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VOLUME I.
omgig** mi.
’ THE COUSINS.
BY MISS S. a. STUART.
CHAP. I.
fright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike,
\ml like the sun, they shine on all alike.”
n \nd now for a little cozy talk with you,
• \fnfv,” said Florence Leigh, as she drew
cousin i nai j ’ . , ° , r
1 > arm chair near enough to the tire to en
ll\(\ ‘ her t° place, her feet comfortably on the fen
j !;• “1 do so like to sit and talk dreamily over
jl lC ’f irc after every one has gone to bed, and
double inducement offers to night, over and
nhovc this state of dolca par niente , namely the
opportunity it will afford me of making the ac
piKiintance of mv little quiet coz, and also of
learning something of your village gossip. Ido
hope I°sliall enjoy myself whilst I stay here,
and as the main point towards that same enjoy
ment, tell me what eligible beaux you have among
YOU.
“The two gentleman, whom you saw here to
ni-dit,” answered Marv, “together with some
few others, who will probably call on you in a
dav or two, are at present our only gallants. 1
also hope that you may enjoy yourself, as l assure
vou nothing shall be wanting on mv part, and 1
imi satisfied 1 can answer also for papa and
mamma.”
“but you have so few beaux! Bv-the-bve,
that Mr. Herbert who seemed to live but in your
presence, is very handsome.”
“bn you think so ? ” replied Mary.
“Do I think so! yes, and if I am not much
mistaken, my cousin Mary does not differ much
in opinion from me. Come, tell me cousin, frank
ly Ido love secrets, is he not your lover. lam
wniiin? tnr vour confidence, and nothing surely
aw make us quicker friends than a few secrets.”
** I have none, however,” said Mary, and as
she spoke ablush overspread her sweet face, and
rising, she said: “cousin Florence you must
really excuse me, but lam very sleepy. lon see
I treat von as if I had known you all my life,
fori stand, candle in hand, to show you your
chamber.”
“That is just what I like. Maty,” said I” lorence
as she relinquished her enviable seat, “ and l
must thank you too, for reminding me that my
late city hours will not suit you quiet people here.”
The room into which Mary now conducted her
cousin was next her own, and after bidding T lor
nice “good night ” she left her. Her cousin,
however, stood humming some tune as she t urned
over several prettily bound books on the mantel,
and at last opening one, on the blank page of
which was written “To Miry, from Geotge,
she exclaimed sot to voce. “ Ihe sly thing ! I knew
there was something of the sort between them ,
and she is so close, that she is determined I
not find oat her secrets. Ah : but Miss Maiy,
you do not know how dangerous 1 may piove as
a rival, if you will not secure me as amend. 1
would give much to know how in ine woiid my
wise father found out the contemplated escapade,
°l \\ illiam Eustace and myself; and as penance,
and for security, forsooth, here am I? ?>eut bag
and baggage to rusticate with these hum-uium
folks. Well! I shall die, that is certain, unless 1
can get someone to flirt with ; and if Maiy, with
her still tongue, will not put confidence in me as
her friend, then, in self-defence, I am aft aid 1
shall have to act as her rival.” She smiled as
she turned to the glass and saw her beautiful face
laughing out so brightly upon her. “ How 1 do
wish William knew of mv being here ; it would
he quite delightful to out wit my good fathei aftet
all, was the prayer offered by this dutiful daugh
ler as she prepared for bed.
How mysterious are the feelings which some
times creep into the heart, as it were, warning
instinctively, whom to shun, by the almost
*1 mil imparted by their presence, seeming ere we
lave c °me into actual contact, that a secret foe is
• a presentiment as tins had been felt.
- * Leigh when her cousin f lorence first
made her appearance in their Eden of happi
,ness ‘ Jt seemed, to her, that though the present
knew no cloud to o’ershadow the sunlight <>f con
tent men tin which she was placed, that the halcyon
t nv would not long continue, and that she should
know sorrow, i n somewise connected with her
eousin. Her reserve, therefore, we may not call
U hi ness, arose in some degree from this feeling.
Almost idolised bv her parents, whose only
1 11 f l s he was, she hardly knew what it was to
‘ n ° a wish ungratified. And love also had found
in her"“ heart* of hearts,” for she loved
purge Herbert as only those can love, who, for
le first time, give up all their hopes and fear,
; IGlr present, their future, to the keepingmf some
. ne |J on e. She had been accustomed from child
-1 f) d s earliest days to loving him, and it would
,liNe appeared most strange to her had it been
(otherwise. Their families were on the most in
timate terms, and often and over had Mary 7 listened
to the elder people when she was allotted out in
the vista of the future as the wife of her play
mate and hoy lover, George. Since his return
from college, some three months back, he had
visited Mary on the same familiar terms ; and
she, perfectly 7 contented and happy in the present,
never thought of the future, for though George
had never asked her to be his wife, yet she was
satisfied that he loved her, and that at some fu
ture day r she would become Mrs. Herbert. Such
was the state of affairs when Florence Leigh
came on a visit for the winter to the family of’ her
uncle. Lively, accomplished, and beautiful, it
may be that Mary dreaded her as a rival, for she
had had an inkling ofher coquettish propensities ;
and our Mary was not without human frailties,
perhaps she had jealousy of her cousin, which may
somewhat account for her presentiment in regard
to her cousin’s advent.
CHAP. 11.
“ Oh, what a change como3 over that sad heart
Where all was joyous, light and free from care,
All thoughts of peace do for a time depart
And yield to rage, to anguish and despair.”
George Herbert too. our hero—to be sure we ,
must have a hero —was a handsome, noble-spiri
ted fellow as ever the summer sun shone upon,
and with rather more romance in his disposition
than suits this our “ working day” world. He
had formed some utopian scheme of happiness in
this life, and the divinity, whom when found he
was to enshrine in this temple of his worship—
was to bo an angel —a woman, without a fault—
I am sure 1 cannot tell where he would find her
—beautiful as a Peri and loving him devotedly,
[n idealizing this goddess she invariably took the.
form and features of Mary Leigh, and by dwell
ing upon this semblance.be became really in love
with her. An excellent musician himself, he had
but one blemish to find in Mary’s charms, we
can’t call it: a fault, and we all know that there
are spots even in the sun —and that was, she had
no “ music in her soul,” or at least though she
possessed in speaking a sweet, low voice, “that
most excellent thing in woman,” as Shakspeare
says, vet could Marv neither play nor sing.
Ere Florence therefore had passed one month
with her cousin, she would chain George Herbert
to her side, enchanted and dazzled by her well
strained, exquisite voice, and taste in her execu
tion, and having with her intuitive perception oil
character found out our hero’s - penchant , deter-j
mined in her own mind to eclipse her fair cousin.
She left no means untried to accomplish this end
proposed. Is it therefore to be wondered at that
night after night found George seated by her side
at the piano, accompanying her and listening to
her as she played for him his favorite airs which,
as I said before, from her taste in playing, derived
ever new beauty.
Poor Mary endeavored to hide her jealousy as
she found herself thus deserted ; but her oft-times
brightened color and somewhat petuient replies
to George and Florence, showed that the “green
eyed monster ” was at work within.
Florence, more deeply read in the heart than
die pure minded, childlike Mary, knew that it
was nut love which kept George Hei belt by nci
side, and piqued that she had not in reality ob
tained that masterv over Marv she had anticipa
ted. tried yet more to widen the breach she saw
existing between them, caused by the coldness of
her cousin. For this purpose she insinuated her
self into his confidence ; and under the maH* of
friendship for them both, said those things to one
about the other, which though trivial in tnem
selves, yet to each “ was confirmation strong, as
proofs from holy writ,” that now no love existed
in the hearts of either. .
The next best thing to conversing with trie
loved one, is the talking with a friend about that
one, and though George often sighed and secretly
lamented that they were not as they used to be;
nnd though he oftentimes came to the resolution
of straving from Mr. Leigh’s ; yet, the grat.hea
non of seeing Mary’s lovely lace and talking
with Florence concerning her, coaid not be with
stood, and the resolution was only framed to be
One evening thev were all seated in the draw
in<r room looking at some books of beautiful en
graving that Mrs. Leigh had received. George s
?nirits'were unusually high, for Marv had ap
peared to him more like the Mary of former dn vs.
whilst she joined merrily in the laagh which ne
had raised; and had once or twice ounng .he
evening called him “ George as was her cus
tom till of late. f h power and
Florence began totiemn e lor m . | )f
endeavored to draw George’s attention to hew If
bv some little maneuvering, which had faded , and
a las. recourse had opened .he p,ano and com
menced his favorite song, the one m which he in
variably joined.
SAVANNAH, GA,. THURSDAY, OCTOBER 11. 1819.
I Still George kept his seat, he was holding the
book for Mary and looking lovingly into her eyes
as lie commented on the prints. At length an
idea came into Mary’s mind, clouding her now
‘gladsome face, that she was detaining him by
| her side, against his will, through mere politeness.
“ Why do you not,” said she, “join Flor
ence ? ”
“ Because I am selfish, and find myself more
agreeably employed than usual.”
“ Thank you George, but never pay me com
pliments fori dislike them” but the smile which
brightened both eye and lip showed that she was
pleased.
“’ Tis no compliment I assure you, Mary,”
said George in a grave tone. “To you I always
mean what 1 say, but here lately you have not
been to me as usual, nor allowed me to talk as
formerly without a curl of contempt or doubt on
your lip. Tell me what 1 have done to cause
ibis difference ? ”
“ Difference! I am sure I am conscious of
none,” but the tell-tale blush belied her words,
and she hesitatingly answered—“at least in my
self.”
How true it is we can neyer see the fault in
ourselves, but wish ever to make others the scape
goat for our misdemeanors. Here was Mary in
good faith denying her part in the coldness from
which she had been suffering for some time, and
laying the blame on George !
“But, Mary, why did you”
“ Secrets —and from me ! Why 3-011 and Mary,
Mr. Herbert, oughl really to be ashamed of your
selves—t alking secrets when only three are in the
room. Do you really wash me to consider my
self ‘ Mademoiselle de Trop ,’ or in the same un*
wished-for situation of the old grandame, whom
her hopeful grandchild, when in her presence
with only the cat, wished one of the three was
dead; at the same time making his meaning
plain, by saying, It aim me and it amt you, pussy.
Come, tell me tooand Florence deliberately
seated herself, and, looking into Mary’s face, en
deavored to read what was passing.
“ Certainly no secrets,” said Mary, “ for you
know, Florence, I have told you 1 never had
one.”
“ l thought you made Miss Florence your con
fident in every thought,” said George.
“Who, J? No, indeed,” said Mary. “I never
told vou anything in my life. Have I, Florence ?”
“ Oh, no;” but the light laugh contradicted the
words, and the tone was such we use to humor a
spoiled child.
At once anew light began to dawn on Mary.
She now saw, as in a glass, plainly the cause of
the estrangement between herself and George.
Florence had been making mischief; and site
had aided her by her own behaviour! She se
cretly and termined on an explanation with George,
and at once satisfy herself and unmask Florence.
She was aroused from her reverie by George Her
bert’s bidding her cousin “good night;” and al
most unconsciously she smiled and held forth her
hand to him, as she had ever done, until Flor
ence’s ill-fated visit to herself.
“ So George lias proposed and been accepted.
Is it not so, Mary V inquired Florence. \ou must
really excuse my ill-timed intrusion ; but l thought,
poor simpleton that I am, that there was no aJJ a ire
ducoeur between you.”
“ Nor is there now,” -said Maty.
“Well, what was he so earnestly whispering
to you about, then ?”
“ Nothing,” replied her cousin, quietly 7 , but
with a smile, at Florence’s pique and curiosity.
“ I do declare, cousin Mary, you are provoking,
for you are as reserved with me now, as the iirs>t
day i came ; and here have I been nearly two
months. Good night,” and she hastily lifted her
candle, and, without waiting for Mary, ran up the
stairAo her room.
chap. nr.
“No cloud
Os ringer slinil remain, but pGaco assured
And reconcilement.’ ’
A week passes on, and they are busy for the
Ball which has been for sometime contemplated
at the village hotel. The morning of the Ball
brought a note from George Herbert to Mary, re
questing the pleasure of being her escort, accom
panied bv two beautiful boquets, for hei ana hei
cousin Florence.
As Mr. Leigh also intended being of their party,
an answer in the affirmative was returned, and
soon after breakfast the girls retired to their sep
arate apartments, to make some preparation foi
the evening.
On their entrance into the Ball room, Mary
noticed a gentleman, who seemed a stranger;
but who, the moment her own party 7 entered, ad
vanced to Florence, and, after the usual recogni
zance, was introduced by her to the remainder of ;
their party 7 , as “ Mr. Eustace.”
Florence seemed much agitated and confused
at first, more than Mary had ever seen her; but
her embarrassment soon wore off, and she became
by far the gayest of the assembly.
| Mary, too, was happy, for George had been
! her shadow all the evening; had danced but once
with her cousin* who, indeed, had been entirely
monopolized by Mr. Eustace; and she was now
rapidly returning to the tone and manner ol hap
pier days.
She had taken her place in the cotillion again
with George Herbert, as her partner, when Flor
erfee approached. “ Marv, if von miss me, I
came to tell you that 1 am just going into the
dressing-room to mend my slipper, which has
split; but you need not trouble yourself to go
with me,” as Mary offered to accompany Iter, “ J
do not. mind going alone.”
Mary danced with George the remainder of
•the evening, and when her father came to remind
her of the lateness of the hour, she thought of her
cousin for the first time, and was surprised to find
that she had not returned to the ball room. She
inquired for her, but could obtain no information.
Alarmed, she sent for her father, and told him of
her absence. He comforted her by the assurance
that she had undoubtedly gone home with Mr.
Eustace, not wishing to carry her home so early.
When Mary and her father arrived, their fears
were renewed by learning that Florence had not
been at home. Immediately the gentleman re
turned to the hotel, to make inquiries concerning
Mr. Eustace.
“He has started three hours ago,” said the
ostler.
“ Was there a lady with him ?”
“Yes, sir, two; the lady, who came with him,
but was too unwell to go into the ball room, and
another.”
“ Which road did they take ?”
“ I does’nt know, for certain, sir, but thinks they
took the New York road.”
No further information could be obtained, and
Mr. Leigh returned to his family, and wrote to his
brother, who resided in New York.
A week elapsed, and no news had arrived from
the fugitives. In the meantime George Herbert
had proposed, and Marv, still remembering bis
attentions to her cousin, was inclined to keep him
in suspense, when the following letter from the
ci-devant Florence Leigh arrived, and did as much
towards expediting his suit, as she had before re
tarded it:
New York, 1343.
Dear Cousin Mary : Were you not all very much
surprised when yoi could not find me on the night
of your village fM ? I knew it would create quite
a sensation; and that was partly my reason for
complying with William’s request to elope with
him from the ball. By-the-bye, how do you and
vour country beau come on ? Have you made up
your pet, and forgotten me? You must really
excuse me for my little essay at flirtation with the
interesting youth, as it was pure compassion on
mv part which induced me to give him his first
lesson, and, 1 must add, a little, just a tiny desire,
on mv part to pique my say-nothing cousin, who,
I believe, imagined I could not keep a secret.
To prove to you, however, that I not only could
but really did keep one, 1 will tell you now that I
was in constant correspondence with W illiam
Eustace, and was an accomplice in his plan to
carry me off the night of your party. Don’t
you recollect I would wear not hing but white, but
what is the use of reminding you whose head,
and heart too, was entirely taken up with George
Herbert. Well ! success to yoi now, though I
expect dearly as you love him, you had rather
“ pine away and die ” than run away and be
happy. ?a has received us, what else could he
do ? The only fault he finds with William is.
that he will drink a little and play ecarte ; but 1
will get him to leave off tho se gentlemanly vices, if
I can, if not, 1 have no one to blame for future
unhappiness but myself. My, respects to aunt
Leigh and uncle, ami believe me, for all the amuse
ment vou and your lover have aflbrded ire, I re
main, Your obliged Cousin,
FLORENCE EUSTACE.
p. g.—As they say the pith of a lady’s letter
lies alwavs in the addenda, 1 must no; depart- in
tins case from the general rule. Please tell George
Herbert that those little romances I told him about
vou, were only “ pour passer le Urns," 1 and owed
their invention entirely to the fertility of mv ima
gination and to idleness, which the old copy-books
wisely teaches us to be “ the root of all evil.” I
hope you both will accept my “ amende honorable
Yours, F. E.
Colonel’s Island, Oct., 1349.
Love and Friendship. —Love is the shadow of the
morning, which decreases as the day advances.—
Friendship is the shadow of the evening, which
strengthens with the setting sun of life.
NUMBER U