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THE SUNNY SOUTH
ELINOR:
OR,
hero, and did not even know his name, bat
■he knew he was her Fate, for,
“There are looks and tones that dart,
An instant sunshine through the heart,
As if the soul that moment caught,
Some treasure it through life had sought.
Her humble friends had told her of the
many enquiries he had made about her, and
she knew be would come some time, and she
went on, in her eld hopeful expectant way;
her father had come, and why not he
Dreams, dreams, but she told no one, but
down in her heart of hearts his image was
enshrined never to be effaced, and he—had
put the ocean between them that he might
see her face no more, because his love was
deep and strong, and he must never tell it.
Elinor went one afternoon, as was her cus
tom, to sit with her father in the library for
an hour or two, and found him lying on the
sofa, suffering with a severe headache, while
some important papers with which he had
been engaged, were scattered oyer the table.
He told her they were very important, and
directed her to put them carefully up to be
sent to her uncle at Earucliffe that after
noon, and asked her, if she had nothing par
ticularly engaging, to ride over and carry
them herself. This she readily agreed to do,
saying she would return early in the morn
ing. Having bathed his head, subdued the
light, and bestowed a number of kisses upon
him, which brought a smile, though followed
by a sigh as he thought of the many long
years that such sweet caresses were unknown
to him, she tri| pad lightly away to order her
horse a id put on her riding habit. She then
tapped at the door of Mrs. Clevelar d’s room
to tell her of her father’s sudden attack,
which, although frt quent, were always se
vere, and called forth the most punctilious
attention from his wife. With all her world
liness and ambition, she really admired and
respected the many noble and amiable quali
ties of her husband. To her sweetly modu
lated “come in,” Elinor opened the door and
entered, and found Robert also an occupant
of the room. He had a look of annoyance
on his face as if the subject under discussion
was not pleasant. With his mual disregard
of his mother’s extreme love of neatness, he
was whitling a stick, and making a great lit
ter about him. His face brightened with a
sm'le upon Elinor’s appearance in the door
way, and seeing her equipped for a ride, he
offered his services as an escort. She play
fully declined putting him to so much trouble,
asserting her independence and ability to
take care of herself. But Mrs. Cleveland in
terposed, and, in her most peremptory man
ner, insisted upon Elinor not starting with
out company. She then consented for him
to go, but only to take him out of mischief,
she said, as she pointed to the chips, which a
servant that Mrs. Cleveland had sum
moned for the purpose, were gathering up.
That her stepmother had planned a match
between Robert and herself Elinor well
knew, and that it was for the sake of her for
tune she felt fully assured. She knew it
must be a sore disappointment to one of her
disposition to see the plans she had laid and
the schemes she had cherished so long, so
completely frustrated by one siDgle event—
the discovery that her husband had an heir.
It Robert had tried to further his mother’s
plans, Elinor would have ended in hating
him. But he was always deferential and re
spectful. and never obtrusive. If she had no
other escort he was always at her service,
and he was a pleasant and agreeaole com
panion, witty and amusing. Even her fath
er, grave and quiet as was usually, often fell
in with his vein, and was amused in spite of
himself. Mr. Cleveland was fond of Robert,
whom he said had a fine mind and noble
qualities, and he wished him to study a pro
fession as he had his own fortune to carve out
in the world. But to Robert that wasamat
ter in the dim future; so he hunted, rode and
idled away his time—and, as had just come
to his mother’s ears, for which she was lec
turing him when Elinor had come in, hmt ta
ken to dissipation lately, spending much of
his time at the country town in company
with loose companions.
Whether her father knew of his wife’s
plans, or regarded them in a favorable light,
Elinor could not determine, nor wee she suf
ficiently interested to try to discover, as she
kneif he loved her too well to toy to influence
her against her wishes in so grave a matter.
The hones having been brought around.
1. ■» Yu 1
Robert’s mother with a satisfied smile from
the library window, whither she had gone to
look after her husband.
“My plans are working—it will be a match
vet—ft must be!” and the lady closed her
lips firmly as she finished the sentence and
turned towards her sleeping husband.
Mr. Cleveland’s attack did not pass off so
readily as those which had preceded it. He
seemed to have some trouble about his heai t,
and it was recommended by the country phy
sician that he should visit Baltimore or Phil
adelpbia and consult leading physicians, as
he was threatened with something serious.—
So, with Elinor and Grace, he went to pay
the long promised visit to his sister, Mrs
Horton. She was delighted to meet her long
estranged brother and her beautiful nieces,
who remained with her the greater part of
the winter. She took them to every place of
interest and amusement, and their appear
ance excited much admiration and comment,
and in the sights and scenes by which they
were surrounded, their enjoyment was great
as it was tbe first time they had ever made
a sojourn of any length in a city. Their ex
perience heretofore of city life had been con
fined to shopping expeditions and a stay of
a few days in Baltimore, which occurred
twice a year.
One day while in Philadelphia, they were
driving out and passed a carriage containing
a lady whose appearance attracted their mu
tual attention, and they both exclaimed at
once:
“Look, Aunt Cornelia, at that lady, who
can she be? Did you ever see such an old
young face?” •
“That is Mrs. Carieton of Carleton House,
as it is called, and of course, that face has
story. I knew her years ago when I was
first grown up. She was married then and
had one son, a child of five years, and was
living happily with her husband, who in the
seclusion of his home devoted much of his
time to painting, for which he had a rare
talent. That winter I spent in New York
and when I came home, I heard that some
trouble had come upon the family and they
had gone to England. I think the trouble
was something about insanity in the family.
Yes, I remember now, bis father who had
been in a melancholy state for a long time,
committed suicide in the presence of his son
which caused such an effect upon his mind
that it was thought advisable to travel with
him. She returned here about ten years ago
and lives in the greatest seclusion. In fact,
it is only very lately that I have known her
to go out at all. Her son a splendid looking
man of thirty is sometimes here, but more
frequently abroad. Carleton House is su
perb in all of its appointments, the rarest
furniture, pictures, and everything that can
be found at home or abroad are to be found
there. Her son Leon delights in such things
and as they are very wealthy gratifies bis
taste. Their conservatory contains tbe finest
private collection in the city, and they have a
treasure in a foreign servant, valet or steward
or whatever he may be called, who returned
here with Mrs. Carleton- and superintends
everything, but I am going to call upon her
in a few days, as I am one of the few friends
she receives, and will take you along. She
may not see you herself but she will deputize
Monsieur Pierre to show you everything of
interest.”
They went with their aunt to make the
visit, and contrary to Mrs. Horton’s expecta
tions, were affably received by Mrs. Carleton
who after engaging for some time in conver
sation with them, sent them to amuse them
selves by a tour of inspection through the
rooms, while she talked sometime longer
with their aunt. They were charmed with
everything, examined the paintings, tried
the grand piano and the organ, looked over
a large collection of music, adjusted tbe
stereosccpe, and took a trip to Italy, and then
Elinor reluctantly laid down a large porte
folio of prints which she was looking through
to follow Grace, who .called to her to the con
servatory. They entered and quite startled
Pierre, who was high up the steps taking the
faded leaves from a splendid geranium. He
immediately stepped down and with a polite
bow, cut each of them a handful of flowers,
Aunt Rue s Legacy.
BT MBS. B. C. LOCKS.
CHAPTER X.
Tbe end of another week found Elinor with
Miss Rhuhama, domiciled at Wildwood, for
contrary to all expectations, tbe excitement
attending the conflagration occasioned im
provement, instead of a relapse of her disease,
and Elinor’s sprain had not proved a very
serious affair. Two nicely furnished rooms in
tbe wing had been assigned to her as her own
peculiar province, and she bad been quite
busy for some days in arranging and re-ar-
ranging everything to her satisfaction, in
which work she was assisted by Elinor and
the house girl, Dora, who was delighted to
have her dear young mistress back again.
And though Dot very much pr< possessed in
Miss Ross’ favor, she determined to share
with her mistress the attentions she bestowed
upon her aunt. When Mrs. Cleveland heard
of tbe innovation to be made in the house
hold, she opposed it firmly but gently, but as
no other suitable arrangement could be
made, and Elinor was determined not to be
separated from her aunt, she had to submit
very gracefully, as she always did to the in
evitable, passing it over as a trivial matter,
but in tbe privacy of her room, many and
better were tbe invectives indulged in against
old maids in general, and Miss Ross in par
ticular, “and she of all persons, she added, I
wonder if I have changed beyond recogni
tion,” and she walked to the glass and took a
long look at herself. She met Miss Rhuhama
with one of her blandest smiles, and greeted
her dear child, whom she sadly missed with
the most affectionate caresses.
Miss Rhubama gave one glance at the
smiling face, then with a violent start drew
buck her half-extended hand and averted her
face, for which rudeness she apologzed a
moment after by attributing it to a twinge
of her rheumatism, shook hands with the no
longer smiling lady and passed on to her
room with Elinor, where the following col
1 quy ensued:
“Elinor, child, who was your stepmother,
and where did she come from ?”
“Why, don’t you remember aunt. I told
S ou she was a widow, and her name was
■rey. Papa met with her while she was on
a pleasure tour in Europe. I introduced you
to her son, who met us at the carriage, ana
her daughter, Stella, is here, too, but I sup
pose you will not see her until evening, as she
lounges in her room the greater part of the
day.”
"And this is all you know of her V
“This is all I ever heard, except that she
has some wealthy relatives in New York, an
aunt, with whom she was travelling when
she m>.t S a.”
“And Is tb t all your father knew i”
“1 do not know certainly, but think it is.
He has never spoken of his wife to me since
we first met. Why do you ask ? I thought
you looked rather startled when you met her,
as though you recognized an old acquaint
ance.”
“I don’t know, child. I sincerely hope 1
am mistaken, anyhow, for the present best
let bygones be bygones.” And she sank her
chin on her hand in a musing attitude, leav
ing Elinor a prey to curiosity and con jecture,
as she knew it was of no use to urge Miss
Roes when she Bhut her bps in that decisive
manner.
The intercourse between the two families
was necessarily much interrupted, as the
weather set ir cold and inclement, but week
ly visits were still interchanged; and stormy
indeed must be the weather that kept Elinor
and Grace apart a whole week. Grace’s love
ffair was running smoothly along, but she
must talk it over with Nellie at least once a
week, and then Elinor must tell her over and
over again about her adventure, for she told
her ttie first time they met, half laughingly ^ „ „ „„„
and half in eMhesti hanr insr n» YBffTWktBgni ouTuta aide desn,- to sea the. -tanking intently at
fernery, but not before Elinor caught sight
of an old man wrapped in a dressing gown,
whe sat in the far corner with his face bowed
down on his hand as if in deep thought, and
who had not noticed their entrance. Upon
how trivial a matter events will sometimes
hinge. If Grace had not called Elinor, she
would have turned on through the collection
of prints, and there, accidentally placed, she
would have found a fine photograph of tbe
one face which haunted her, and soon have
known it for Mrs. Carleton’s son, or a few
steps farther in the conservatory she would
have been face to face with the misery and
myBtery of Carleton House.
CHAPTER XL
Mr. Cleveland’s health had improved
somewhat during the winter, and Miss Rhu
hama had become quite spry, since she left
the rigors of a winter on the mountain, and
was entirely reconciled to her change of
abode. She was devoted to Elinor, who
passed over unnoticed her little peculiarities
of temper and disposition, and did all in her
power to make her contented and happy, as
indeed, all of them did but Mrs. Cleveland,
who could never quite forgive her for coming
into the family in opposition to her wishes,
and she treated her with a frigid politeness
accordingly. There was certainly no loss of
love between them, for Miss Rhuhama cor
dially detested Mrs. Cleveland for some un
known cause, and all Elii.o: "s attempts at
bringing about a more cordial feeling
between these two only met with a repulse.
“Never mind Nellie,” Miss Rhuhama
would say, “1 know her better than you do,
she’ll never like me, and I don’t want her
love, but Lucinda Poe—Cleveland I mean,
will never separate you and me.”
Elinoi looked up at this catch in her aunt’s
speech, but her face was impenetrable.
Robert was a great favorite with the old
lady, and would pay her any little attention
that came in her way, but would also aim a
witticism at, or play iff a joke upon her
whenever he could do so slyly, for when dis
covered they never failed to call forth a
gentle reproof from Elinor or a grave look
from her father. Stella had been away all
winter too, as she went to New York to
visit her relatives when Elinor and Grace
went to Philadelphia, but it was now April
and they were all at home, and themselves
expecting visitors ere long for the summer.
Eugenia Moss was to make a visit of indefi
nite length at Wildwood, and Stella expect
ed some distant relatives for a month or two.
One evening they were all, with the excep
tion of Mrs. Cleveland, who had gone to
visit a neighbor, and Miss Rhuhama. who
was in her room, collected in the sitting
room, to hear Robert’s news of the day, as
he had just returned from town, when a man
drove up in a buggy and was admitted, who
introduced himself as a book peddler,, and
asked permission to show his collection. He
had an anomalous assortment, consisting of
religious books, biographies, volumes of
poetry, and some few lately issued novels.
At the mention of the latter Stella immedi
ately desired to have them opened for her in
spection, as she was always ready for that
kind of literature. He opened his paokage
and spread them cut on the table for exami
nation, but seemed not at all anxious to sell,
but instead seemed intently watching and
quietly making note of the group collected
around. Robert he watched with especial
interest as he read off the titles and passed
the books over to his sister and Elinor, with
some lively jest or amusing comment. Elinor
having discovered a Testament, plainly
bound, and in very large print, sent Robert
off in quest of his aunt, as she had heard her
express a wish for one of that kind a few
days before. He returned, followed by Miss
Rhuhama, and at the first sight of her
Elinor noticed the stranger |give a violent
start, and walk to the window, where be
seemed to be for some minutes occupied with
the view, but turned to the table again to
recommend the book, which Miss Rhuhama
had at length succeeded in getting from
Robert, after he first put a volume cf poems
in her hand, and then a new novel. Each of
them made a selection and purchase; Mfaa
Rhuhama finding the Testament to be the
very thing she needed; after which the man
put up his package and left.
Just as Mrs. Cleveland drove up to the
into his buggy and drove off. She went on
to the sitting room, where she found them
all discussing the man and his books.
“I believe that man had some ulterior pur
pose in coming here with his books; he was
too genteel looking for a peddler and besides,
aunty, I think he recognized an acquaintance
in you, for he started as if he had seen a
ghost when you came in.”
“Me! child, you certainly-dreamed it, I
never saw the man before with his big whis
kers and mustaches, he looks like a foreigner,
maybe he thought I looked like somebody he
knew at home.’’
“Why, Elinor, how observant you are, I
did not notice it, but I did think he was
watching brother with particular interest.”
“Perhaps it was some political emmissary
who brought books with him as the ostensi
ble means of getting an insight into our do
mestic circles,” said Mr. Cleveland.
“If I thought so,” said Robert, impulsively
springing up. “I would follow him yet, and
teach him better manners than to come pry
ing into houses under pretence of selling
books.”
“Oh, sit down, Robert, you are enough to
shock one’s nerves jumping up in that im
petuous manner. 1 do not suppose the man
came for any other purpose than that of sell
ing book*; and let me see to what extent you
patronized him,” and Mrs. Cleveland reached
out her hand in her most languid manner for
the books.
As Miss Rhuhama passed out she privately
signalled Elinor to follow her and as soon as
they were seated in her room Elinor no long
er able to restrain her curiosity began,
“Do, auntie, tell me who you think that
man was and what he wantigL I am sure
you knew something that youmd not wish
to speak cf down there.”
Miss Rhuhama took off her spectacles, fold
ed her arms then looked at Elinor in tbe
most curious manner and instead of replying
began questioning her.
“Didn’t them Pbiladelphy doctors tell you
that any suddent shock or great excitement
would hurt you pamightlyf”
“Yes, and said we must not discuss any
thing exciting in his presence.”
“Ai’nt he a mighty proud man, and don’t
he set great store to his good name, and
wouldn’t any disgrace attached to any of his
family be a great shock, if suddently told
“Indeed it would. The Clevelands have
always been a proud race, and I sometimes
think the whole of the family pride is center
ed in papa, if he has any weak point, it is
that.”
Well, child, I'm afraid that Bhock’s a
coming. I did know that man. I knowed
him the minute I set my eyes on him, though
its been years, and years since I seen him be
fore, and he had no-grey whiskers then. He
didn’t come here to sell books, that was only
an excuse. I can’t even tell you who he is,
and what brought him here; I don’t like to
be mysterious, Nellie, but this much I will
tell you, if your pa knowed what I know
the shock would kill him, so you see why I
must be silent. I don’t think he will come
here again, as 1 gave him a look with a
meanin in it. I was afraid ytour pa had run
into trouble the first time I see her, and she
nodded her head towards Mrs. Cleveland’s
apartment.
Elinor was affected by her aunt’s earnest
and impressive manner, and she could not
help but wish to solve the mystery; but who
ever the man was and in whatever manner
he could have any influence over her father,
she felt sure that it must be through her
stepmother. She wished to know, and yet
dreaded to be the possessor of a secret which
might, in some unguarded moment, be be
trayed and bring in its betrayal such fatal
consequence. With Miss Rhuhama, with
her self-possession and unimpulsive nature,
it was safe. She was, however, destined ere
long to know all, and receive with that
knowledge a burden and a care to be laid
down only with life.
She was in Baltimore, and while out shop
ping one day, was detained for a few mo
ments in a crowd, when looking up she caught
the eye of the whilom bookpeddler, who was
and
,. . . .... „„„ “In Nantucket there are sixteen women
Elinor and her escort started, watched by door, he passed her carriage with a bow, got would always bring the highest prices. They to one man.” Happy man!
fashionably dressed, but hadaTitigueicf and"
care-worn look. She thought nothing more
of the man and passed on; but an hour later,
as she was returning to her boarding-house
in rather a retired part of the city, she heard
quick, ringing footsteps behind her, and
slightly turning her head, she saw the same
man. She slackened her speed, thinking to
let h im pass, but he did not. She was natur
ally courageous, but this was something so
new in her experience that it made her ner
vous. Catching sight of a policeman within
call, she determined to face her pursuer and
inquire what he meant by dogging her foot
steps. She paused, and, when the man ap-
iroached, asked why he was following her.
3e raised his hat respectfully, and requested
a moment’s conversation.
‘Speak on,” she said, though in inward
trepitation at finding herself in a public
street tete a-t<te with a strange man of whom
she knew nothing.
“Miss Cleveland, is it, whom I have the
honor of addressing?”
’It is, sir.”
‘Well, Miss, I scarcely knqw in what terms
to address you. I am but a poor, erring man
though more sinned against than sinning.—
The world has used me badly, but it still
owes me a living, and in fact I cannot live
without assistance, and that assistance I ask
from you as one able to afford it, and who,
too, perhaps, to save your father from a
knowledge that may prove fatal to him, may
be willing to spare a little of your abundant
wealth.”
“Who are yen, and what do you wish me
to do?”
My name is Grey, alias Smith. My his
tory you can get from Miss Ross, if not al
ready known to you—and I want money and
must have it!”
“Well, Mr. Grey-Smith, I will see you
again. I will first learn your history, and if
you are a worthy object, will probably help
you. At present I have only enough money
for my necessities. I will return home to
morrow, and ”
I will be there this day week, and will
speak with you in the summer-house nearest
the gate,—or, if you fail me, will call on your
father at the house,” saying which he wheeled
and disappeared before she could say anoth
er word.
“Well, of all the cool impudence!” she so
ld quized, as she walked on. “And yet he
was respectful and earnest. His expression
is like Stella’s; he must be a relative. Aunt
will not hesitate to speak now.”.
As soon as she she reached borne, she ran
to her aunt’s room, closed’ the door, and,
drawing a chair close to her aunt, began:
“I have seen him again, aunt, and he has
demanded money of me, and sent me to you
for explanation.”
“Who, Elinor?”
“The book man. and he was dressed nicely
and looked no more like a peddler than I do.”
She then related the circumstance of her
meeting with the man, and what transpired
between them.
“Then the Lord protect and deliver us,”
was tbe startled but fervent ejaculation of
Miss Rhuama, as she thew up her hanefa,
adding, “the jail bird, the sneaking wretch.”
“ Then, Nellie, I must go back to the first
of it, and tell you all about him. When 1
first knew Elverton Grey he was a young
man, and came to our house up to the moun
tains, as a summer boarder, and spent his
time trout fishing and hunting. He was
from New York, and was a clerk, or some
thing, and it was bis holiday time he spent
up there. Well, Squire Parker lived, down
to the foot of the mountain then, and his gals
used to go ont workin for folks around there,
all except Lucindy, who had got some high
notions from some town cousins of hern, and
nothin’ would do but she must go to town
and learn to be a milliner, jWell, the long and
the short of it was her and Gray seen a good
deal of one another that summer, while she
was home, and they fell in love, but Squire
Parker be wouldn’t consent for any weddin’
’till he knowed more about tbe city chap.
So when he went home she run away and
went with him, and they got married. They
sent a paper back with the notice in it, and
then they came back the next summer, and
Lucindy was dressed so fine, and looked
every inch a lady. She had got a place in a
store, too, for she always was handy, and
they said she was so tasty; her bonnets
went on very well for three or four yean,
but Grey thought he wasn’t gettin’ rich fast
enough, so he forged somebody’s name, bis
employer’s, I believe, and got found out.
Don’t looked so shocked, Nellie. But they
sent him to the penitentiary for ten years,
and we heard he died there. Squire Parker
showed it to me in the paper, before they all
moved out West. Now you know what must
a been my feelin’s when I walked in the room
that evening, and saw Elverton Grey standin’
there benind that pile of books. The only
relation he had was an old unde, that made
a fortune in some kind of a shoddy business
and then died. So, his widow wantin’ a com
panion, took up Lucindy and her children,
and her money soon took ’em up to the top
of the pot, as the sayin’ fa; ana then they
took that tour to the old country. I never
heard nothin’ more about her, after her folks
went West. Well, but I was thunder struck,
when I come to shake hands with your step
mother, and found Mrs. Lucy Cleveland was
Lucindy Grey. But I never let on, and she
never said a word, but I think she knows,
she’s not foolin’ me, and I know she thought
Grey was dead, for it was her, sent the pa
per to ’em at home.”
“Well, then aunt, if Grey fa living she fa
not legally married to my father, is she?”
“Yes, indeed, child, for I have always
heard that when the State’s prison doors
closed behind a man’s back, it was as good
a divorce and legal, as a woman wanted.
Now, what do you think of that story comin
to your father’s ears. He’ll have to be bought
off. I don’t see no other way.”
“Ob! Aunt, it would kill him, it wculd kill
papa, indeed, but it shall never come to bis
knowledge while I live. It shall be the one
object of my life to keep it from him. I will
buy off this man and send him to tbe far
thereat corner of the globe.”
“I am afraid, Nellie, that will be hard to
do. I guess if you begin to buy him off
you’ll have to keep on. 1 know he’s unprin
cipled, and expect he’s a gambler aud a
spendthrift. We mustn’t be too hard on the
poor man for all, for he has human affec
tions and feelings, and just think how it
must be for him to stand back, and see his
wife and his own children give to another
man all the love that ought to be his, and
make no sign, or they are all ruined for
life. But, child, you must ask advice from
somebody else, for I’m completely upset, just
at my wits’ end. How would it do to go to
your uncle C!evtland.”
“Not at all, he is too tenderhearted, and
the poorest excuse in the world to keep a se
cret. He never could play Santa Claus with
out telling us all about it; but there’s uccle
John, Mr. Talbot, you know; he will be the
very person, and he will get me the money,
for I cannot get enough of my own without
papa or uncle Edward knowing it.”
The next afternoon found Elinor at Erne-
ciiff, she and Mr. Talbot out for a walk. She
had coaxed him on down to the creek to a
quiet spot, where the old cotton-wood had
hung out its scarlet tassels, and the sunshine
was flickering through on the green tender
grass, for a private conversation -with Mr.
Talbot. Elinor was always good at making
him hear with her clear ringing voice, and
soon put him in possession of the story and
asked his advice; his face going through
different expressions of amazement, anger,
pity and contempt, as he listened.
“Humph 1” he said, as she finished. “I
never did think much of warmed-up affec
tions and ready-made families. Cleveland’s
been a fool all his life; whew 1 but that was a
take-in. Even if this fellow had not turned
up, it’s bad enough.” He agreed with her
that Grey must be bought off to leave the
country, and in his decided way arranged to
go to Baltimore and get her the money, and
at tbe same time try to find out something
about the man. He would advance her the
money, to be paid back when she was of age.
He was very sure Grey was a gambler, and
he would find him at some of the saloons
which he frequented.
There was not much difficulty in finding
him, and ascertaining that he gambled, but
not to a great extent, but he was indolent
fond of dress and the luxuries of life. He
omptly at the designated
THE DESPAIRING L0VX3,
Dinutcnn with care £.
Por Phillis the fatr.
Since nothing can more h«n
Pear Damon, her »rm,
Baaotvea in de*i>alr
No longer to languish
Her bear ao much anguish,.
But, mad with his lore,
Vo a prsdpioe goea,
Where a leap from above
Will soon finish his woaa.
When, In rage, ha cam# theta
Beholding how steep
The sides did appear.
And the bottom how deep;
Bis torments projecting^
And sadlj reflecting
That a lover forsaken
A new love may gat,
Bnt a neck, when once broken.
Can never be aet;
And that ha oonld die
i Whenever he would;
Bnt that he could live
Bnt as long as ha could J
Bow grievous soever
The torment might grow
Be scorned to endeavor
To finish It so.
But bold, unconcern’d
At the thonghts of the pain,
Be calmly return’d
To his cottage again.
—Wmixiu wim
DRIVEN TO RUIN.
iy andbour, Ani
dred dollars, as he solemnly promised to go
to California, never to return.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
“Stand Ont From tbe Danger.”
We were fast approaching Cape Hatteras.
Already its dim outline was appearing to tbe
southwest, and we were anticipating a close
run to its rocky shores, when suddenly the
order to tack was given, and we stood out in
to the Atlantic, leaving the cape far astern.
“Is not the water deep enough to make a
closer run to the shore?” asked Adjutant
Culver, who was impatient to get a good
sight of land after the three days’ voyage.
“Certainly,” answered the captain, gazing
off to the south at the signs of an approach
ing storm.
“But why, then, did we tack out here?’
asked the adjutant.
“Because,” replied the captain, “if in run
ning close to the cape we had become in any
way disabled, we m'ght have drifted on the
rocks and have been wrecked. A good sailor,
when possible, stands out from the danger.”
. When I see a young man leaving the pure
influences of the home circle, and spending
his hours in places where drink and gambling
have their programme, although he may be
present only as a spectator, yet 1 tremble for
bis safety, and long to warn him. to stand cut
from the danger.
When I see the moderate drinker indulging
to his occasional glass, and looking down
with a contemptuous smile on the fanatical
temperance people, 1 know that he is sailing
close along the rocks of intemperance, and
that his only safe course fa to stand out from
the danger.
When I see fair hands proffer the sparkling
wine to the noble and gitted, I think what a
terrible wreck theirs would be if the rocks
were encountered, and I pray that the scales
may fall from the eyes of the tempted so
that they may stand out from the danger.
A Fearful Estimate.
It fa estimated that in the United States
and Territories, 130,000 places are licensed to
sell spirituous liquors, and 300,000 persons
are em ploy ed in these grog-shops. If we add
to these the number employed in distilleries
and wholesale liquor shops, we have about
670,000, where there are but 150,000 ministers
and school-teachers. While one class is
laboring to advance the country in moral
and spiritual life, the other plies its work of
dei tb,
The clergymen cost the United States $12,-
000,000 annually, the criminals $40,000,000,
the lawyers $80,000,000, intoxicating drinks
to satisfy and increase depraved appetites,
$700,000,000. The liquor traffic annually
sends 200,000 children to a state worse than
orphanage, and brings woe. disease, misery,
crime, and premature death ail over tbe
land. The amount of taxes the liquor traffic
thus wrenches from honest and industrious
citizens it would be hard to compute. Is it
right to license rum?
Make Them Pay for It.
A Chicago woman has received $3,500 as
damages frem a prominent liquor firm for
selling whiskey to her Lusband, who, while
under its influence, was killed by failing into
an open cellar. In commenting on a similar
case, the Great West puts it to this way;
“Let every wife whose husband thus be
comes the maimed victim of rum do likewise,
and the cause of temperance woula be most
materially aided and advanced. Let those
who sell liquor to drunken persons be thus
punished through their pockets. It fa an ef
fective remedy. They ought to be either
made to stop running their gin-mills or Lh>
made to pay for the killed and wounded that
are rumbling into the hoppers thereof. Let
them either stop the grinding or pay for the
killing.”
Said a tipsy husband to hfa wife. “Yon
need-needn’t bl-lame me, T was woman
that first tim-tempted man to eat forbidden
things.” “That wont do,” retorted the very
indignant wife; “woman may have first
tempted man to eat forbidden things, but he
took to drink on his own account.”
“ Is it to be an engagement ? ”
Etta Boyd looked np from the elaborate
motto she was working with bright-colored
floss. The pink tinge of her cheek had
deepened.
' What do you mean ? ’’ she asked hastily,
almost haughtily.
I mean Edwin Holbrook,” said the lady,
significantly; at which an older lady lan
guidly raised her eyes from the book she
was reading.
Sister Jenny ? ” was the indignant ejac
ulation of the latter.
Aunt Jenny, you are too bad 1 ” the
little beauty said, blushing rose-red now.
She was a little beauty, this Etta Boyd,
a royal little creature in outward appearing.
I do not know by what particular style her
loveliness might be designated. She was
winsome to look at: not statuesque, not
marble-white, not ethereal, but simply so
arch-looking, and dimpled, and changeful,
and merry, that few could withstand her
wiles.
She had always lived in an atmosphere
of luxury—this pretty girl; she had been
indulged from her infancy by over-fond
parents, who imagined their one pearl peer
less, Her two brothers, men grown idolized
her, and as she grew older, loaded her with
gifts. So accustomed to admiration did
Bhe become, that she began to feel at last
that life was not endurable without it, and
she began at last to try her power on those
ontside her immediate circle. One of these
was the young gentleman of whom her
aunt spoke, and the mention of whose name
oansed a general outcry.
I’m sure, sister, I’m astonished at you,”
said Etta’s mamma, a very weak and fool
ish woman, who consumed confectionery
by the pound and read novels by the thou
sand.
I don’t know why you should be,” was
the quiet reply.
Etta!—a mere child, just out of
school 1 ”
“ Etta is seventeen,’’ said her sister.
“Etta is no longer a school-girl, though
very young, I’ll acknowledge—too young
to begin flirtation.”
Aunt Jenny, yon know nothing about
llw i.mmioaH tyi orn * . _
“ I know he comes here very often.”
“ He is an old friend of the family,” said
Mrs. Boyd.
“ I know he is twenty-five, and in some
things a brilliant and promising character,”
continued Aunt Jenny. “I know he is
alone in the world, and has no sisters.”
“ And that’s the reason he likes to come
here,” said Etta.
“ But, my dear, yon certainly accompany
him to places of amusement. ”
“ Of course.”
" And receive presents from him.”
Etta’s eyes fell. 11 Just nothing at all,”
she said.
“ I don’t know,” continued matter-of-fact
Aunt Jenny. “Bouquets cost money. I
can’t bny such ones as that, for instance,
under three or four dollars,” she added,
pointing to a beautiful vase, over which
hung fragrant lilies, hot-house tea-roses,
fuchsias, heliotrope, and other dainty
blossoms. “ And then a diamond ring isn’t
bonght for nothing, even if the diamond be
no bigger than the head of a pin. Then
there are pictures, trifles.”
“ Aunt Jenny,” cried Etta, now pale with
passion, “I don’t think any one has a right
to say what I shall and shall not receive
from one I have known all my life. I
think it’s—it’s ”
“ Impertinent, my dear; that’s the word
you were thinking of; and perhaps it would
be in any one who had yoor good less at
heart. But, my dear, I’m afraid you are
doing harm, indeed I am. I don’t think
poor Ed looks upon himself as merely a
friend.”
“He has no right to think otherwise,”
said Etta, with trembling lips.
“ Edwin Holbrook has neither father nor
mother, sister nor brother,” continued
Aunt Jenny. “ I loved hfa mother; she
was my dearest friend when we were girls
together; and her life was shadowed by
the intemperance of her hnsband, who, but
for this one fault, would have been a model
of all the virtues. He was handsome,
brave,disinterested, and worshipped his wife
and child, but he would not give up that
terrible habit. On her dying bed, the dear
woman told me that she had educated Ed
win carefully in reference to his tastes and
indulgences in that respect, ‘ but he fa so
singularly sensitive,’ she added ‘ so depend
ent upon his friendships, so devoted where
once he gives his heart, so keenly alive to
any fancied slight 01 disgrace, that I trem
ble for his future. I can only pray for him,
and leave him in the hands of God.’ ”
Etta bent her head lower over her frame.
Naturally unwilling to give pain, yet quite
as unable to practise self-denial, opposite
emotions were contending for the mastery
in her young heart. The picture of the
dying mother had touched her, but then,
Edwin’s attentions were delightful. She
was sure some of the girls envied her, and
with her ideas, it was pleasant to be envied.
“Besides,” said Aunt Jenny, “Edwin
has to work hard to make hfa way in the
world.
a reward in prospect,
ont one of the foremost young men of the
day, while, if he is disappointed where he
■takes all, I dare not think of the con
sequences.”
“Jenny, you are very foolish. We shall
know that you were the means of oaunfag
the ruin of a human soul, I would follow
you to your grave.”
“ There, now, you’ve set her to crying.
I hope you’re satisfied, and company this
evening, too! I declare, I wish you would
stay at home, Jane, if you oan’t bring up
some pleasanter subject of conversation.
You blow how sensitive my darling is.
Etta, Etta, don’t cry. You will look like a
fright this evening.”
But Etta only threw her motto Into a
chair, and, still weeping, hurried out of ths
room.
“ Now, you see,” exclaimed Mrs. Boyd,
with a tragical gesture, “ you’ve spoiled the
ohild’s happiness for the day 1 You know
that the mention of death is distasteful to
her, and you ought to have some judgment
by this time. For my part, 1 say Edwin
shall oome here as he has been coming.
There’s nobody I oonld trust Etta with, with
so clear a conscience. Fm sure if it wasn’t
for him, the girl would lead a nun’s life,
for her father and I never go out, save
when we absolutely cannot help ourselves."
4i I have nothing more to say,” murmured
Aunt Jenny, helplessly. “ I don’t suppose
I’ve done any good; but Fve cleared my
skirts, and I do hope, aet Etta to thinking.
I believe, if the child were left to her own
good sense—•’
“ Now blame me! Don’t yon suppose I
know Etta better than you do ? Why, Ed
himself wouldn’t be snch an idiot as to think
of Etta—a man with scarcely a dollar in the
world, and she brought up in luxury.”
“ There it is 1 ” sighed Aunt Jenny.
“ Of course, there it fa 1 and Etta would
be crazy to think of it. Indeed, if it wasn’t
for knowing that he fa an old and a safe
friend, do yon think he could have the run
of the house ? No, indeed! ”
“I see how it is,” sighed Aunt Jenny.
“ Well, well. There’s no need of saying
anything further on the subject; ’’ and with
a sad heart she left the house.
Etta did think. Etta made several very
heroic resolves. Etta knew in her heart of
hearts that it was time to think But, alas,
the chains of habit were forged—the long
ing for attentions exclusive to herself, for
admiration, was too insatiable ; the pleasure
of being petted, of command, of causing
envy, too deeply ingrained in the selfish
little heart. Month after month passed on
until, one year from the time of Aunt Jen
ny’s warning visit, Edwin Holbrook left the
doors that had been like the entrance to
Paradise to him, a broken-hearted man,
never to enter them again.
“ Holbrook, is that paper ready yet? ”
The young man lifted a pair of blood
shot eyes, and threw back hfa disordered
locks as he made a confused reply in accents
that betrayed the influence that was still
upon him.
“ Holbrook, you will lose that case.
Dodd won’t wait another hoar. What is
the matter with yon? You used to be
punctuality itself.”
The young man smiled, bat the smile'was
sadder than tears.
“I’m sorry about the paper. I’ll go to
work at it now. Fact is, I haven’t been
well the last week, and my head is strangely
confused of late. It won’t take me long, I
think.”
“ No use ; Dodd is one of those iron men
who never bend. I’ll take the documents
—he made me promise I would. I’m sorry,
’out—but you’ve only yourself to blame, I
fear,” he lidded, more kindly, and shaking
his head.
“ Perhaps,” was the brief reply, as, with
shaking hand, he tamed over the papers,
and handed him the required packet.
“ Going just as his father did,” the man
muttered, as he left the office. “ Strange
how these things run in families; and
there’s no use in talking to them. Blood
will have its way.”
“ That’s the second case Pve lost,” said
Edwin, as he watched the man walk hur
riedly down the long street. “ Well, I
don’t care much if I never do win; all I
want now is forgetfulness; ” and he sprang
to his feet, opened a cupboard, lifted a bot
tle and drank directly from it. Then his
eye brightened, he dashed in among his
papers, tied and sealed here, and wrote
rapidly there, till the force of the wretched
liqnor was spent. Then he took up hfa hat
to find an eating-house ; for now he slept
in his office and dined where he could.
“ I saw Edwin Holbrook to-day,” said
Aunt Jenny, over whose pinin-speaking
tongue even the rigid laws of fashionable
etiquette had no control. They were all
dining at Mr. Boyd’s princely table.
“ What a rascal he has become 1 ” said
the latter, with a disgusted air. “ I’m
really ashamed that I ever allowed Mm to
come to the house.”
“ Did you call at his office ? ” asked Mrs.
Boyd, with what she considered the proper
amount of ladylike sarcasm.
“ No, indeed! There’s the place where
he isn’t often to be found. He was in the
grasp of two policemen. You can’t tell
how it shocked me—he, with his sensitive,
high-bred face, and still handsome figure,
in such a position 1 ”
“I suppose you spoke to him?” said
Mrs. Boyd.
“ He had sense enongh not to allow that,
by feigning not to know me,” was the re
ply; “but if ever my heart.ached, it did
then. Even in his degradation, he looked
so like his beautiful mother 1 ”
At the first mention of his name, Etta had
crimsoned. Now she idled with her fork,
and the color had all gone ont of her cheeka.
“ I’ve often heard him deprecate the use
of intoxicants,” said pere Boyd, who, like
most wealthy merchants, knew but little
of the outgoings and incomings of hfa own
family ; “ but, like father, like son. What
can you expect ? ”
“I expected a great deal from Edwin
Holbrook,” said Annt Jenny, her voioe
trembling.
“ Why don’t yon try to save him ? ”
“I did once,” was the significant reply,
“ I’m afraid there’s no help for him now.”
Etta left the table ; Bhe often did before
the rest, but not with that deadly pallor.
Nobody noticed it, however, bnt Annt
Jenny. It was well that some little rem
nant of conscience remained. She had
long ago sent back all his presents, and his
name was never mentioned, but now Aunt
Jenny’s awful words recurred to her—“ the
rain of a human souL”
It was only the next day that Aunt Jenny
uttered a pained exclamation over the
Then she put the journal
morning paper.
: in Etta’s hands, pointing to one brief para-
W ith proper encouragement, and | . r r
in prospect, I believe he will torn ^ight, one of our most promising
young citizens was carried to the — In
sane Hospital, a raving madman. The
strange relapse of this young man, his
downward career for the last two years, Is
now probably explained. It is said by those
not certainly forbid him the house,” said , ™ ^“stanS thecaV^tTe
Mrs. Boyd, suppressing a yawn. _ _
“And I’m sore I don’t want to do him
any harm,” said Etta; “ bnt if he shows
me attentions and brings me presents, what
em I to do ? refuse them ? ”
“Yes,” said Aunt Jenny, uncompromis
ingly; “be honest.”
“ Bnt I couldn’t do that: besides, I like
him; he’s the oldest friend I have, and I
don’t believe he thinks—of anything else Wilmington, Del, boasts a colored ar-
but friendship.” tist, Henry O. Turner, the eon of the Rev.
“I know better,” said Aunt Jenny. Mr. Turner, a colored clergyman of Philn-
“ Child, I love you dearly, but rather than delphia. His bent ia toward
able. All who knew Edwin Holbrook will
be grieved to learn of bis sad fate.”
All who knew 1 and there waa one whe
knew that, bnt for heartless coquetry end
trifling, the tendency in his nature to a
downward oourse might have been averted.