went softly down
staiva and outon the piazza, where the iryon-
Mght lijrTt V
painted boards. The moonlight ncreased
her restlessness, but she could not keep away
from it. She dared not walk up and down
the piazza, because the people in the street
below would see her. She stood there per
fectly still, holding her elbows with her
hands, crouched into a little dark heap against
the side of tbe house.
L'ghts were twinkling tat and near over
the bills, singly, and in clusters. Black fig
ures moved across the moonlit spaces in the
street. There were sounds of talking, laugh
ing. and singing; dogs barking; occasionally
a stir and tinkle in the scrub, as a cow wan
dered past. The engines throbbed from the
distant shaft-hr uses, A miner’s wife was
hushing her baby in the next house, and
across the street a group of Mexicans were
talking all at once in a loud, monotonous ca
dence.
In her early days at the mines there had
been a certain p-quancy in her sense of the
contrast between herself and her circum
stances, but that had long passed into a
dreary recognition of the fact that she had
no real part in the life of the place.
She recalled one afternoon when Arnold
had passed the school-house and found her
sitting alone on the doorstep. He stopped to
ask if that “mongrel pack on the hill were
worrying the life out of her,” and added with
a laugh, in answer to her look of silent dis
approval, “Oh! I mean the dear lambs of
vour flock. I saw two of them just now ou
the trail fighting over a lame donkey. The
clans were gathering on both sides; there
will be a pitched battle in a few minutes.
Tne monkey was enjoying it. I think he was
asleep!” The day had been an unusually
hard one, and the patient little school mis
tress was just then struggling with a dis
tracted sense of unavailing effort. Arnold’s
grim banter brought the tears as blood fol
lows a blow. Ho got down from his horse,
looking sorry for what he had done. “I am
a brute, I believe—worse than any of the
pack. You have so much patience with them
—please have a little with me. Trust me, I
am not utterly blind to your sufferings. In
deed, Miss Newell, I see them and they make
me savage!” With the gentlest touch he
lilted her hand, held it in his a moment, and
then he mounted his horse and rode away.
Yes, he did understand—she felt sure of
that. What an unutterable rest it would
bs if she could go to some one with the small
worries of her life! But she could not yield
to such impulses. It was different with men!
She had often thought of Arnold’s words that
day at the spring, all the more that he had
never before or since revealed so much of
himself to her. Uuder an apparently careless
frankness and extravagance of speech, he
was a reticent man, but lightly spoken as tbe
words had been, were they not the sparks
and ashes blown from a deep and smothered
core of fire? Sbe seemed to feel its glow on
her cheek as she recalled his singular persist
ence and the darkening of his imperious eyes
No; she would not permit herself to think of
that day at the spring. No doubt he himself
thought of it with disgust.
There was a bright light in the engineer’s
office across the street. She could see Arnold
through the windows (for like a man he did
not pull his shades downl at one cf the long
drawing tables. He worked late, it seemed
He was writing. He wrote rapidly, page af
ter page, tearing each sheet from what ap
peared to be a paper block, and tossing it on
the table beside him. He covered only one
side of the paper, she noticed, thinking with
a smile of her own small economies. Pres
ently he got np, swept the papers together in
his hands, and stooped over them. He is
numbering and folding them, she thought,
and now he is directing the envelope—to
whom, I wonder! He turned, and as he
walked towards the window she saw him pit
something in the pocket of his coat. He lit a
cigar, and began walking with long strides
up and down the room, one hand in his
pocket; the other he occasionally rubbed over
his eyes and head, as if they hurt him. She
remembered the engineer had headaches, and
wished somebody would ask him to try va
lerian. Is he ever really lonely? she thought
What can he, what can any man know of
loneliness? Hn can go out and walk on the
hills; he can go away altogether, and take
the risks of life somewhere else. A woman
must t-ke no risks. There is not a house in
the camp where he might not enter to-night
if he chose; he might come over here and talk
t) me. The E-ist, with all its memories and
dopes and antecedents, seemed so hopelessly
far away. They two alone, In that strange,
uncongenial new world which had crowded
out tbe old, seemed to speak a common lan
gu ige. And yet how little she really knew
of him!
Suddenly the lights disappeared from the
wiudows of the office. Sue heard a door un
lock, and presently the young man’s figure
crossed the street and turned up the trail
past the house.
Two other figures going up halted, and the
taller one said, “Will you go up on the hill
to night, Mr. Arnold? ’
“What for?” asked Arnold, slackening bis
pace without stopping.
“Oh, nothing in particular—to see the se»
noritas.”
“Oh, thank you Boker, I’ve seen the senor-
itas ”
He welked quickly past the men, and the
shorter one, who had not spoken, called after
him rather huskily—
“W-wnat do you think of the school-
ma’am r
Arnold turned back and confronted tbe
speaker.
“Shall I tell you what 1 think of you
Pratt ? ’
“You can do as you please 1 ”
“It would please me to strangle you, but 1
don’t think you are worth it!” and flinging
the man aside with one hand, Arnold strode
on up the trail.
“Confound him—the cold-blooded Yankee!
They are all alike—birds of a feather flock
together. Hope she’s thin enough to suit
him.”
‘.Shutup, Jack!” said his comrade. “You’re
a little high now, you know. - ’
“High!” The voices of the two men blended
with the night chorus of the camp as they
passe 1 out of sight.
Mifs Newell sat perfectly still for a while;
then she went to her room, and threw her
self on the bed, wondering if she could ever
forget those words which the faithless night
nad brought to her ear. The moonlight had
left the piazza, and crept round to the side
of the house. It shone in at the window,
touching the girl’s cold fingers pressed to her
burning cheeks and temples. She got up,
drew the curtain, and groped her way back
to the bed, where she lay for hours trying to
convince herself that her misery was out oi
all proportion to the canse, and that tnose
coarse words could make no real difference
in her life.
They did make a little difference. They
loosened the slight, indefinite threads of in
tercourse which a year had woven between
these two exile i. Miss Newell was prepared
to withdraw from any further overtures of
friendship from the engineer: but he made it
unnecessary for her to do so—he made no
overtures. On the night of Pratt’s tipsy sal
utation he had abruptly decided that a min
ing camp was no place for a nice girl with no
acknowledg d masculine protector. In Miss
Newell’s circumstances a girl must be left
entirely alone or exposed to tbe gossip of tbe
camp. He knew very well which she would
choose, and so he kept away, though at a con
siderable loss to himself, he felt. It made him
cross to watch her pretty figure going up the
trail every morning and to reflect that so
much sweetness and refinement should not
be having its ameliorating influence on his
own barren and somewhat defiant existence.
[CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.]
secure his. That you see then, is to be right
eous over much, especially as it will nos be
you that will seek him, but he that will seek
you.”
“ N^w don’t you believe in God ”?
“ Yes,” she said with emphasis, distending
her beautiful eyes with wonder at the q Mo
tion.
“Well, then, don’t you believe that Aod
has ordained marriage?'’ L
“Yes,” she said again. f
“ Well, then, when a little maiden, a tender,
loving child of God, kneels in bumble pie£,
and lifts her bands and her eyes, wet Wnh
tears (Alice here gazed with inquisitive won
der), to her heavenly Father, and prays, not
only for herself, but for Felix, do you doubt
that God looks down into that little maiden’s
heart to the very bottom, and remembers his
ordmation of marriage, and seeing the mu
tual attraction of two guileless young hearts,
be does think of their marriage?”
Alice laid her face in her hands on the ta
ble and sobbed.
“Stop,” cried Burton; “I did not tell you
to cry, though I know you are not crying for
sorrow, but because your heart is so full, and
I have jostled it, and made it overfl >w. But
hold your head up, and suffer an old rough
fellow like me to ask you another question.
Do you believe that marriages are made in
Heaven? If God watches over them who
love him, and not only dispenses to them
their daily bread, but bestows every good,
and every perfect gift, and not a sparrow
her, was the only valid proof of fidelity, and
as Simon’s experience in business transac
tions with women had been mostly confined
to he’-, he took h> r 'or a s imple of the wbol-.
and judged all, with a few exceptions such as
Alice, to be like her.
Under this mortal dread of his mistress, he
determined to waylay Felix and give hi n
some special instruction before he should
meet her. He was afraid to be seen convers
ing with Felix in the street lest some spy
should be waiching him, and he therefore
entered iDto a barber’s shop and watched
from the window for his appearance. I i a
short time Felix came on, when he whipped
out and drew him into the shop,
i. “What is it?” asked Felix.
“Yer needn't be so onpatient,” he said;
“yerve more’n an hour to spar now. Yer’e
gwine to talk wi' a cute un as will turn yer
wrong side out afore yer think on it. She’ll
sarch yer like a sifter to find out whether yer
nev the least ’spicion that tbef man be a
ooman yer wor to meet; an’ I tell yer, woe be
to yer ef so be she diskiver yer—she’ll find a
way fer her vengeance, ef yer hide in the
moon. Now, mind her soft easy talk and
her soft laugh, fur they be the most dangrus
signs. She allers do so when she’s going to
ketch yer fur a beau, or to ketch yer in a lie.
’Tis to throw yer off n yer guard. But more
part.clar watch her eyes. 1 swan you nuver
seed sich eyes. They be buterful, and they
charm yer like the snake's, and while you are
SIR
PAUL BRADMIRE.
A Tale Founded on Facts which Excited
and Profoundly Agitated the Aristoc
racy and Gentry of all Britain.
BY ALFRED DIKE,
(Author of “ Esther, the Jewess.”)
r—W<r
—■*- w*—• ■»
CHAPTER Till.
The next morning which was Saturday,
Alice rose and knelt in silent prayer. After
wards her composure and quiet surprised
herself, and under the tryiDg circumstances
was a thing inexplicable except upon the
support of heavenly grace. To one so mod
est and so sensitive such grievous calumnies
would seem to be insupportable, yet she
came to the breakfast- table and talked as
cheerfully as ever, Mrs. Braxton was un
commonly reserved, but that did not seem to
affect her for sbe was buoyed up by an un
seen hand and carried out of herself. When
breakfast was over she placed both hands
locked together on the table and looking Mr.
Braxton in the face said:
“Mr' Braxton, I suppose of course you
have heard of tbe reports circulated about an
unfriended girl.”
“Stop there, Miss Alice,” he cried out,
“stop there, Don’t say unfriended, for I
swear to you that is a great mistake. You
have friends, and if I were the only one, do
you think I would sit still and see you sacri
ficed?”
“Then you do me the simple justice to be
lieve that the evil said of me is slander, cruel
and baseless?”
“Yes: but that simple justice is not all I
will do you. When one part of a report is
proven to be false, and by honorable and un
impeachable witnesses, we know the whole is
discreditable. Are you the only person slan
dered in this matter?”
Alice turned her blue eyes around from
right to left, and upon the wall, and upon the
ceiling, and replied at length with a crimson
blush:
■“Not the only one defamed,and O I do hope
as unjustly defamed!”
“You needu’t put it upon hope, but ‘what
a girl hath, why does she yet hope for it?’ ”
he replied with a hearty laugh. “I have
made it my business to make strict inquiry of
persons young and old, high and low, male
and female, simple and learned, good and
bad, concerning the morals, character and
life of Felix Beattie, and not one soul have I
met who does not declare him to be a true
gentleman and a Christian—the idol of his
aunt, Lady Coleville, without one blot or in
discretion upon his name.”
Tears filled the eyes of Alice as she mur
mured:
“Thank God! Though I be crushed and
brought to desolation, I am grateful to know
that calumny cannot touch him, I could
never doubt him myself, but it pained me to
fear that others might.”
“And he won’t believe one word of the
evil said of you,” said Mr, Braxton. “I tell
ouu every period, gm, auu not. a sparrow tak’n up wi’ them she’s sarching yer pockets
falls to the ground without his sufferance, | and turnin’ um wrong side out, aud I swan
does he not give his people their husbands I ef yer don’t mind she’ll empty yer of ev’ry
and their wives too? Then are not marriaserti secret yer’ve got. She can read yer face like
made in Heaven? O you little douotand a book. So, mind what sort o’ face yer
Thomas!” nr ' “
■Here Al ce suffered a revulsion of fee hfe,
and laughed convulsively, and Mrs. Braxton
joined as heartily in it.
_ “And now suppose, as I believe, your mar
riage to Felix, is already made up in Heaven,
will the want of gold stop it? Is anything
too hard for God? Why don’t vou look M it
in .this light? Then your family is jusvas
good as Felix’s, and misfortune only has made
you poor. Look up then, and don’t despair,
nor doubt, nor forget that there is a Sover
eign Ruler of the universe.”
Thus concluding, he pushed back his chair,
took up his hat, and left the room. As he
closed the door, Alice said, impulsively End
with emphasis:
“God bless vou, dear, kind, good friend!
and bless all that are dear to you!”
Mrs. Braxton wiped the tears from her
eyes, and ran around and kissed her.
But this was not all Braxton did. He had
heard from Felix that 1 knew Alice and had
been engaged to Angelica, and without tell
ing me why, wormed out of me all that I
could tell about Burton, the publican, Alice,
and Angelica, and then made me promise t j
go to his store that very Saturday morning
early. When I got there, I found Felix
already there, and after the first greetings,
Mr. Braxton said in a business-like way:
“Now I want you two to go with me, and
you must go, for i go on an errand of, the
purest benevolence, that will give you no
trouble. I will explain all afterwards, and
give you both an agreeable surprise.”
We all three then started off, and after
some windings and twistings through streets,
came to a wall of brick surrounding a plot of
ground with shade trees within it. Braxton
knocked with his cane at a door, and imme
diately it was opened by a lame old man,
who bowed to Braxton, and without asking
a question, said:
“Tnis way, sir,” as he walked on before us.
To our surprise, we found a chapel sur
rounded by graves with tombstones /and
headstones. The old man carried us along a
path that wound among the graves, an^d at
length stopping, said: '>
' Ah, here is the place you con see from,
for yonder is the spot,” pointing to a tomb
stone. “Hide behind this one, that you can
peep over without being seen.”
We saw at once that Braxton and tbe old
man had a perfect understanding, and to
them there was no mystery. But Braxton
would not tell us a word, and answered all
enquiries by saving, “ Wait, wait; you'll
know by and by.
handkerchief: aad we had waited aa
and more, when tbe handkerchief was held
up.
“Now,” said Braxton to Felix, “don’t you
move nor show yourself at all to any one
that comes in. Mind that now.”
“Well,” said Felix, “why are you caution
ing me so particularly.”
Braxton replied: “Because you may want
to dash out and run like a young colt to his
mammy.”
“Hum! grunted Felix; “you must think
me very impressible.”
“I know it in such cases as this,” he re
plied, laughing as though he a ould shake to
pieces.
Just then the gate opened, and a lady en
tered with a large bunch of fl >wers in her
hand, and Felix’s eyes grew wide with won
der.
“Why—why, it is Alice,” he said.
“Hush! hush! you silly fellow!”said Brax
ton; “she’ll hear you.”
“What is the meaning of this? Why is
she here?”
Braxton caught him playfully by the ear
and pulled his head back out of view, and
whispered: “Mind, you are not to show your
self to her at all on this occasion. All 1 do is
for her good.”
Alice walked along the path till she came
to the spot pointed out by the old man, and
stood for a momeut contemplating a tomb
stone, then, seeming to brush something off
it, laid her face upon the name inscribed and
kissed it. Then, spreading all her flowers
over it, she knelt by the side of it, and lifting
her eyes and hands heavenward, was evi
dently engaged in prayer, and we saw tbe
tears roll down her cheeks. 1 looked at Felix,
and saw tears of sympathy in his eyes.
Presently Alice rose, and, pressing her face
again on the cold marble, left the ground and
passed through the gate. Felix leaped over
interposing obstacles and reached the tomb
before us‘ Lifting the flowers from the name,
he exclaimed:
“Ir is her mother’s grave. But how did
you find it out?” he asked of Braxton.
“Never mind; you shall know all in good
time; and thereby hangs a tale, which will
astonish you both, and which you both shall
hear if you will dine with me to-morrow.”
“Now, ’said Felix, “I have an appointment,
and a tale hangs by that, too, I suppose, for
it is a mystery, I must now go to the post-
offiee.”
“And what is the mystery?” asked Brax
ton.
“Oh! it will keep till to-morrow,” said Fe
lix; “so I will follow your example ”
“Did you ever see a fellow so worked up at
show ’er.”
“Why you make her out worse than a
Sybil,” said Felix. “You may say that he
replied—“fur her civil means mischief.”
“But what am I to do ? and in what way
am 1 to talk to her ? What does she expect of
me, or desire? ” “D jn’t yer be pilin up ques
tions bead and tails. One at a time. W hat
are yer ter do ? why to court her after you
get over the ’spnse of meetiu her, fur mind
yer be 'sprised to death at so onexpected a
meetin.”
“Court her!” repeated Felix—“are you de
ranged ?”
“Don’t yer poke fun at me ’*-—he said im
patiently—“Yer make me’blieve yer never
bear’d tell o’ courtin a ooman afore! Yer'll
be askin me what that mtans presently.”
“I know what the word means”—said Fe
lix laughing “but do you suppose I am going
to court a woman, I do not wish to marry,
and on the first sight too.”
“Yer better wait till yer know it is the
first sight afore you say so. Then didn’t yer
give me yer word aud honor to help me out
and didn’t I promise her to make you love
her ? How can you make her ’blieve I hev
done as I sed, aud played a far game keepin
dark, cepin yer love her mightly and court
her ?” She is to give me ten guineas fur
that yer service.”
“What, for courtin her ? ” asked Felix
“Sbe didn’t say courtin right out, and I
didn’t say courtin right out, but that was
meant in course. Does yer tuink she would
take ah these pains if she knowed yer would
not court her ?
“Ef sbe sa/s she wont hev yer, all’s well;
and ef she says yes, she don’t mean yes, so
no harm’s done, and I'm victorus. That’s
our bargin. Do yer sense it now I”
“Yes, yes,” said Felix, “I see it now;” and
be off went on an errand of sheer curiosity,
though mingled with some perplexity. He felt
it to be tbe most singular adventure of bis life,
and was anxious to fathom it. He had
formed in his mind several conjectures, but
found no satisfactory solution to any, either
as to the person of the lady, or as to her pur
pose. If he hod only recollected Simon
White, he would at once have jumped to a
conclusion, but Simon craftily misled him as
to his place of residence. Av one time he
thought the girl must be Angelica Burton,
but then, he reflected she was shortly to be
married and into high life too, and what
purpose could sbe have in meeting him by
such a device.
When Felix got to the postofficc, he saw
no one whom he recognized and called for a
he examined the direction, the
njwu
will not find out the writer by the band-writ
ing.” “Why ?” asked Felix. “Because I
coped it" he replied. “For whom?” he
asked. “No tales out of school,” he said,
turning away. The letter ran thus:
London, Aug. i8:h, 18—.
My dear sir:
I find that by a most stupid blunder, my
servant has mistaken the man and summon
ed Mr. Beattie instead of a Mr. Batesy.
Please pardon the trouble given, as it was
involuntary.
Very respectfully,
Your obt svt.,
Chas Frrz wilson.
Just as Felix turned to go out, a splendid
lady of queenlike carriage and exquisite beau
ty. stepping as light as a fairy, came meeting
him, and as though about to pass him, but as
if by the merest accident she cast a glance
towards Felix without turning her head
in the least, and starting suddenly, she
“ Why.is it possible? You here, Mr Beattie?
What a surprise?”
“The surprise is just as great on my side as
it can be on yours, Miss B trton.”
“Now none of your rigid formalities,” she
said. “My first Dame is Angelica, and when
so called, especially without the prefix Miss,
l always imagine a feeling of kindliness in
the speaker, but when I am Miss Burton, the
voice chills like an iceberg. So remember
never to call me anything but Angelica.”
“You needn’t tell me that you are tired of
the Miss and the Burton too,” replied Felix,
“as I understand you are about to exchange
them for a different nomenclature.”
“Ah, how wicked 1” she said, with her soft,
hearty laugh. “Do you believe everything
you hear? Ah, you laughing philosopher
like him of old, you judge of the heart by eu
gagements and marriage; but there are many
women at least, dragged to tbe altar by the
stern ordinations of conventional tyranny,
the depths of whose hearts have never been
sounded, and whose holiest affections of de
voted love have not even been suspected by
the object loved. This sacrifice has been of
ten made on the altar of the dark demon
Despair. Thus happen marriages of conven
ience, or of bargain and sale where the ap
pendages are alone considered, and not the
person.”
Felix noticed the fixedness of her eyes and
their eagerness to read in his countenance
tbe impression made and his inner man as
reflected outwardly, and acknowledged the
perfect justness of Simon’s graphic descrip
tion of them. They were truly beautiful
and fascinating, but the charm he said felt
to him as if a spell of a serpent’s eyes, and
such a serpent as beguiled Eve. Then Si
mon’s caution to fight the devil with his own
fire, occurred to him, and he replied:
“But I believe that such sacrifices of intense
and holy affections, if often made, are in
many cases needlessly made. Why should a
lady so conceal her affections as to pi ice
them even beyond the suspicion of the object
loved? Love, it is said, begets love, and
even a friendly partiality manifested, often
encourages a diffident man and leads him on
to love. Then proud men do not like to be re
jected by a lady—it is galling to them, and
when they see she has rejected others as good
as themselves, they do not like to offer them
selves; and among those that shy off is often
the man on whose account she has turned off
others. Then how is he even to imagine this
unless she will in some way manifest her
preference for him which she can easily do
without a-iy compromise of a modest deport
ment.”
“Ah,” she continued, “you are a cold
blooded stoic like your master Zmo, who
^ = w . _ taught men that they must bridle their affec-
entreat it? No, no, don’t think that of me. ! purity smiling at me from those wells of t.ons and break them down, too, with cruel
you in spite of their malice you shall have j the sight of a girl as he was?” said Braxton
him at last.”
“Pray do not speak so, Mr. Braxton,” said
Alice, with a deep blush, “I was thinking
only of him and of his good and meant noth
ing as to myself."’
“Oh, 1 knew that, but I meant it though,”
replied the good-hearted host with another
hearty laugh. “I tell you now the truth to
cheer you—Felix loves you dearly and he is
not the man to trifle with any girl". "V^hat he
says and what he does is truth.”
“Please stop,” she said, “you are very kind
but such thoughts are forbidden to me. Think
of his young life and bright prospects; think
as we walked on together. I never was more
diverted in my life. But look at the with
ered flowers around this grave. Here she
comes every Saturday to strew fresh fl <wers
on this tombstone.”
“(Jh, what beautiful filial love!” I said.
‘ Ah! Felix, what a contrast between your
natal star and mine! The goddess Fortune in
her brightest smiles sat enthroned in yours,
while Nemesis dressed in sables frowned a
curse in mine.”
“No,” said Felix; “that was not the way of
it. When the arch-critic, Momus, charged a
defect in the make of man because a window
of the high expectations Lady Coleville cber- was not placed in his breast through which
ishes for him, and remember we are both | to see his heart and its promptings, Fortune
poor; and would not such a consummation 1 whispered me that thete was a window, not
as you intimate excite discord and violent ; in the breast, but in the eye, through wh ch
opposition, and cause unhappiness and even the heart may be seen: and she gave me the
blight to him, even if blind passion, as you faculty of looking through it. And when I
seem to suppose, were to govern him instead j looked into the eyes of the one you chose, I
of discretion. And can you believe for a mo saw away down a lurking devil, and room
ment that I could be brought to c ist this | for seven more yet more wicked; but when 1
mildew over his young life, though he should looked into the eyes of Alice I truth and
entreat it? No, no, don’t think that of me. j purity ’ ‘ *
God knows I will make any sacrifice of self light.”
this. They cannot enter into the depths of
woman’s love, nor fathom it by any line.”
Felix said he was thinking oi Simon all the
fine sbe was speaking and noticed again how
intensejy prying her eyes were when fixed
upon him, and thought as Simon said, “I am
in for it.” But he was exceedingly curious
to discover what purpose she ba 1 in view,
and felt she was saving hiinself the trouble of
courting her, as Simon iusisted be must, by
courting him.
* He rattled on, however, and said: “The
most women disparage men’s depth of love,
when if self-destruction is any proof, there
are more men who commit suicide for love
than women; and indeed how can men judge
woman’s love to exceed man’s when women
care not what the sffiiction of a discarded
man may be, but exult in the declaration of
their idolatry, or in the very costliness of the
offering that is neglected.”
* O, you philosopher.” she said, with her
soft, sweet laugh, “how logically vou reason!
Bacon would laugh at your inductions Men
commit suicide for everything oftener than
women, and much oftener for money, and
from the horrors of dissipation and of mis
spent lives, than for love of woman Pride,
too, and a haughty, unbending spirit and
self love, as paradoxical as it may seem,drive
men upon suicide. What evidence then is
their suicide of intense love for woman?
Tnen as to women’s indifference for the suf
ferings of the discarded, how can they know
whet tier they are great or small, or whether
there is any suffering except that of mortified
self-appreciation. But at any rate how can
the treatment of those a woman cannot love
measure the depth of her love to him she
does love? I am affirming the unfathomable
depth of woman’s love, when her whole heart
is given and ner affections are concentrated
and centred in one man; and you are labor
ing to disprove wbat I affirm by showing
that she do=-s not so love those men whom she
discards. You speak of the grief and suffer
ing of discarded men, but what man cares
for forsaken and heart-broken women? And
what man if he know that a woman loves
him whom he cannot love, cares how much
she suffers? Is he not rather filled with dis
gust and dislike t > her? Then what have you
proved?”
“Well”—said Felix—“that I believe is the
case with some, but 1 should feel proud of
the love of a good girl and especially of a
pretty and intelligent one, and 1 should cer
tainly treat such a one with great tenderness
and consideration, even if I couid not love
her enough to m irry her. Tbe man is a
puppy who would maltreat a girl, or even
esteem her less by discovering that she loved
him; for no hing could more clearly prove
him to be a pup >y, and unworthy of any
woman’s love, than the woundiDg of tbe
feelings of a good girl for no other reason
than for loving him. For it is impossible
for even the most modest and diffi lent man,
or woman so to conceal passionate love a»
to escape detection, how carefully soever
they may strive to do so. It will betray it-
seif in dumb action and through the counte
nance, if in no other way.”
“Then Alice of course has your highest
consideration ?"’ she said, affecting that soft
low laugh. But Felix said he watched her
eyes and saw that they were not laughing,
as Alice’s always dil when her mouth
laughed, but reading him by his counteance;
but although taken by surprise, he readily
replied by asking a question.
“Why how do you jump to such a conclu
sion as that.”
“O, how dull he is, after just saying love
will betray itself ?”
“Well,” said Felix—“Alice has never told
me she loves me.”
“Now, Mr. Beattie, will you equivocate so?
What use. is thereof that? Why conceal
from me, Alilce’s old and tried friend, that
you know she loves you, and that you are en
gaged to be married ? ”
‘I give you my solemn word and honor,”
said Felix “that I have never mentioned the
s abject to Alice, and therefore that there is
ao such engagement. ”
“Indeed,” she exclaimed, and with an evi
dence of pleasure too plain to be unno
ticed.” “But to change the subject, when
did you return to Loudon ? and why so soon?
AowaslUia jmean OuBtaiBaitfDwir
leeward of the Sarranae Keys, with that bird
of a schooner before ns, heading for the Mos
quito coast as fast as wind and sail could
carry him; and if we had caught a deluge
of water as it rolled in over our bows in the
morning, the schooner was taking her bath
in the afternoon. For five minutes at a time
there was nothingseenof her decks, and only
her masts and broad white canvass above,
like jury sticks out of a raft. But when she
did slide up with her low, long hull shoot
ing clean out of water, till nearly half her
keel, with the copper sheathing fl tshing in
the sun, was visible. She looked exactly like,
a dolpi'in making a spring after a school of’
flying fish. And thus, on her narrow deck,
we could see about a dozen fellows las! i d
about the foremast, and a couple more abaft,
steering her like a thread through the eye of
a cambric neeiile.
“We began to gain upon her now, and
whenever she kept more away before the
wind, the gap between us closed more rapidly,
for tde corvette could evidently out-carry
the schooner, and had the breeze freshened
and the sea kept up, we could have run her
under, if her masts didn't go out of her, as
we hoped every moment they would. Well,
she watched her chance and hauled up till
she brought the wind farelv abeam, and then
steered true for Mosquito Keys, as dangerous
as any to be found in cue wild Carribeau sea.
That pirate was evidently bent upon playing
a desperate game; but if he thought he would
not find another ready to lay down the same
stake, he was sadly mistaken. It was now
about one hour of sunset, and there we were
going under a full topgallant breeze—the
schooner leading m about two miles—which
would have made both vessels leap clean over
he first ledge they struck. I asked the cap
tain, who had never left my side on the poop
deck, if we sboula keep on. Yes, sir, he an
swered. And we did keep on. There was
no; a man on board the old War Horse, from
the drummer boy up, who did not say with
the captaiu, ‘Keep on, sir.’ How these pi
rates relished this final decision, we could
only surmise; but that pirate Joaquin held
his course with a nerve that might have
made old Nick shuil e .
The sun was no v well down, and a brilliant
moon was riding high up in tbe heavens but
bright as it was the commander of that
schooner required an eye as keen as an eagle,
and a hand as steady as the mountains to
guide his craft in the direction he was going.
He must huve had a thorough knowledge of
the reefs and keys, and trusted, perhaps, that
if he got clear of them himself that the cor
vette—drawing eighteen feet of water and
ignorant of the channel—might touch some
thing which wou!d throw the game into his
hands. Our men had the ropes stretched
along the cecks, and the battery clear on
Doth sides, so as to be ready to wear or tack,
or hre, as our pilot ahead might require.
The reefs were to leeward of the string of low
keys which made the water comparatively
smooth, though the wind still swept strongly
ov.-r us nnd w his tied through the riggin ; and
gentlemen it was here the Pindar eutered.
The outer reef had a fair, deep channel, and
so had the next, but the inner ooe presented
but one narrow passage, scarcely wide
enough for a ship to pass through with the
whole reef one long line of black painted
rocks and roaring breakers which toppled
over and boiled and eddied like a million
whirlpools into smoother water in shore.
As the schooner’s stern gave a sharp pitch
ing jerk when she entered this boiling gorge,
we saw in the moonlight her head yards laid
square, the fore and aft sails flowing in the
sheets as she fell off with wide wings and the
wind on her quarter, and like a blue winged *
teal flew down inside the reef. Well, fifteen
minutes later we, too, entered this maelstrom
and though tbe helm was hove hard up and
the after sails shivered, yet before the cor
vette’s bows could turn the sharp angle of
that water gate, her port bilge grated against
a coral ledge and grooved and broomed tbe
planks and copper away like so much cotton
thread.
But that slight graze never stopped us a
hairs breadth, and w ith an additional sail,
we rushed on after our pilot, mile after mile,
through reef ledge breakers, inlets, and keys,
and all the time braced sharp up, and again
return in six months.”
“Ineverwasin Paris” replied Felix, “and of
course was saved the return trip.”
“Well what can make people trump up such
falseho d'? But O lucky thought, I have been
-lying to see Westminster Abbey, but had no
escort and now 111 press you into service,
nolens, volens, and you shall be my c cerone.
do that is decreed, and like the laws of the
Modes and Persi ms, altereth not.”
“Well,” said Felix—“If a wilful man will
have his way, a wilful woman will, with
more decided emphasis.”
“You slanderer! You are learning the
cant of woman’s defamers already as young
is you are, and as little experienced. But
come let’s go.”
“But,” said Felix, “I’m afoot, and you in
a carriage, 1 suppose.”
“Well,” she said, “wont one carriage ho’d
two people? ” Felix wishing to get to the
bottom of the adventure, entered tbe car
riage with her, though he declared that if be
had then known what he aftewards learned,
he would as soon have rode with a rattle
snake.
* [TO BE CONTINUED.]
——--t- rr : "a/-ca prti 1 i
DON JOAQUIN
And His Flag;
OK THE
SPANISH BUCCANEER
BY LIEUT. FELIX.
rather than that. I am not a romantic, im
aginative girl building castles upon ideal
foundations, but I take the stern philosophy
of things in their rigid, unyielding reality.”
■That’s your view of the case,” said Mr.
Braxton, “and it rings like pure gold, for it
is pure gold; but gold is often paid for a bad
Felix went on then to meet his appoint
ment agreeably to the double dealing of Si
mon White, he knowing that it was a girl he
was to meet, and the girl knowing the same
thing, but supposing he was inveigled by the
hoax of a man of straw. Simon, however,
dreaded some mishap that should betray his
article, and that is just what you would do : duplicity; for though he manifested assur
with yours, when you bargain for a sacrifice j ance when talking with her, yet he dreaded
of self with it. We are commanded to love ; her, and feared her more than all others to-
our neighbor as ourselves, but it is nowhere gether, and he had seen too much of her not de Stael said she would give up all her fame
required of us to love him better than our- | to know it was exceedingly difficult to de- for beauty, she wanted beauty only to win
l * _ _ _ IZS _ _ 1 : t oner r-T-1 ktnrfiirrQ B.i/i/inoc nritb , tha nKiapt; IdTPH Al an Hra nrit lin/lorcfand
usage. He could talk of love, but only as a
toy for children, or a doll for a silly girl.
And what do you know of the exquisite deli
cacy of a maiden’s love, who, like patience
on a monument smiling at grief,’ conceals
with hallowed devotion the love that con
sumes her, as a thing too sacied f -r other
eyes? Only one can call it from its conse
crated chamber, and that one calls it not.
Then what are riches? what is fame? what
is rank to such a woman? When Madame
CHAPTER XXXIX.
The commodore resumed:
“It was all hands again, you know; the tor
nado had settled down into a moderate gale,
though it was sometime before the confused
sea got to rolling regularly. Then we judged
ourselves—for taking observations had been
out of the question—to be a long distance
south of Jamaica, and even southward of the
Pedro Bank We did not wait this time for
the pirate to lead us in getting ready for a
gale, but we got up a bran new suit of top-
bails and courses out of the sail room, and as
soon as the men could get aloft with safety,
they were ordered not to unbend the few
tattered rags still clinging to the yards, but
to cut away at once. So up went the top
sails and courses, and they were soon brought
to tbe yards, aad set close reefed, with a
storm jib to steady the ship forward.
“Presently we gave her the whole foresail
and mainsail; and even then, for some hours,
but one half of the corvette’s uppermasts
could have been seeD, as she plunged through
the aDgry seas. It left us dry enough, how
ever, to pay some attention to tne chap
ahead of us. Tne brigantine was about six
miles off, a little on our weather bow, and as
she rode up like a gull on the back of a pa
cific roller, we could see that her bulwarks
had been washed away, the hours between
her masts gone, too. and no doubt her long
gun, and now she was once more the schooner
Pindar, long and sharp, without any s lil to
speak of, so that we could see her deck from
stern to taffrail at every lurch she made. The
only difference in appearance was a short
us a dance of full ten miles, once more
emerge 1 into the open water close jammed
on the wind, steering due e^st.
There I'm hoarse as a frog.* I’ll let go the
helm now and let you steer the story awhile,
while I recruit Mr. Hardy.”
Aud while the Commodore filled his glass,
Mr. Hardy gave a succession of prepar
atory hems and then took up the thread of
the narration.
“I do not remember very distinctly the
events of the night after we got off the keys,
for I was pretty well fagged out myself, and
all of us wbo had the watch below turned in
to take the first wink of sleep we could catch
for forty-eight hours. The Bexc morning,
however, when 1 took the deck, I found the
corvette under royals and flying jib, with a
fresh trade wind blowing and a smooth sea.
The Pindar was about two miles ahead,
jammed close on the wind, and trying all she
could to eat the wind out of us, but as Mr.
Cromwell, there, said at the time, that the
pirate had thrown that trick away when he
cut off eight feet of his foremost and made a
briganiue of the vessel so that he could not
brace his head yards sharper or lie nearer the
wind than we did.
Two or three of the officers and about a
hundred of the men were very anxious to
pitch a few hot shot at the schooner from the
long eighteen in the weather bridle port, but
the commodore refused as we might lose a
cable’s length in yawing off to fire, and it
would be better to save the powder until we
could pour a broadside into him.
To tell the truth, that pirate craft had been
handled and steered in a masterly way and
she proved herself such a splendid sea boat,
that I doubt if there was a man on board the
War Horse who wouldn’t have given a year’s
pav to have captured her whole. From the
topgallant forecastle we could see every
thing that took place on the schooner’s deck.
Sometimes there were a lot of fellows for
ward receiving some fresh gear, or putting on
a swing to a traveler on tbe jib stay, with
two or three fellows aloft stitching a chafing
mat on the l<-a back stays, and aft was a
man shinning up the main shrouds with a
bucket of slush around his neck greasing the
jaws of the main gaff, and twitching a wrin-
ule out of tbe gaff topsail. But always from
the very moment we saw her, there were
two chaps abaft the taffrail. O-ie was a
large fat man, in a long black dress, who ap
peared at times to be leaning oyer the rail
as if he was sea sick. The other was a spare,
tall built, broad shouldered fellow, who
sat there with a quadrant in his hands smo
king a cigar, measuring the distance between
tbe two vessels as if be was a government
surveyor. Occasionally, we could see him
approach the binnacle spread a chart on th 3
deck at his feet, aDd examine it closely with
a pair of dividers in his hand, and then be
would return to his seat on the taffrail, with
a cigar in his mouth aud the quadrant to his
eye as before
At noon tbe sailing master reported the
position of the ship to be two hundred miles
from the Darien coast. S > all that day and
all that night, with a full moon we went
bowling after that piratical wasp in hopts
before day of taking the sting out of her.
Next morning aud all through the day
there was no change to speak of in our re
spective p sitions. The pirate craft went
skimming along over the water Jike an al-
batros with every stitch of she ctnvas
spread to the breeze, and her captain sat
foremast, with cross-trees and a topsail for
square sails. Almost as soon as our topsail j with a cigar in his mouth on the taffrail,
sheets were hauled home, her own yards j while Mr. Cromwell there, stood with a spy-
went up, and the sail was spread. While, | glass to his eye on the poop of the War
with the bonnet off her foresail, the whole j Horse.
gib and a close reefed mainsail, we both went | Both vessels were making abont ten knots
flying to the southward with the gale a point; an hour, and long before the set of sun we
abaft the beam.
had been keeping a sharp look out for land,
So we went on, the sea getting more regu- and at last it was reported with a trembling
lar every hour, so that we coul 1 send up tbe mirage of pines and mangroves looming up
topgallant-masts,-get the yards across, shake and a host of rockv keyes dead ahead. We
a reef, or two out, and put the corvette in were steering directly for “Las Multas Is-
sailing order again. The schooner needed no ; lauds, a cluster then little known, save per-
encouragement from us, but slapped on more haps to the commander of the sc'iooner
sail until her long mainmast reeled and bent' ahead of us, and perhaps, too, with the in-
over as she came up on the breaking ridge of tention of running us just such another dance
a wave like a whip-stalk. By noon the ^ he had a night or two before. However,
clouds had gone and left the sky clear with we were again prepared to explore unknown
the gale blowing a full top gallant breez-*. ways, and, we got '.he starboard anchor of
Well, we got an observation for latitude, and the bow and bent the cable to that, 8Dd the
four nours after we determined the longitude spare anchors amidship, so as to be all ready
selves or to sacrifice our own happiness to ' ceive her by any subterfuge, Success, with - the object loved. Men do not understand I and our true position to be a few leagues to j to moor ship in case of emergency, and we