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. easiness, and me great delight. He knows only
[ whence they come—know you whither they
have gone: into the most hallowed chamber of
f my heart. Mail your letters anywhere but at
Princeton; my answers will be retnrned through
a confidante in Morristown,
f Your Louisa.’’
Thenceforward Mr. Mitten could hardly do
anything but write letters. The two friends
. soon became so much attached to each other,
| that they interchanged pledges of perpetual
union. The “ hundred thousand dollars’’ were
f now safe, and college honors sank to insigifi
canoe in the estimation of Mr. Mitten. He
studied only to graduate, and in the short space
|f of four months, dropped trom the head below
the middle of his class. The “ hundred thou
-3 sand” were a good way off, and his demands for
* money were immediate and pressing. To meet
the exigencies of the time present, he concluded
to try his skill at cards with the “ Regular
. Panel” of Princeton. He was very successful,
■ but still he forgot Mr. Beach. The club, of
course, had refreshments, to counteract the effect
L of sedentary habits and constant watchings.
They met at Mr. Mitten's room, and as ho had
3 been very successful, he was very libyfal
. in his supplies of good cheer. The young gen
| tlemen enjoyed themselves quietly until about
1 one o’clock A. M., when they became rather
troublesome to a Professor in an adjoining do"' I
J mitory. The Professor rose, dressed him*-’ I ''
and Went to Mitten’s room door —limped
> awhile and knocked. . “Walk in,” said -bitten.
{ The Professor attempted to open the <*’ or > but it
j was locked. A shuffling of feet, * moving ot
[ chairs, and a rattling of glasses, cre “ e ® r “’
I and the door was opened. Tb Professor step
ped in, found a table set out »* the middle of the
. room, with two candles od b b, ' rnt dov '’ n nearly
to the socket-two fello- 3 , 0 " Mutcn 3 with
all their clothes on, atleep-two more in Ins
, room-mate’s bed, c/ered over with a counter
pane, except as " the heel of one boot-anoth
. er just bed unde ' “
least he was near that bed)
L another 3eated at the table studying the
' Greek lexicon —while Mr. Mitten, who opened
the d'Ci'iwas pacing the room in manifest indig
t na* on - Though not exactly intoxicated, he had
simulated his nervous system up to an unwont
ed degree of independence—while the Professor
was very coolly making liis observations, (for he
, was a man of nerve.) “ Well, sir,” said Mitten,
«I hope you havo nosed about a dormitory in
L which you have no business, to your satisfac
‘ tion.” (Here one of the sleepers, whose face
was to lights, turned abruptly over with a
sleepy snort: and the Greek student saw a
funny word in the Lexicon at which he gave a
little chuckle. “ Not quite,” said the Professor,
calmly.
" Well, sir,” continued Mitten, “ I think I can
convince the Facnlty, and if not the Faculty,
, the Trustees, that you have no right to be pok
-1 ing about another Professor’s dormitory of
, nights."
‘ May-be so,” said the Professor coolly, and
still “ poking about.”
This was the Professor of Mathematics, who
had repeatedly provoked Mr. Mitten, by pressing
questions upon him at recitation which lie could
not answer. This is considered very impolite
I in all Colleges.
‘ (to be continued.)
• — _
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
1 THREE YEARS OF HEART-HISTORY.
■ BY KATY-DID.
“ Put down the tongs, Joe, and stop punching
at the fire; it makes my head ache.”
“Why, ma, I’m just watching the sparks fly;
l they look so pretty as they go up the chimney,”
i replied Joe, an urchin of some six summers,
who, notwithstanding the maternal injunction,
i , proceeded quietly with his amusement.
“ You, Joe, mind what I tell you; put down
those tongs this minute,” and Joe reluctantly re
f linquished his occupation, and walked sullenly
away.
“Do stop whittling that stick. John; see how
i you’ve littered up the rug,” again expostulated
l Mrs. Holmes, and that young gentleman contin
ued his occupation for about a minute longer,
( then put his knife in his pocket, and sauntered
towards the window. “ Mother,” he said, in a
discontented tone, “how much longer is this
f rainy weather going to last? I’m tired to death
of staying within doors."
“ How should I know, John ?” was the ma
ternal reply. “You seem to think I must know
l everything.”
Just here, a sudden outcry was heard in a dis
f tant corner of the room, and the afore-mentioned
Joe called out, “ Ma, make Robert stop pulling
my hair I” at which Mr. John Holmes laughed
outright.
“You, Robert,” exclaimed his mother, “are
you not ashamed to impose on your younger
brother?”
“Well, ma,” exclaimed impenitent Robert,
“he went and broke my bird-trap, I had just
f finished, and, besides, I a’n’t pulling his hair
now; I stopped long ago.”
“No, I never, ma,” put in Joe, “he put it
i down just where I was going to knock my
stick,” and the evidence, on both sides, seeming
1 so nearly' balanced, their mother decided the
- question by bidding each take a seat, and stay
[ there, till she gave him permission to get up.
A step was heard uj the hall, and in a few
f moments the door opened and Mr. Holmes, rath
er a fine-looking man of abbut five and forty,
entered; he was soon divested of.his wet over-
I coat and seated before the fire, with a child on
each knee, and in the following words ho im
-1 parted to us the following piece of information:
“Horace Granville, whose writings everybody is
( so crazy about, is in town; I met him to-day,
and he promised to spend to-morrow evening
f \ with us; his father was an old schoolmate of
\pine.”
And could it be, that to-morrow I would see
\ HoiW Granville ? Didst thou never, reader,
bngerover some favorite book, linger fondly,
3 parts over and over again, un
til Cie auHmr seemed an old, familiar friend,
wondering ww he looked like, and conjuring
up, in thy mind, a picture of him,
j with which to him and his writings?
And what then, reaW if t hou knewest that to
morrow would bring t h y presence that in
fa tellect thou hadst look^, lp toj at a distance,
with such wondering admiK*j on ? j i la( j l[nger
j ed thus over Horace Granvilfey writings, though
L admiringly, rather than lovinglW or they spoke
not so much to the heart as to\e intellect.
And to-morrow I would see him, it be?
Here my revery was interrupted by sw era i vo _
f ciferous cries from the baby, which, I Bid been
. taught too well, alas, by sad experience’Wre
*fa ouly premonitory symptoms, only the preluiKto
a performance, the duration of which I dared nW
Y contemplate. I would fain have retreated to myS,
dormitory up stairs, but it is no light matter, in
such weather, to leave quarters so comfortable,
(in temperature, I mean,) to sit in a room with-
mes sovvaesur m vxiusssais.
out a fire; so, thinking to submit to the lesser |
evils of the two, I remained with an air of mar- |
tyrdom. where I was. One shriek after another .
it came, without the least variation or intermisyf
sion, and the nurse’s most desperate efforts/b
divertor pacify it, in which praise wort
deavors she was encouraged by all and fisted
by some, only succeeded in eliciting/h°w anc *
then, a note still more energetic «ibers.
“Truly,” I thought, “babies are/>vopierfulin
vention.” Mr. John Holmes atb:ntive ‘
ly for a while, to this infantile per
formance, until, his pati«ce •-‘ompletely ex
hausted, he sprang toilet crying “Mother,
do choke that baby, out to the kitchen,
or do something wjtf it; * m tlr f to death of
its eternal squJftg; stood it just about
long enough,’VWords which found an echo in
the inmost of**, at least, of-bless me!
what was/i abo rt to sa y ! Rut 111 not finish
the sentence: i‘ would be monstrous, unnatural,
for yoiAnow — “ A babe in a house is a well
sprig of peasure. a messenger of peace and
'Here *aintly through the tumult, was heard
I the riling the tea-bell, and as the “little
durli'tf” became more and more absorbed in the
investing process of mastication, his cries bo
urne gradually fewer aud fewer, until they ceas
ed altogether.
I usually retired to my room directly after
supper, and read or wrote until long after mid
night, and these were the hours, of all the twen
ty-four, that I loved best. I went, as usual,
this evening, and found a fire beginning to burn
on the hearth; then, sinking down in a large
arm-chair, that stood in front of the fire-place,
sat there, I know not how long, my forehead
resting on my hand, buried in thought; then,
turning the key in the lock, drew a small table
with writing materials before me, and bringing
forth from its hiding place a quire of half-writ
ten paper, began to cover, rapidly, page after
page, with the motley ideas which had taken
possession, while I sat looking into the fire, and
watching the leaping and dancing of the blaze.
A little patience, reader, and I will tell you
how I came to be here. I was never a favor
ite at home. I could see it by numberless little
things, each day, which would have passed un
noticed, save by the quick eye of jealousy. I
had not the art of making myself beloved; I
had none of that soft, confiding, affectionate dis
position, which most girls possess to a greater
or less degree, and which wins for them more
or less regard and good will from all who know
them, and I was too proud to seek to gain the
love which had been denied me. Thus all the
better part of ray nature remained undeveloped;
thus were all ray warmer impulses chilled back,
until I was often called cold and proud, and told
I had no heart; and I would laugh, thinking, in
my infatuation, so they told me, I had a head,
it mattered little about the heart, though I knew
I had a heart, that could beat more warmly than
theirs could ever do. So, in my childhood and
the first years of my youth, in the spring time,
the hey-day of life, I learned to live, unloving
aud unloved, and without much caring, for am
bition was my idol.
“Yet hath life
Many a falser idol. There are hopes
Promising well, and love-touched dreams for some,
And passions, many a wild one, and fair schemes
For gold and pleasure, yet will only this
Balk not the soul—Ambition only gives,
Even of bitterness — a beaker full,"
My fondest dream was of becoming, some day,
a distinguished authoress. “ Then,” I thought,
and my heart swelled within me, as I thought
it, “ all men will bow before me in admiration,
and those who once refused to like me, even,
will pass me by no longer, but bend with the
rest.”
My main delight was, in writing for the pa
pers under a feigned name, for I knew thoy
would not grant my pieces their full meed of
praise, if they thought Linda Carrol was the
writer. For a while, I found the dreamy life I
led pleasant enough, but conscience would not
sleep forever, and I suddenly awoke to a disa
greeable consciousness of the utterly idle and
useless existence I was leading, for I did little
else than read and write, and I. was sure the
world was no wiser or better for such produc
tions as mine; so I resolved to combine the use
ful with the agreeable, and wrote to an acquaint
ance who resided in a distant city, to obtain mo
a situation as teacher. He complied with my
request, and on the evening with which my story
opens, my seventeenth birthday, I had been in
stalled in my new office as instructress to the
two juvenile Holmeses, Robert and Joe, for
about six weeks.
I still continued to write under my fictitious
signature, and would occasionally hear my
writings discussed by visitors at the house, as
well as by members of the family, and they
would sometimes be read aloud in the evening,
and surmises made as to who they were by, and
I would sit by all the while, saying never a
word, yet you may well imagine, not the least
interested listener to these remarks; no one
ever dreaming the quiet little governess knew
anything more concerning their authorship, than
himself. I resolved to await my own time for
the denouement.
I said I had gone to my room and begun to
write; well, I had been so employed for about
half an hour, when, much to my dissatisfaction,
I heard a knock at the door. Quickly conceal
ing my manuscript, I opened it. It was Eva,
Mr. Holmes’ eldest daughter, a pretty girl of six
teen, who had just returned from school. She
sprang in, saying, “ I thought you must be lone
ly up here, all by yourself, so I would make you
a little visit; they are all so quiet down stairs.
Father is writing, mother has a headache, John
is in a bad humor, and as for Maud, she’ll
hardly have a word to say to me, because I pro
posed to her, just now, to let’s see which of us
could catch Horace Granville. I’m almost fro
zen, you kept me waiting so long at the door,”
and, going to the fire, she threw on an addition
al stick or two of wood, and seating herself on
the rug at my feet, sat for a little while, looking
silently into the blaze, and her thoughts must
have been pleasant ones, for her lips were part
ed in a half smile; then she looked up, and
spoke “ out of the fullness of the heart,” I sup
pose, for she said, “ I’m so glad, Mr. Granville is
coming here to-morrow evening; I intend to do
my best to captivate him. I wonder if he is
handsome; he writes beautifully, I know that
much. Wasn’t it odd, it was just last night, we
were reading out one of his pieces; I mean to
tell him so, too. Oh! Linda, I didn’t tell you,
brother Henry will be at home some time next
week; are you not glad? But, I forgot, you have
never seen him. He’s a thousand times hand
somer than John; he is about four years older
—let me see what that would make him. John
is about eighteen, so Henry can’t be more than
twenty-two. He is studying for the ministry ;
he did not begin directly after leaving college,
but studied law for a while, then gave it up and
began theology. You have no idea, how smart
.and good he is.” Thus she prattled on for some
Vie longer, then, giving me a good night kiss,
off to her room.
CIIAPTEU 11.
| After having gone through the routine of the
/ftexiday’s duties, towards its close I sat alone.
ip the back parlor before the fire-place, looking
mto the bright red coals and dreaming; I heard
someone say: “We will find this room more
comfortable,” but the words fell on an inatent
ive ear and made but little impression; howev
er, in a moment, I was completely startled out
of my revery, by hearing Mr. Holmes say, “Mr.
Granville, allow me to introduce you to Miss
Carrol.” As I looked up to speak, I saw stand
ing before me my beau ideal of manly beauty.
He was of medium height and slender; his face
was very fair, not girlishly so—no one could
ever trace aught of effeminacy there; if those
cold, clearly-cut features lacked in aught, it was
in softness, and the fairness was that a student’s
life brings with it; his keen black eyes burned
beneath a brow white almost as Parian marble,
while from above the lofty temples fell the rich
masses of luxuriant black hair. In his face
shone the majesty of thought, and intellect was
stamped on every feature.
I could feel the hot blood mount to my face,
and bowed, awkwardly enough, in return to his
graceful salutation.
In a few moments Eva came tripping grace
fully in. How lovely she looked, with her bright,
blue eyes, rosy lips and golden curls 1 And then
Maud floated in, with her queenly grace; how
can I describe her? To what compare her regal
beauty? She more resembled some bewilder
ingly beautiful snow-queen, than aught else, in
her cold, proud beauty. Maud Snowden had
been an only child, and was now an orphan.
She had been adopted by her uncle, Mr. Holmes,
on the death of her parents, which occurred
when she was quite a child, and had lived here
ever since. She was just eighteen, only two
years older than Eva; yet what a difference be
tween the two!
Horace Granville displayed his wonderful ge
nius in his conversation, as well as in his writ
ings; and Eva’s child-like manner, which well
became her, and the open, thoughtless expres
sion of her sentiments, or whatever came upper
most in her mind, presented a pleasing contrast
to the stately bearing and cold, cutting carcasm
of her cousin; which seemed to have something
of bitterness in it, as though she had already
unjustly suffered. Maud Snowden seemed one
born to be admired, not loved.
Long after Horace Granville had left, that
night, I continued to promenade the long bal
cony, and this attracted no notice, for 1 would
often walk thus until long after midnight, in
dulging in pleasant dreams of the future, or
weaving together my way ward fancies into some
form and shape that I might afterwards transfer
to paper. But, to-night I was restless, excited,
I scarcely knew why. “ The night is too beau
tiful,” I thought, “to sleep. Who could sleep
on such a night as this ? Such nights were not
made for sleep.” I lingered until the clock in
the parlor struck two, then, startled by the late
ness of the hour, I retired to my room, but still
I could not sleep for a long time, and when I
did, it was only to dream of Horace Granville’s
black eyes. I had certainly nwVer met any one
who had so much interested me as this stranger,
with his pale, intellectual face, and dark eyes
and hair.
CHAPTER in.
Aboqt a week had elapsed, and Henry
Holmes, (of whom I had heard such a glowing
description,) was expected home in the evening,
and all the usual preliminaries to an expected
arrival were goiug oh, such as brushing down
cob-webs, painting hearths, dressing vases, and
the like, with such elaborate attention paid to
the preparation of cakes and dainties for the
table, that one would be led to suppose the poor
guest was to derive all the pleasure of his visit
from the sensations of hij@ palate.
There was a discussion being held, as to
which room to prepare, for the guest. Mrs.
Holmes said the only spire room in the house
was next to the street, aud he always preferred
a back room, because the noise immediately
under his window disturbed him in his studies.
I recollect having notice*), just back of the room
spoken of, another, which! I was certain was not
occupied; indeed, it must have been kept locked,
for I had never seen it ppened but once, aud
then Mrs. Holmes had cojne and unlocked it and
gone in, and as the dooij was opposite mine, I
mechanically glanced up and saw her take down
a portrait that hung with the face to the wall,
look at it for a few moments, then re-place it
and come out; go. as 1 had been admitted to
the family council, I suggested that this room
possessed the requisite of beiug removed from
the street, but, in a moment, I saw that I had
made a mistake; that something was wrong.
Maud started and turned very pale, Eva stole a
hurried glance at her mother and Maud, then
began to work with unusual industry on a pair
of slippers she was embroidering, as a present
to her brother, on his arrival; an embarrassing
silence of some moments succeeded, tiieu Mrs.
Holmes replied to my suggestion, by saying she
thought the front room would do. That there
was some mystery here was certain, yet it was
one which I could not fathom, and what puzzled
me most, was Maud’s sudden agitation; how she
could be in any way concerned in it, 1 could.not
imagine.
The evening had arrived, and the grate had
been newly replenished with coals, iri expecta
tion of the arrival of the guest, and we all sat
around to await his coming, the children imag
ining every few moments that they heard the
bell ring or wheels stop, and running to the
window to look. At last, we really did hear a
step on the stairs, and in a moment the door
opened, and Henry Holmes eutered. He was
ratlipr below medium height, and slightly made,
with a singularly interesting face, without being
exactly handsome in repose; he was dark, with
black eyes and hair, and there was a slight
shade of sadness on his face, yet when he
smiled the sadness vanished entirely, and gave
place to such an expression of love and peace,
that you could not but feel he was good and
pure; and then his laugh was so boyish, and
even joyous sometimes, that it was very pleasant
to listen to.
When the salutations were over, and we were
all seated around the fire again, I noticed that
Maud, usually so quiet and apparently immova
ble, looked towards the new comer with such
an eager, imploring look as quite surprised me.
An expression of pain passed over his face for
a momeut, then he shook his head sadly, as if
in reply to her look.
One afternoon Henry Holmes suggested, as I
was a stranger, to show me the “ lions" of the
place. We accordingly set out, and were joined
on the way by Horace Granville. As we were
returning, there was sitting by the wayside a
woman, who seemed an epitome of poverty and
wretchedness, and held in her arms a child,
whose face looked wan and haggard, and wore
the withered look of ago, unmistakeable charac
ters written by the finger of want ami famine.
Henry stepped up instantly, and taking off the
heavy shawl which ho always wore so grace
fully, put it around them, and taking out some
change which he happened to have about him,
gave it to her, bidding her buy bread for herself
and child; and, as he promised to try the next
day to find occupation for her, and spoke to her
words of encouragement and comfort, his face
wore an expression of mingled compassion and
love which was almost holy in its purity, and
well became him. Just here a sudden impulse
prompted me to look up at Horace Graawiiie.
He stood a little apart, his arms folded careless
ly across his breast, and a scarcely perceptible
shade of contempt in the expression of his lip,
looking on the scene with the cold curiosity
with which he would have regarded a picture
which offended his taste; which he considered
slightly revolting, yet tolerated for the sake of
the insight which it afforded him into human na
ture. I could not help comparing them, in my
mind, as they stood there, and acknowledging
to myself the infinite superiority in heart and
feeling which Henry Holmes possessed over
Horace Granville; and yet—strange infatuation
—I knew, when a moment later Horace Gran
ville’s eyes accidentally met mine, that my heart
beat with a quicker throb than Henry Holmes
could ever cause it.
“ Why.do 1 love him? Curionsfool be still;
Is human love the growth of human will?”
CIIAPTEU IV.
We were sitting around the fire one evening,
when the silence was suddenly broken by Joe,
who, rousing from ajorown-study, in which he
had been absorbed for some time, asked. “Where
is brother Carl, father ? and, why doesn’t ho
come back?” No reply was made to Joe’s
question, and he repeated it. “ Rose,” said
Mrs. Holmes, to the afore-mentioned nurse, who,
now out of employment, was sitting a little back
nodding in her chair, and thereby affording con
siderable amusement to Robert, “ Rose, carry
Joe, and put him to bed.”
Here Henry came in. He had been to the
post-office, and stepped across the room to hand
Maud a letter ; lier cheek flushed, as she reach
ed out her hand for it with an eagerness of man
ner quite unusual with her, but when she had
seen the hand writing on the cover, her counte
nance fell, and the color faded from her cheek.
Instantly Henry’s face changed ; the expression
of “ peaceful, sweet serenity,” so habitual to it
disappeared, and gave place to one I did not
like ; there was something of anguish in it, yet
of jealousy too, and, I thought, of exultation,
but it was only momentary, as if some bird of
evil had flitted by, casting its dark shadow, fora
moment on the clear bosom of some tranquil lake;
then the same expression of almost holy com
passion I had marked there once before, return
ed to his face ; and in his manner to Maud, he
was even gentler and more attentive than was
his wont.
Mrs. Holmes had issued invitations for a small
party for the next evening, and late in the after
noon I had laid down to try to sleep off a severe
nervous headache, before evening. I had just
fallen into a light sleep, with my handkerchief
bound tightly around my brows, when I was
completely startled, by feeling some drops of
cold water in my face, and thero was Eva, stand
ing by the side of the bed, with a morning gown
on, and her hair floating loosely over her shoul
ders. I confess I felt a good deal provoked, for
she had woke mo from a most pleasant dream to a
most unpleasant reality, and perhaps it w r as
rather petulantly that I asked, “ What do you
want ?”
“ I want you to curl my hair for me. ”
“ But they wou’t begin to come for an hour
or two yet.”
“ Yes, but you know I wanted to be sure to
be ready soon enough, and allow myself plenty
of time, so I can look my very prettiest to-night,
for Horace Granville is to be among the guests;
I wouldn’t have made you get up, you see, as
you had a headache, hut you can curl it so much
better than any one else. ”
I got up, and began my work of converting
those golden ripples into curls, which, after about
halt an hour, I had completed to my entire sat
isfaction, and bade her survey herself in the
glass and see if it suited her—in which she has
tened to obey me. As the glass gave back the
bright reflection of the face before it, probably
impressed with the truth of the criticism, she
said : “Oh 1 I did not tell you, Linda ; I heard
Horace Granville said I was the prettiest girl in
the room, at the party the other night; he thought
I had such a bright face, and yet it had a look of
such innocent sweetness ; and he said he thought
thero was something very attractive about my
manners. Don’t you wish he had said it about
you ?”
Os course all this was manna to my soul, but
before I could.reply, she went on, “ I think he
is so handsome; I wonder what he will think
of me to-night; wouldn’t it be odd, supposing
we should tall in love with each other? I for
got to thank you for curling my hair; I am eter
ually obliged to you, especially if it is the
means of my captivating Horace Granville—but
I must go finish dressing;” and in the warmth
of her gratitude she gave me a kiss, before she
made her exit.
As soon as she had gone, I laid down to finish
my nap, aud tried hard to go back to the dream
which had been so unceremoniously broken oft’,
but in vain; 1 soon fell into a light sleep, how
ever, from which I was aroused by a ring at the
door. The first guest had arrived, and I began
to dress. I scarcely acknowledged to myself
the care with which I braided the long, dark
locks of hair, and wound them around my head;
I, who had hardly ever thought about my looks
before; but somehow I felt as though I would
like to look well to-night. I Chose from among
my dresses, a sky-blue silk, aud delicate folds of
lace protected my otherwise bare shoulders;
theu, as ruy eye fell on some wreaths of delicate
blue flowers which Llenry Holmes had gathered
tor me that morning, I selected the most grace
ful vine, and fastened it within the plait which
encircled my head just back of it, let it droop
upon my shoulders on cither side; then 1 went
to the mirror to see the effect of this unusual
care with my dress. I was surprised, startled;
1 had never thought of being good-looking be
fore; indeed I had never thought much about
whether I were or not. 1 felt inclined to reason
with myself, as to whether the image reflected
from the glass could be my own; for excitement
had added a flush to my cheek aud a spar
kle to my eyes, and my becoming apparel had
contributed almost ns much to improve my ap
pearance. “And why," I thought, “should I
not link as well as Eva? She is sixteen, lam
ju.-t seventeen—a prettier age—l am as fair as
she is. True,l have not her sun-bright curls and
bright bine eyes; but, why should biue eyes be
admired more than black; and I am sure my
forehead is much higher and broader than hers.”
Then I nirned away, and blushed—felt humilia
ted to think that 1 had been standing before the
glass surveying my beauty, and weighing my
chatnis a oh tho.e of another.
He •• Eva tripped in, looking as lovely as a
fairy
“Areyou ready, Linda? I want you to go
down airs with me: Ido not want to go in by
myself But how lovely you look I Whatjn
the world have you been doing with yourself?
I never saw you look so well before; you look
perfectly angelic; I’m afraid for Horace Gran
ville to see you. I wonder which he likes best,
light hair and blue eyes, or dark hair and black
eyes? lam afraid he will fall in love with you;
why you are trembling, as if you were really
afraid he might.”
Maud was seated at the piano, where she had
been playing, and a group was standing around,
conversing. Some one said, “ I saw in a news
paper the other day, an address delivered before
some society by a Mr. Holmes, very highly com
plimented—was it yours?” to Henry. Maud’s
face assumed the same eager, anxious expres
sion, and again that look of disappointment,
when the initials—ll. L.—were mentioned. I
glanced almost involuntarily at Henry Holmes,
for I had learned to look for some mysterious
connection between Maud and himself—again,
for a moment, that unparalleled expression came
over his face; but this time there was less of
anguish in it, and more of bitterness, and there
was something of exultation m his tone, as he
replied: “ Yes, it was mine,” to the question
whiqh had been asked him. The conversation
turned upon literature, and Horace Granville
said: “ I read a book lately, in which I was in
tensely interested. I began to read early in the
evening, and morning had begun to break before
I knew it was bed-time. I would like to know
the author, that I might converse with him on
the theories he brings forward.” And he told
the name of the work—it was my first book—
my heart gave a bound and beat rapidly. I
wanted to say: “It is mine, I wrote it,” that he
might acknowledge that I possessed some
power over him ; that if I could not interest
him with my lips, I could at least with my pen;
but I would not, and the conversation changed
to other things. They spoke of selfishness, and
Eva said: “ I cannot bear selfishness; I think it
would be so much pleasanter if each one would
forget self, and be regardful only of the comfort
of others, always seeking to promote their hap
piness, rather than his own.”
“ I cannot but admire exceedingly, Miss Eva,
this generosity, this regard for others,” Horace
Granville said, “yet I cannot understand it,
how one can feel so much interest in those
around him.”
“Ah! Mr. Granville,” she replied, “you should
learn to practice self-denial; unless you have
sacrificed your pleasure to that of others, you
can form no conception of the pleasure it
affords.”
“ Thinks I to myself,” it is a pleasure, never
theless, my fair friend, which I imagine you know
very little about.”
I do not think Eva meant to be untruthful, in
what she said, but she wished to appear very
well, and she thought generosity was a very
fine thing, and was totally unconscious of her
deficiency in it.
(to be continued.)
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
A SKETCH.
BY 8. C. 8.
The cool breath of Autumn seems already to
kiss the perfume from the summer flowers. Now
and then, a faded leaf falls “ sere and yellow ” to
its mother earth, tho’ the trees are still clad in
their dark green foliage. The lethargy which
deprives mind of its action, and which is so
usual a consequence of excessive heat seems to
be removed by these gentle minds. Thoughts
run in their accustomed currents, Hope buoys
the heart, and Memory, with the zest of a true
artist, retouches her fading pictures. As I watch
her work, pensive musings till my mind, for I
see, alas 1 too plainly, tho changes Time hath
wrought.
One picture stands in almost its original beau
ty. ’Tis that of a beautiful little boy whoso gold
en curls, kissed by a sunbeam, stole thence
their radiant hue. His blue eyes open wide
and wouderiugly upon a lovely scene. The
pebbled streamlet, shaded by verdant boughs,
whose leaflets catch each whisper of the breeze;
the perfumed flowers; the singing bird gleefully
caroling to his patient mate; the fleecy clouds
that float in the blue sky, all givo him joy, and
his happy smile is his thank-ottering to the ben
eficent Creator whose works yield so great hap
piness. It is spring-time for Nature, and spring
time, too, for this beautiful young life, the boy.
But ah ! this beautiful scene is quickly dis
placed by another, which Memory, with sadden
ed countenance, is now presenting to mo with
even more distinctness than the former.
The same trees stretch their boughs, over an
impetuous torrent; so hath the little streamlet
changed, but their leaves lie crisped upon the
ground, or tremble, changed in hue, upon their
stalks.
The singing bird gazes sadly upon his vacant
nest, as he warbles a plaintive farewell; tho
beautiful fragrant flowers have lost their sweet
ness, and their severed petals are flying on the
breeze.
It is autumn I Beneath the half stripped
branches of a clustered vine, I see a little un
turfed mound covered with fresh fallen leaves in
their mocking colors. A single bud 1 the last
rose of summer,’ has been placed by some loving
hand at the head of this lonely resting place.—
Plucked ere its fragrance had been half distilled,
it lies withered and chilled upou the sod. How
like the gentle sleeper, yet how unlike too 1
No beautiful future, no promise of fruition,
await the flower; but when, in the resurrection
morn, the golden tresses shall be kissed by the
uusettiug sun, the blue eyes will rest in un
changing joy upon glories unfading aud eternal.
Kissing. — As people who have enjoyed the
kissing sensation tell us it is a.great luxury when
judiciously prepared, we give place to a recipe
from some one who discourses as if he knew
what is good, and we would be pleased to bo in
formed if such is the perfection of this tasteful
amusement, by someone who dares to do such a
thing, if tne recipe is really a good one :
“ Os course you must be taller than the lady
you intend to kiss. First, be sure that you have
the lady’s free consent: then, take her right
hand in your left, draw her gently towards you.
Puss your right arm over her her left shoulder,
diangnully down across her back, under her
right arm, and press her to your bosom ; at tho
same time she will throw her head back, and
you will have nothing to do but to lean a little
forward and press your lips to hers, and tbd
thing is done. Don’t make a noise over it if
you were tiring percussion c.ps, or tryjsg the
waier gauges of a steam engine, nor pounce
down upon it like a hungry hawk tipdh an inno
cent dove, but gently fold the in your
arms, without deranging theecop<*my ot tippet or
ruffles, and by a pressure upo/ner mouth, revel
in tho sweet blissfulness of/bur situation, with
out smacking your lips J* L ' T 't as you would
over a roast duck.” — f^nange.
—ijgfcMPi
An art’clo in Paris Debuts, treating of Ten
nyson’s /dp's,/ftempts to prove that King Ar
thur and h/Tound table was not u British or
• Welsh conception at all, but a myth originating
ainong/no Troubadours of Provence.