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GALLAHERS INDEPENDENT,
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY AT
QUITM AN, C- A.,
BY
J. c. G A L L A H E R.
TERNS OF SUBSCIUPTtOBf
TWO DOLLARS per Annum in A < Iv'inct!,
WOMAN’S HAPPY SMILE.
Tborc is a ray that cheer* tho heart,
lleliovea it for a while,
Though Horrow crush it e’er *o low;
Ti* Woman * hftfW niuilis.
When time in xmhod to paa* with speed,
What can tho hours beguile.
And la&ko them paes without regret,
Like woman’s happy smile?
If friend* forsake, if fortune frown,
Aifl those we loved redk,
Still we’er not friendless if wc own
A woman’s happy smile.
And when life’* Journey nears tta end,
She’s there, devoid of guile;
But in those scenes her heart i* such
She cannot, cannot wnile.
A FUillT FOR A WIFE.
CHAPTER I.
THE MEETINIJ.
The scene of this deadly encounter was
neither gloomy nor romantic; it was fair
and pastoral; and tho time was May; and
all the sweet influences of the springtime
were shedding a soft, idyllic sweetness
over our English dales. Wo had with ns
at this time a young American lady who
was on her first visit to the country; and
one evening, when various places were be
ing proposed for her amusement and edi
fication, one of us said to her—
“ Now, wouldn't yon rather got away
from London, and go straight down into
one of our quiet valleys, and see a rear old
English town that has been slumbering
there for centuries, and is likely to sleep
for as many more ? Yon will see a strange
old place, with (plaint houses of red and
white, and here and tbore a garden bo
tween tho gables. Then you will go down
to the sides of a broad and smooth river,
flo'Ut'K by under some beautiful woods.
You will live in an old-fashioned inn
called tho “Complete Angler" and just
outside your window you will see the
smooth blno river break white over a long
weir, aud you will see the trees, and lawn.
and veranda of the miller’* house on the ;
ether side; and beyond that again the soft I
low hills aud hanging woods of one of our I
English counties.”
Onr young friend was much pleased ;
with the notion, but hesitated. <>f course, i
she said, this quiet and beautiful place i
must be far away and difficult to reach.
When she was told that it was something j
less than fifty miles from London, she at
onco agreed to go; and hence it was that :
the desperate conflict which I have to do- 1
scribe took place in one of the most peace-1
fill nooks of Berkshire, at a time of the
year when the human bosom should have
heeu full, not of angry passions, but of
the singing of nightingales.
Bor this was the secret of it two men
had overheard this proposal; and each of
them had inwardly resolved to outwit the
other by telegraphing to the “Complete
Angler" for rooms, so that he should ho
installed there when this young lady and
ourselves, her guardians for the time,
should arrive. One of them was a slender
young gentleman, fair-haired, Large-eyed
and rather petulaut in manner, who had
just made some stir in literary circles ba
the publication of a volume of metaphysi
cal verse; the other was considerably his
elder, inclined to l>e stout, comely of face
and made welcome among us chiefly by a
sort of shy good humor which sometimes
led him into saying good things, but in
any ease and at all times seemed to make
liim very well contented with himselt.
This Mr. Humphreys was understood by
some to be in a Government office; but no
one could ever precisely say what it was,
aud his duties certainly never interfered
with his pleasures. His rival, who had
the privilege of being styled by the court
newsman the Honorable Philip Stunner'
Maurice, was the youngest son of an ini
peeuions nobleman, and was believed to
lie waiting for some colonial appointment.
Now, these two men, from tlie moment
that onr pretty Mias Newton came among
tut, began to pay her a series of more m
less occult attentions, all in n friendly sort
of way, of course, and generally through*
the small and gentle lady who was lid!
hostess. By this means they could pre
sent her with Ik>xoh for the opera, they
could lend her new books, they could
even offer to escort herself and her two
companions to an exhibition of pictures.
All this was smooth sailing. Little did
we perceive in it the elements of a tragedy.
The young lady accepted these marks of
friendliness with a sweet impartiality;
doubtless they wore merely little acts of
courtesy extended to a stranger from a
distant land.
Ami of the young American liuly her
self ? Well, she was neither very wise:
nor very learned; but she was exceedingly
pretty, and she had a curiously winning
and fascinating manner that drew women
as well as men toward her. Perhaps it
was the softness of her voice; perhaps it
was a kind of piteous look in her dark,
gray eyes; but anyhow people liked to get
near her, and when they got near her
they got interested in her, ami when they
got interested in her immediately went and
asked everybody else what was her story.
No one present knew'. It was supposed to
be rather a painful affair—had she not
been engaged to be married to a young
man who was drowned within sight of
shore, Paul and Virginia fashion ?—but in
any ease she always referred to it in a
vague way, and apparently wished to keep
her sorrow a secret. Por the rest, she was
rather tall and pale; she wore a good
many rings, and when she traveled she
displayed to the other inhabitants of the
railway-carriage a bag filled with all sorts
of curiosities in the way of scents and j
other toilet requisites. One might hare j
laughed at the fashion in which she played '
with these; only she was so pretty and
childlike one had not the heart to laugh at i
her. She seemed only to pet herself be- i
cause everybody else petted her.
We drove to Paddington station. There
was a young man there, looking furtively
up and down the platform. He came to
ns and said, with an amount of confusion j
in his face that seemed to make him a tri
fle sulky. __ ,
“Are you goinginto the country ? vv hat
beautiful weather! I took it suddenly
into my head to run down to see Markov
it must be looking so pretty just now.
Miss Newton said nothing at all, though
she seemed surprised; but the lady beside
ber —who manages all things with an in
finite tact and discretion.— smiled demurs*
ly, and remarked: /
“What an odd coincidence! We are
going to Marlow also. Wc shall make
quite a little party—how very nice.”
When once the awkwardness of the
meeting was over, Mr. Maurice was up
patently highly delighted with hi* good
fortune; and he did his best all the wav
down to make himself an agreexlue com
(Ml3mVpemVnl.
VOL. IT.
panion, taking care to address himself
| mostly to the elder lady. You would have
fancied that he meant mo to hear all the
talk with our pretty Miss Mary; those
| young men ore so transparently cunning.
Well, we got down at length to the lit
tie country station, and here there was a
humble carriage in waiting to drive us to
the river-side. We passed along through
the sweet-smelling Helds. \Vo drove
through tho quaint old town, which was
all shilling now in the warm light of the
ovening sun. We passed the church and
got down to the bridge, and there before
us, on the other side of the stream, stood
tho old-fashioned inu amid its trim plots
of grass and hushes.
"Did you ever see anything more beau
tiful ?” the elder lady says; and, indeed,
it would be difficult to coiupoeo a prettier
picture than wc la-held it this moment—
the solitary, quaint old building by the
side of tlie river, the smooth water reflect
ing the drooping tiees, the white lino of
tho weir, and behind all these some rich
meadow s leading over to a low rampart of
' hills, the thick woods on which wore
burning red in the sunset.
It was, in truth, a peaceful spot, and
we drove over tlic bridge, aud round and
down to the inn, with something of a no
tion that here, for a space, we should shut
out all the cates an J stormy passions of
the world, and dream ourselves hack into
a condition of primeval pence and inno
cence. \Ye got down from tho carriage.
The solitary waiter was at the door to re
ceive us. Wo hojiod that wo should la
the only occupants of the famous old lies
telly.
Just at this moment the face of the
young gentleman who had corao with 11s
was observed to change color, and a most
unchristian gloom of anger shot from his
eyes. Who was this Idyllic and buxom
gentleman, who, dressed in a fishing cos
tume of gray, came gaily along tho pas
sage, and seemed overwhelmed with
amazement and joy at seeing us?
“What?” said lie, “can it be possible ?
Bless niv soul, now ! What a fortunate
thing 1 But who could hnvo dreamed of
meeting you here, of ull places, in this sin
ful but delightful world ?”
Who, indeed ? It has been the lot of
tho present writer to have been present at
dramatic performances in tho capitals of
various countries, but 110 has never wit
nessed a more bountiful piece of acting
than that which was performed by a stout
aud middle-aged gentleman on the thresli
liold of an inn in Berkshire. We were
very nearly imposed on. For tlie moment,
it almost seemed real. But then our com
mon sense came to the rescue; and we
knew that this slv old dog had quietly
slipped down here and taken up his quar
ters in anticipation of our coming, while
the most wo could hope for was lhat the
green and fertile plains of Berkshironiight
not he stained with blood before the week
was out.
CHARTER IL
THIUEATS.
They behaved themselves pretty well at
dinner. We dined together in the coffee
room, a queer low-roofed old place, w ith
an abundance of windows looking out on
the river, and with colored pictures of the
Thames hung round the walls. The only
other occupant of the room was an austere
and elderly maiden lady, dining all by her
self, of whom Mr. Humphreys rather
cruelly remarked that, considering the
number of leap years she must, have seen,
it was curious she leaf not taken advan
tage of any one of them. On this Mr.
Maurice rather indignantly retorted that
there were certain spectacles which des
erved sympathy rather than ridicule; and
we all agreed with that sentiment. The
incident passed by. No bones were brok
en.
After dinner we went outside: there
was still some warm color in the sky, and
the smooth river caught a faint glow as it
stole away under the dark-green trees.
The woods were quite now; in the twi
light there was no sound lint the soft rush
ing of the water over the weir; one began
to wish that these young people might
sing in the gathering darkness, down here
by the* side of the river. They were
Blinking of other things.
‘‘Of course, Miss Newton,” cays the tal
ler of the two gentlemen; “you will go
for an excursion on the river to-morrow?
The fact is, a man I know has put a little
toy steamer at my disposal—it is down at
Cookham just now—l could have it up
here for yon at any hour you chose.”
“A steamer?” says onr young American
friend, “what a shame it would be 10-bring
a steamer into this quiet placel”
The barometer of the young man’s face
falls ten degrees; that of his rival jumps
up a hundred.
“And that isn’t the worst of it,” says
the latter, eagerly. “Oh, no not at, all.
The joys of a trip in a small river steamer
are most multifarious. First you run
around. Then your waves upset a skiff,
and the two men in it make use of the
most awful langunge. Then yon take off
somebody’s outrigger. And so on, until
yon wish yon had never been born, and,
indeed, when you go ashore, your own
mother wouldn’t believe you ever had
been, for your identity is completely lost
and smothered up in the coal dustthat has
been showered on you. No, no, Miss
Newton, don’t yon be a ;I mean don’t
yon go in a river. Now, if yon really
want to enjoy the river, I’ll show you how.
Wo shall get a big Hat punt and moor it
out below the weir, and shall have luncheon
on board, end plenty of books, and a box
of colors. If yon like to spin for trout,
you can have my line. If you want to
sketch, you have all the scenery about you.
Now, that is how you ought to spend a
nice, idling, enjoyable day on the
Thamos. ”
Mr. Humphreys was quite pleased with
this burst of oratory. “Do yon like the
picture?” ho might have asked, in the
words of the romantic Claude Melnotte.
And she did like the picture. She said it
was charming. She hoped we should
have that boat.
“And the water-colors?” said Mr.
Maurice, with something of a sneer.
“Where do you propose to get them about
here?”
“I brought them with me,” replied his
rival with a certain majestic calm.
“Oh, do you paint, Mr. Humpreys?”
Miss Marv said directly.
“No, Miss Newton, I don’t. But I
knew that you did, anil so I brought the
colors.”
It wns not for a second or two that any
of us observed how this unblushing per
son leal tripped. lie had brought colors
for her. But had he not vowed anil sworn
that he was never so surprised in his life
as when he saw that carriage drive up to
the door oi the Complete Angler?
QUITMAN, (JA.. SATURDAY, JULY 18, 1574.
“Perhaps yon brought with you the
trout for which Miss Newton is to llsli?”
said the younger man, with a ghastly grin
on his face.
“Uli, dear, no, There are good trout
about here.”
“Neversaw any.”
“Perhaps not not at the end of your
own line, anyway. But if you will take
the trouble to look through Land and
Water for April, 18711, you will find a des
cription of a trout taken here which turned
the scale atsix pounds - there!”
“Ami the lmppy fisherman?”
"Was your humble servant."
Now, whether this was true or not. no
one could sav; for files of I,and and Wa
ter are not as common in the country as
buttercups The bold assertion, however,
scored one for Mr. Humphreys, and pretty
nearly put tho finishing touch to his rival's
resentment and chagrin. Wo began to
wonder*when those two would rush at
each other.
“Now, young people, ” said tho lady
who looks after us all, “don’t keep loung
ing nbout the river-side, or you will get.
chilled. You must all go out for a short
walk before bod-tinio, all except myself.
I am going indoors to unpack.”
In one moment tho young man had i
darted forward, lie would show Mihsi
Newton the shortest way round to the road
Was it nut a delightful evening for aslroll? j
and how differently situated one was in
the country.
Humphreys and I walked after these;
two, and our light-hem tod friend was I
most uncommonly morose. Sometimes
jho whistled; hut that from of gayoty j
j sounded strangely in the silence of the I
evening. Ho had his eyes fixed on the j
two figures before him, and kept pretty
close uiion them.
80 very still and calm was the eveniug
that wc could not hut overhear wlmt Miss
Mary aiul her companion were talking
about. Perhaps tho silence and tlic strange
twilight over tho woods had somewhat im
pressed them; but, at all events, they were
speaking in rather a sad way of the occur
rences of life, and of the fashion in which
hopes sprang up only destroyed by a ruth
less fate, and of the sympathy that was so
valuable in healing those wounds, and that,
was so rarely to ho met with. Young
Maurice had a gentle and pleasant voice;
he was talking in an undertone; those two,
as they walked together along the quiet
country road looked very like lovers.
My companion whistled another bar of
“The Minstrel Boy,” and then began to
yawn.
“I think I shall go back and have a
cigar before going to bed,” said be.
“Very well,” said J.
j “But you don’t moan to leave those two
walking on by themselves?” said he sharp
ly. Why that long-legged idot would go
stalking on to tho eraek of doom till lu
tumbled over the edge of the world. Call
him hack. Does ho want to drag the girl
to tho shores of tho German Ocean?”
4 called them; they turned and met us;
and there was for a moment a little eon
fusion. Ho immediately said to her, “Oh,
Miss New ton. I want to toll you what you
must do about to-morrow,” and then, bo
fore the poor girl knew whore she was, he
- had walked her off, and deposited tho
! wrathful and fuming Maurice with me. It
was a pleasant walk back to the inn—one’s
I companion being a young man whoso
! chief desire was to dispatch somebody or
other on a voyage to another world.
“Now,” said Mr. Humphreys to mo
that night, when hchadlit his second cigar
and mixed his parting glass, “now that
that spindle-shanked giraffe has gone to
bed. I will t-il you all that happened os wc
came back this evening. By Jove, what a
sweet and engaging creature that girl is
what a fine, tiling it would ho to have to
l ake her about always—to picture exliibi
; lions, you know, where your friends were
[ to dinner parties, drums, and all that; and
| then, when you were tired, to take a run
1 down to this quiet little spot and have in
( good time, all by yourselves. She isulil
tie tailor than I am, to he sure”—
“I thought you were going to tell me a
story.”
“All, yes. Well, no sooner had yo
started to walk homo than I found that
that milkfaccil wisp of straw had boon
malting the girl wretched by talking of
troubles and misfortune and the sympathy
of unhappy people with each other. Now,
yon know, that ain’t my line: and I didn’t
sec the fun of it; and says I to myself,
‘Just let’s sec what this girl is really un
happy about!’ You know, not onoof you
would tell mo”
“Surely it was not our business, even if
we had known.”
“Well,” said I, “dear Miss Newton, I
hear you have been rather unhappy.’ - She
sighed at this. Then I went on to tell
her that it wns very impertinent of roe to
ask about her private affairs, but she must
excuse the interest which I, in common
witii everybody else, felt in her; and
would she tell me something of the young
gentleman who was lost.
“Well,” said the attentive listener, “If
cheek has any buoyancy about it, there’s
no fear of your drowing. ”
“Oh, nry dear fellow,” remarked the
complacent gentleman' in gray, with a
quiet grin on his face; “I know how to
treat one of your very sentimental girls.
Hhe told me at once. He was her cousin,
f said his Vicing drowned must have been
a great shock to her; and she said that was
so; and yet she didn’t seem to make much
of it. Ho I said that people sometimes
exaggerated the concern you ought to
have in yonf relations; and that there were
cousins anil cousins. Siic said that was
true, almost in a cheerful voice, and ad
mitted that she did not know much about
the young man. ‘1 suppose,’ said I, ‘that
you relatives rather looked forward to your
marrying him as a sort of family affair —yon
know what I mean.’ Hhe said that was
so, too; and added, ‘poor young man 1’
Now, I’ll toll yon honestly I had come by
this time not to believe in the depth of her
misery about the elegant young gentleman
who was supposed to play Paul to her
Virginia; and I ventured to hint as much.
Hhe was not offended. In fact, she grew
quite lively; and was rather inclined to
poke fun at my curiosity, which she said
was the thing that Americans were blamed
for. ‘But what was he like ?’ said I, want
ing to see what she really felt about that
hero of a sentimental past. Would you
believe it —would you believe it, sir ?—sho
never even saw him. Moreover, it wasn’t
in corning to see her that he was drowned.
Why, bless you, I laughed; then she was
hurt, and said that the drowning of any
body was not a thing to be ridiculed; to
which I assented with such eagerness that
We immediately became very good friends
again. Silent sorrows! Why, sir, I will
undertake to have her skipping about like
a iamb in a couple of days ! Regrets, and
I l>nj*i<'<l affection*, and sympathy V—you
I won't Kt o much more of that wort of stuff I
j As for tlmt two yards’ length of attenuated
dumpling, I will cluck him in tho river if
lit' trios to stuff her hoad full of such trash
—-T will—l will, indeed. Lot that young
man beware !”
With this the truculent foliow tosses the
end of his cigar iuto tin* tire-place, just as
if he had been hearing his rival into tho
Thames, and then he w ent, off determined
to have a good sleep to prepare him for
the great events of the morrow.
CHAPTER 111.
THE CIIALiLKNGU.
Was she conscious of the internecine
war which was raging in this peaceful
spot., and of which alie was obviously the
cause ? Wo np*t Ihe young lady the next
morning just as she was going down stairs
to breakfast. She looked the very imper
sonation of all gentleness and innocence
and good nature. Tf angry passions were
raging elsewhere, she, at least, preserved
a cheerful serenity of mind.
.Doubtless tlioso two gentlemen had both
got up very early, on the chance of having
a little quiet talk w ith her if she happened
Ito h' taking the morning air. Doubtless,
1 too, they hud enjoyed each other's society
for an horn* or two beforo breakfast; they
wore both looking rather impatient when
j we w ent down.
“Oh, Miss Newton, may I give you
these dowers?’’ said the young man,
i bringing forward a very pretty little nose
| gay of w ild blossoms, which he Imd culled
j himself from I In' meadows and hedges.
“Thank von very much,” said she, and
he looked very pleased and proud. “And
tlmnk yon, too, Mr. Humphreys, for the
charming bouquet you sent mo (his morn
ing. It was so kind of you.”
Everybody stared; cveryboby except,
that stout, ami placid Machiavelli, on
whoso impassive face not even one smile
of triumph appeared. I tut. how bad he
contrived to get and solid her a bouquet
at such an hour ? He must have got the
flowers over night. He must, have lain in
wait for the maid, taking up hot water to
to Miss Newton’s room, and bribed her to
take the bouquet, and a little message at
the same time. Now, a man whose atten
tions to a young lady being before break
fast- who sends her a bouquet along with
her hot water means something serious.
“Aud now, Miss Newton,” said this
bold pel son, already asserting a sort of guar
dianship over her, “what are we to do to
day V Hindi wo make up a party ? The
morning is beautiful tho chostmite, the
red hawthorn, the laburnum, all are most,
lovely and as for tho river, you will be
delighted when yon go outside.”
Miss Newton made no answer, but
looked to us, her prep r guardians.
“I am not quite sure, Miss Newton,”
said Mr. Maurice, in a wort of scornful
way, “you’ll soon get heartily sick of Kit
ting in a fisherman's punt, doing nothing
hut watch someone elite trying to catch
lish that aren't IhijO. 1 don't believe
they’ve even got hero that wooden lish
that the landlords in some places moor
deep down in tho water so as to get peo
ple to come and fish for it. I suppose
you’ve heard that fisherman after fisher
man comes in and swears that the fish
made a rush at his fly more likely in tho
ease of a wooden fish than of a real one, 1
should say. You’ve heard what Dr. John
son ’
“You needn’t,” said the elder lover,
with a sudden fierceness “You needn't
take Miss Newton bin’ll to the. time of Dr.
Johnson for pedantry, stupidity and rude
ness. There is plenty ef all throe going
about in our own day. ”
Miss Newton looked alarmed, and said
gently:
“I shouldn't at all minil looking at some
one fishing, f don’t know how it is done
in English rivers.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Mr Humphreys,
getting quite cheerful again, “but don't
you imagine we ale going to victimize
you. Oh, no; what you must see, first of
all, is the beautiful scenery silent here.
Wo can drive from here to the Duke of
Sutherland's place at Oliefilen, then on to
Maidenhead Bridge and Taplow, then on
to Burnham Beeches, and back again an
other way. And I have a wagonette coin
ing at eleven for you."
Ami at eleven o’clock, sure enough,
there was f lic wagonette standing at the
door, and the whole of us submissively
went out as if we had been taken posses
sion of by this indefatigable Government
official. But how wore wo to sit ?
“Isay, Maurice,” Humphreys remark
ed, in a careless way, “I think you said
you knew tho country about liere ?”
“Oli, very well iniuwnl,” molt tile un
suspecting victim; “I know every inch oi
it.” t •
“Then perhaps you wouldn t mind sit
ting beside the driver and telling him
where lie ought to tako us ? Wouldli t
that ho the best way, Miss Newton?”
To appeal to her -it was cruel. She
said something very timidly in reply, and
the young man with black rage in bis heart,
got up beside the driver. When the la
dies were not looking, Humphreys winked
to me, but I could not encourage familiar
ity on the part of so unscrupulous a per
son.
Our young friend bait certainly a favor
able opprtunity that morning for making
the acquaintance of certain sorts of onr
English scenery iu the most charming as
pects. We drove through pleasant coun
try lanes, the hedge-banks of which were
brilliant with spring flowers; wo, passed
through tiny villages, and the cottage-gar
dens were smothered in blossoms; we
came upon glimpses of the blue river,
flowing smotlily through rich meadows
which Welo white with daisies; anil then,
again, through an opening in the trees we
could see the higher land beyond, with
C'liefdon woods, rich with the foliago of
the early summer, Miss Mary was indeed
delighted, and driving through the fresh
air had brought a color to her cheeks anil
alight to her eyes which rendered her
more than usually pretty. Then she
was most friendly with Mr. Hum
phreys; for somehow or other ho had put
tho notion into her head that this was lint
doing, anil she was grateful to him for ev
ery beautiful thing she saw. You would
have thought he planted those red chest
nut trees (three hundred years before) in
anticipation of her coming.
“And really, Miss Newton, you must
not go away from England without seehig
far more of it. Why should you go with
your parents to Baris ? Your other
two sisters are quite sufficient soci
ety for them. Baris! It is tho most mis
erable city in the world to spend a holi
day in. Tho white glare and heat of the
streets Aili blind you. Yon will lose all
tho health you have acquired here,and be-
gin to get horn 1 aches, and feel drowsy, and
disgusted with the whole of creation.
Now, how long did you say your parents
meant to stay in Paris before going hack
to America ?”
“Three months.”
“Then,” said lie promptly, “yon stay
with our good friends here for that time.
They will be delighted to have you, T
know; and, by and by they will be going
down into Surrey, where you will see
quite another sort of scenery, and sec
something of oyr English country life.
You will, wonT you ?”
Tho audacity of this person was re
markable. Of course we had to press Miss
Mary to stay; and although we did so hon
estly, one gererally wishes to have one’s
offers of hospitality proceed from one’s
self.f However, Mr. Humphreys seemed
calmly to ignore aU such little prejudices.
He told Miss Newton what she could ex
pect by givihg up tho trip to Paris and
staying with us. Ho gave her a descrip
tion of Box Hill aud Miekleham Downs
which would have been worthy of the po
et Thompson or of (leorge Hollins, the
auctioneer. The girl, of course, could
not promise; but she was evidently welt
inclined toward the proposal, and said she
would see w hat her parents said when they
cam© back from Edinburgh. All this, be it
observed, was overheard by the young
man sitting up in front.; what he thought
of it can only ho imagined for he main
tained amoroso and rigid silence.
“You see, my dear Miss Newton,” re
marked our gay friend, “you must do un
to others as you-would be doin' by. Now
I mean to give America three full
months- ”
“Oh, are you coming over?” the girl
said, her whole face inadvertantly light
ing up.
“Oh, yes,” he answered, in his ofl hand
way. “I have long purposed it. Now 1
shall do il in the autumn. When do you
say your papa will propably be going
back ?”
“About the beginning of September,”
she said; and then added quite unguarded
ly, “and what a pleusent thing it. would
he if we happen to liud you ill the sumo
si earner 1”
“Well,” said he sagely, “I have geuer
ally found that a man should never leave
such things to chance. It. is better to
play tlie good genius for yourself. Ac
cordingly, I think that if you go over to
America in the beginning of September,
and if you would kindly let mo know the
name of tho steamer, you may pretty con
lidently reckon on iitiding me- you may
call it by chance if you like—among the
passengers.”
“Oh, and wo could introduce yon to so
many nice people- n amnia would bo most
delighted to do so. But do you really
mean to go over ?”
*T give you my word of honor,” said
ho, “that if yon w ill tel! me wlmt steamer
you go back to America by, l shall go by
ihat steamer too, and take three months’
holiday in tho Hlatefl. Is that explicit ?
m shall I put the terms of the contract in
writing ?”
Now, an extraordinary incident occurred
at this moment. Humphreys, with an
amiable smile on his face, suddenly called
out—
“! say, Maurice, it must lie uncommonly
slow for you up there. Come on in here,
and 1 11 change places with you.”
Could ft more courteous offer have been
made ? The young man refused sulkily.
Then lie was pressed; and at. last, consented.
Mr. Humphreys got up beside the driver;
and presently wo heard him begin In chuff
that serious person in a fashion which
brought many a smile to Miss Mary's
lips. Hite was evidently listening more to
him than to us.
We drove up and through the beautiful
woods nf (Uii fihm, the birds singing all
around us, the white clouds sailing
through the blue overhead. We drove on
to Burnham Beeches, and there, in the
midst of the forest, mw the great gnarled
and twisted gray trunks, to which even
the must imaginative of Londoners make
pious pilgrimages. We drove back to
Maidenhead bridge, and had luncheon at.
the inn there, and went down to the river
and wandered about for an hour: then we
get into the wagonette again and set out.
for Marlow. All this time the most patient
and winning efforts of the elder lady of
our party were ineffectual iu smootiug
down the savage feelings of tho young
man who sat beside us.
“There is nothing,” ho said to Miss
Mary “which vexes me so much as a show
of coarse joviality and plnwboy wit when
one is in Iho midst of beautiful scenery.
A day like this reminds you of many things
vou had half forgotten ; and w hen tin so an
sooialions are present to tho muni, painful
and sad as many of them may lie, it is not
pleasant to be shocked by an impertinent
jocularity. Don’t you think so ?”
“But why should a pretty piece of coun
try make you sail ?” she said, quite natur
ally and cheerfully, “it ought to raise
one’s spirits.”
Ife said no more after that; and, indeed,
a silent person is apt to be overlooked if
lie have four companions all sufficiently
talkative.
When we got back to Marlow the ladies
wont indoors; we three strolled round to
the meadows by the side of tho river, I
did not at all like the looks of the young
man’s face; there was mischief brood
ing.
“I suppose,” said he to ltc in rather a
loud and ostentatious fashion, “that Miss
Newton is under your care?”
“She is for the present.”
“And how do'yon like,” ho continued
in the same loud fashion, “her making an
assignation tube accompanied to America
bya gentleman who hasonly been casually
introduced to her parents, and of whom
neither she nor they know anything ?”
“If you mean me, young gentleman,”
said his rival, ceasing to whistle “laivc’s
Young Dream,” “I’d advise yerti to be a
little more respectful.” . ..
“Ago commands respect certi'iinly, wu<l
the young man with an unmistakable
sneer. , , j
“Yes, and schoolboys, when they don t
show it, get whipped," remarked the eth
er, beginning to whistle again.
“I’ll tell you what it is,” exclaimed
Maurice, turning fiercely round, “I’ll tell
you what my opinion is, that a man who
t ries to entrap a young girl into a clandes
tine appointment, and he old enough to
be her father, is no better than a cad--1
said tail, sir.” .
“Oh, did you ? Did you really ? said
Mr. Humphreys.
Now. there is an operation which, in
the vulgar tongue, is knowu as “balloon
ing,” and which consists in seizing a per
son from behind by the eiillnr of his coat
and by another portion of his attire anil
driving him on before you. A person
who is tlnis “ballooned” is very helpless;
he may squeal, or use bad language, or
try to kick, but on he must. go. Well, no
sooner had Mr. Maurice uttered these last
words than Mr. Humphreys immediately
laid hold of him in the manner above de
scribed, and began to run him down the
slope of the meadows to the side of the
river. The younger man did squeal
with absolute rage he did use bad lan
guage, and with mightand main struggled
to got free, llis eqemy with a shout of
decisive laughter which rang through the
place held him firm and drove him right
down to the stream. The whole affair hail
taken place so quickly that there was no
ehauoe of interference; and it was all over
in a second.
For, as it happened, there was a log of
wood lying concealed among the grass by
tho river’s sidt ; Maurice, tripping over it,
stumbled and fell headlong into the water;
while Humphreys, stumbling also, but
having proper warning, fell, but managed
to save himself from going into the stream.
TJio iu-xt minute Maurice had scrambled
out ngniu through the rushes, dripping
from head to heel, and trying to get his
wet hair out of hit) eyes. His list was
quietly floating down tho Thames.
His rival stood firm. T fully expected
to bo tho unwilling witness of a combat
like that which the lover of Helen of
kirkcomicll describes when, by the river
side, he drew* his sword and hacked his
rival “in pieces small.” But the young
man wasa wise young man; ami who can
fight with one’s eyes blinded and one’s
garments heavy with water?
“You shall hear from me within nn
hour,” said he, ominously, as he made for
the garden of the inn, by which way he
had hoped to get in unperceived to the
bouse.
Then ensued n st range and wild sconce.
The elderly gentleman tossed his wide
awake into the air. lie caught it coming
down, nml kicked it a dozen yards out into
the long grass. Then, with him hands in
the air, he performed a savage dance of
joy, snapping his lingers and calling out.*
“H < >\v hath the cheeky fallen ! He
hath been overcome and vanquished, ut
terly smote out and annihilated, scrunch
ed up and knocked into everlasting
.smithereens. My dear friend, shall we
have a drink on the strength of this ? ’Tin
now the witching hour of half past six,
when he who loves his dinner might have
a tiny glass of sherry -nichl wuhr ?”
llis friend took a more sober view of
the situation.
“The best tiling you can do is to com
pose your nerves with something else than
sherry. You’ll have to light that young
man as soon as ho gets dry clothes oil
yon may as well make up your mind to it.” j
“Aud who’s afraid ?” said lie. “Who’s
of that sand-colored bell-rope that
elongated pelican—that indefinite length
of Sydenham trowsers and shirt collar?
Bah ! I will twist him round the trunk of
a tree, and people will mistake him in the
morning for a snake that has died of u
billiufts attack J”
CIIAITKII IV.
tub mini,.
In a very short space of titno tho young
man eaine Out. again, dressed in another
suit of clothes. Ho went past us rapidly,
without speaking. Wo Haw him cross the
bridge and go into tho town.
“Now, what is ho up to?” said Mr.
Humphreys, a trifle more serious.
He is either gone to get a policeman to
give you in charge for assault, or to get a
pair of pistols at an ironmonger’s.”
“Pistols!" said Mr. Humphreys, con
temptuously; “that wouM be lik6 the
lunatic. ”
And it was; for a few moments after Mr.
Maurice returned, and coming up to his
rival, firmly and courteously informed
him that ho meant to light hint; that he
did not think he would have a fair chance
in a Vulgar boxing match, but. that he had
bought a pair of pistols with which they |
could settle their quarrel in the adjoining i
meadow. Mr. Humphreys listened with a
laugh on his face; then he saw that, it was 1
no good making a joke about it; and fin-1
ally, stung by a chance remark of his op
ponent, lie said, “All right; come along 1”
“Now, what was the third person who
was tho 4 spectator of all this folly to do ?
The whole affair seemed so incredibly
ridiculous that to call any one’s attention
to it might have been compromising, and
yet, to all appearances, these two were go
ing down to the side of the river to load
these pistols and fire them at each other.
“I thought,” said I, “that when gentle
men in France went out to fire half-loaded
weapons at each other, they generally took
with them a doctor, to make believe the
ihing was serious. Don’t you mean to
have a doctor, or t nceouils, or any re
porter to send a romantic accouut to the
Figaro ?”
We shall do very well by ourselves,"
said the young man; and the two imbeciles
walked off.
There remained but one thing for hie to
do. In a certain chamber in that old
fashioned iun there was a lady dressing
for dinner; and when she is putting flow
ers in her hair she does not like to lie dis
turbed. However, when I represented to
her the deadly schemes of these two peo
ple whom we could see walking down to
the meadow, she quite forgot the last yel
low rosebud, and caught at a light shawl,
which she threw round her head mid
shoulders.
“Shall we tell them the truth?” said
she.
“What truth?” said I; “only, whatever
truth you have to tell them, you’d better
look sharp."
What a placid eveuing was shining all
around when we hastened down Ut the
river-the sweet-hriaf of the garden scout
ing the air, and the beautiful tints in the
sky showing on the clear bosom of the
Thames ! We conkl see those two black
figures down by the tall, green rushes.
They hail apparently settled the prelimi
naries, aud were now some dozen yards
apart.
“They see us how—oh, the Wo gables !”
said my companion.
The notion of bringing ti, lady Mi the
scene was obviously successful; hhe could
see each of them smuggling something
away into his coat pocket. When wo ar
rived on the spot they were evidently con
templating the beauty of the scenery; while
Mr. Humphreys, with a charming care
lessness, asked us if we had seen the rush
of young firsli to tho surfaco—obviously
getting out of the way of a pike.
“No, I did not,” said my companion,
with a gracious smile. “I have been too
busy thinking how I should scold you two
gentlemen. What do you mean by going
nway liy yourselves in this manner, in
! stead of waiting in the garden until Miss ’
Newton come down ? You ought to pay
liar ovary altoiition wliilo alio la our guest;
olherwiso alio will not think much of our
English jiooplo, and sho will have a had
account of iih to give to Mr. Mt. Vincent."
"Mr. Bt. Viucout?” they both repeated
mechanically.
“Yob,” whs tho innocent, nftswor, "tho
gentleman whom she is to Itiarry as soon
as sho returns home. "
There was a strange pause. Mr. Hum
phreys begun to stare about and thistle.
Tho other gentleman, looked imcomfortn-'
ble, and blushed hotly.
“But 1 shall forgive yon if you come
back to the inn at ones,’’ said their gen
ie monitress, “and indeed dinner will bn
waiting for na in twenty minutes. You
you won’t mind my running back by my
self. "
When she bail gone the two men looked
at each other for a mofrient. aud then
young Maurice with contemptuous
smile tossed his pistol jn among the reeds.
Another splash tolil us that tho second
weapon had followed it. Then they stoisl
and looked at each other again.
“Look hern old chap, the older gen-
Ileinan said, in a bland fashion; “there
isn’t much use in making a fuss about this:
I bag your pardon for any awkward littlo
thing that may have oeeiurad. When a
man is made a fool of by Ti tiomnn lie’s
not responsible f6r llis nations what do
you think ?”
“I quite think so, ” said the other; and
they shook hands amicably.
Next inoru'lfig .mf t#> friehds dinenv
ared that urgent liusines* called them
away to 1 londou. and they left us with
many expressions of regret. It was re
marked, moreover, by a certain gentle
eyed young lady, that no reference had
been made to that compact about a trip frf
the United States.- William Muck in N.
Y. Times.
[ Wanliingtoi. better to Cincinnati (tnmmercisl. j
TOO MRS IN TUB'. WHITE HOUSE.
The visit, of Mr. Toombs to the Tresi
dent hasmiturally nttruntedmuch attention
and in conversation with some friends last
evening wo were told how it. happened.
Mr. Toombs was on a visit 10 his intimate
friend, Augustus Perry, Esq., a meroieinl
of considerable prominence. The morning
after the arrival of his guest, Mr. Ferry
drove with him to see their mutual friend,
William Corcoran, Esq. in passing tlie
tho White House, Ferry jOeosely re
marked:
“Toombs, you had belter go in and nee
Grant.”
“Oh, 6; T r'-a not a citizen of this
country,” retorted the Southern Gen
eral.
NO. 11.
Nothing more was said, and they drove
around the beautiful Lafayette Square,-
alive with the chattering of children anil
chirping of birds, and tilled with the fra-’
glance from the hearts of a hundred lilos
-B**ll im, past, it all to the quaint,irregular pilo
of bricks forming the picturesque home of
Corcoran, the banker. There they were
Cordially received, and spent several hours
in pleusatit chat with the venerable host,
who can be {lie Uihst agreeable, and tlieif
again the curtest, man in Washington.'
tin leaving, Hie driver, who wished to'
avoid the uoobTestfines covering the road
way of H, from Eighteenth street, to Ver
mont avenue turned his horses and again
drove down the avenue: As they were
nearing tho l'resident’s, Tdomlis said:
“Berry, if 1 were to go to a foreign
country, ’’it surely, if practicable, pay
my respects to the potentate of that coun
try.”
“Why not, then, go to see yottr Brcsi
dcut ?”
Tho order was gfvoft, and tno horses
were soon reiguefi in front of the Execu
tive Mansion Alighting, they went in
up the lung (tight of steps and into tho
room where so much weary, heart-weary
ing, soul killing, patient-waiting is done
—where they found the mmol crowd, some
on idle business, sonio on matters pertain
ing hi life and death. There was a sail
faoed woman come here for the pardon of
her son, convicted of forgery and sent tef
the Albany penitentiary- with her is the
gland-father of the erring man, who
strives in cVefy way known to his rough
nature to. soothe thft distressed mother.
The Cards of Mr. Berry and General
Toombs are taken in, hut the fear express
ed that his Excellency could see no one
until after 1 o’clock. Scarcely a moment
elapsed when the mcssoCger returned and
called r
“The President will see Gen. Toombs
and Mr. Berry.”
On entering the room Gen. Grant rose
to receive them; and Gen. t Ton mbs
Hnid:
“1 am Cut a citizen of this count ry, Ocn.
Grant, hut lieing in town I have called to
see you (is thC fulcr Of this nation.”
On, never mind about that, Gen.
Toombs,” answered Grant, “sit down. I
am glad to see you at last, for 1 hunted
very unsuccessfully after you during the
war.”
Tho interview hmted nearly two lioUrs,
and was characterized by the greatest jol
lity imaginable. Atone time the Conversa
tion turned on eotton, and Gen. Toombs
was amazed to find tlio President knew
almost as much as lie did. Gen. Grant
has been uniformly hirfd to all Bouthcm
people who have nought lavors at Ins
hands, and among the people of that ile
si rouble country he hnsmuny warm,staunch
friends.
AN INDEX TO MAHUIAOE.
It don't require aiV asirbfbgcf, a medium
6r a gypsy with a direct pack of curds. It
is very simple, lies in a nutshell, and can
lie expressed in a few words. They aro
those:
The Inst peMofi yon Itotfld naturally
think of. If a gift expressed a fondness
for majestic men with large whiskers,
made up your mimrthat she will marry n
very stria II rrmn with none, if she declares
that “mind” is all she looks for, expect to
see her stand before tlio attar With a pretty
fellow who bus just sense enough to tie a
cravat bow. If, ou the contrary, she de
clares sire whist have a handsome 1 tisbhnd,
look about you for the plainest person m
her circle of acquaintance, and declaro
“that is the man,” for it will be. Men
are almost as bad. Tlio gentleman who
desires a wife with a mind and mission,
rnarries a lisping baby who screams at the
sight of a mouse, and hides her face w hen
she hears a suddell knock at the door.
And the gentleman who dreaded anything
like strong-mindedness, exults in the fact
that his wife is exactly everything that he
declared he detested. If a girl says of one
“Marry him 1 I'd rather die,” look upon
the affair as settled, and expect curds to
the wedding of those people. If a man
remarks Of a Indy, “Not my style at all !"
await patiently an appearance oT his name
in the matrimonial column in connection
with that very lady’s. And if any two
people declare themselves “friends and
nothing moro,” you know wliat will eorno
next.
This from the Fort Valley Mirrvr ;
“George Bass, a negro delegate from
Houston county to the convention that re
nominated social equality Freeman for
Congress, says ho did eall oil Freeman to
congratulate him, an I that while in the
house ho partook of the hospitalities of
Freeman's table.”