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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.”