Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

and.- * FViAH* v •*,’ §vA t ]• Vv. dltsA 4 *rt 9 111 w- ; nl If ft- - ‘-Wf JMnLff if ■O -w Itfl! - mlMmjtiumaßM fti- A- at vu \fg y *•*?> y m m Yfcj \\jm vSf 1 vSNta ‘IJ JOHN 11. SEALS. I EDITO?. & rPvOPEIETOS. . \ NEW SERIES, VOL. 11. THiWIlj CRMEB. rCBITISHED EVERY THURSDAY, EXCEPT TVS'O, 13 TBS YEAR, BY JOHXH. SEALS. in r-dvsa^ r $2.00-at the end cf the year. BA Tim < ADVERTISING. 1 squire (twelve line -5 or less) Brut Insertion,. .$1 OP F-ch rantlnuance,.. * 50 prvf-j. si on •! or ilukinc?.'*’ Cards,’ not exceeding pi x ii.. per year,. 500 Ar.nouncii £ Candidates for Office, —.... 3 00 STA.KDING ADVLIVPISEifENTS. i rnv.re, three luonty.?, * 5 CO 1 f'juare, six montii?, w 1 ?• Q'*t'^clV'* ....... ...........15 00 o *• * ■ is oo g s „‘,, arc 7 “ “ 31 Oo 4 c,|uare’cs’ “ “ .25 ) n not marked with the numo of insertions, will La continued until forbid, an i chnryed accordingly. £Sf*Mereh mt, Prousts, and ethers,'rosy eon - tract ihr a 1 vei rising by the year, on reasonable terms. LEGAL ADVERTISEMENTS, tale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators, Executor?, t,~ 1 Guardians, per square, 5 00 fE’o cf Personal Property, by Administrators, Executors, and Guardians, per square,... 325 Notice to Debtors and'Creditors, 3 25 Notice for Leave to Sell, 4 00 Citation, for Loiters of Administration, 2 75 Citation for Letters cf Dismission from Adm’n, 5 00 Citation for Letters of Dismission from Guardi anship, 8 25 LEGAL REQUIREMENTS. Sales of Land ar.d Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, or Guardians, are required by law to bo held oo the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours of ten in the forenoon and three in the After ..f g K; Or-*irt House in the County in which the property is situate. Notices of these sales roust be given in a nublic gazette forty days previous to the and ‘. r of a udees for the no of Personal Property must be c’.en at least ten coy* previous to the day of sale. Notice to Del.tors and Creditors of an Estate must be publi shed forty day*. Notice that application will be made to the Court es Ordinary for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must be published weekly for two month a. Citations for Letters of Administration roust be published thirty days —for Dismission from Admin istratioii, monthly , six months —for Dismission from Guardianship.ybrfy days. Roles for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be pub- Pshcd monthly for four months —for compelling titles from Executors or Administrators, where a bond has bvf-i. given by the deceased, the full space of three s3jT*PubUcations will always be continued accord ing to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise ordered. Far the Crusader. The Marriage Contract. tiT- UAST E . DRY A K . CHAPTER IV. “ Meetinp* are oft. Ssdler than partings, in this world of change.” ‘Winter had called his ruffian blasts to northern clime-*, and the footsteps of Spring falling soft and route as Summer dew, were seen in the young v : Mt* sprinkle 1 over the hillsides. The home of Margaret Graham was upon, the out-skirts of the town, and adjoining it was a narrow belt of beau tin;! c and worvi.*, where now the soft groan of fresh ly i'adding foliage mingled with the bright coral hu-.d fringe of the map e, and the deep, changeless vordtie of the holly and wild olive. A path winding through this strip of forest, was Margaret’s favorite walk, and a large, heavy crab apple tree, bowed with fragrant blossoms, was her chosen resort; for the sloping knoll beneath it— covered with green moss and strewn with the del icate y colored petals that had been showered like miniature snow-flakes from the branches over head, for -ud a fit -couch for a wood nymph, and rdk.r.h and a >h I’- rcu scat to* the one who'sotight I;.- r- treat, that the aWecl voices and tianquilizing influence cf Nature might allay the fever of her hwiL i R was one Ucikd.jiH afternoon, when April was writ ng the sweet promises of the year over field and wojd. that Margaret, throwing on her straw walk. tig bar, took a volume she was reading! and sought this retired grove. Arrived at her favorite tree, she was so charmed with the erguisite clusters of buds and blossoms rw; ylng a’-fte her, that she throw the hook upon ■ the turf and flr.roih g tip toeoa the knoll, endeav ored to ebh.in possession of the hugest and most | beautiful spray. In springing to reach it, her ba 1 had hd.en from her hfad find hurg by its broad I green jt .bons, while her rich hair, escaping from its con'd;; -moyt, fed over her flushed cheeks. Jir*t as she had succeeded in reaching the coveted’’ branch, an i WaJ^b waking off its flowers, a voice behind her cl aimed, 44 Yon look hke a picture, Margaret. I only wish I was an artist, that I might make my for tune by transferring you to canvass.” The toms were so full of joyous animation, even tenderness, that she could scarcely believe them to be her husband’ l *. She had been so occupied as not to mark the approach of an intruder, and now hastily putting the curls that shaded her face, she eaw that it waa indeed Oswald, who bay ing reined in his horse, sat regarding her -with earnest admiration. - ’ ** Only wait until I put this cluster in my hair! I am sure it is prettier than any picture cOnld be. Look at this nest of miniature buds, tinted like some Bea shell,” she replied, catching the gayety of his mind, as springing to his side, she hem her head that he might place tL© flowers in her hair. With a smile liglriog up his grava features, he twined thorn in her curls, and then, with a rever ence which she inis’.o. 1; ( r he touehe<l his lightly so her forehead. ‘ Rut wirbre are you going;P* she added, throw ing a wrath of yellow jt-ssamine around llic arch ed neck of “Sahadin.’’ “I thought you were to stay aL home this evening. 1 lvftyou writing let ters, -in the iii rary. n “ Ves, hut I happened to remember some busi ness with Mr. Hale, that should have been attend ed to before. It wii! occupy the- rest of the day, so a pleasant evening to you', my pretty Dryad,” and giving the reins to his spirited steed, he soon ooeared in the windings of the pathway.— . : ■ ll r a ret threw herself upon the yielding turf at foot :>f the Gee, this sudden g’cam cf sunshine givi; . less -ombre hue to the reflections in which ,-s e .uulgyd. But the beauty of all around her— too soft nrroma. of flowers—-the voices Os hinging bisds, and lie lulling music of the brook, insensi bly led her thoughfa into another channel. The scene recalled the picturesque banks of the Claire, and the ardent, impassion ate yonng lovsr, who had first removed the sea! from her iieitvt’s deep founta’n of affection. The scene of their first meeting rose vividly before her, and again she beheld him standing upon the bank of the foam ing liver, one arm clasping the lifeless form of the girl he had rescued, while with the other he swept aside the wet locks from LB'fur brow, and looked up into the eyes whose silent admiration would have been a sufficient reward for much greater peri l . Oh 1 those bright lost hours, when young love’s dream crowned tlu> days with light nnd Beauty— in inoqking contract to their memory, the present came before her. Ii was the firei time she had allowed herself to make the dangerous comparison ; but now she seemed to have lost her usual calm control over her own feelings, and the brief expe rience of her wedded life passed before her—those long, weary dnjs, that had gone by with the dull flight of black, ill-omened birds. Notwithstand ing her boasted stoicism, her woman’s heart still pleaded for love—-its natural aliment—without which, even the noblest faculties of the mind lan guish nnd droop, or else riso in unhealthy and unnatural growth, liko plants when sheltered from the vivifying influence of the sun. Oh, I shall never, noier be happy again !” cried Margaret, bowing her head among the cool fern leaves, overcome by the memories to which she had yielded, “ Margaret, my Margaret 1” exclaimed a £ mil iar vffice, and the next moment someone knelt by her side, and taking her unresisting hand, pressed it passionately to his lips. The low cry she invol untarily uttered* was one of joyful surprise; and forgetting for an instant the gulf that now lay between them, her first sensation was one of un ming.ed happiness; but recovering herself imme diately, she shrank from his embrace, and crushed back the glad welcome that had risen to her lips. “ Claude,’ she said, rising and standing before him, pale, but self possessed, “ Why have you come to render me more miserable ? Dai not my letter tell you all ? We are nothing to each other now ; I am the wife of another.” “ I know it all. Oh ! Margaret S why did you fulfill that fatal promise? Was it not a greater crime to utter vows with your lips, that your heart could not sanction ? You will live a falsehood all your life, Margaret.” u tt is too late now, she said hopelessly, as she sank again upon the morsy seat. “Duty must take the place of flection now, and fov Claude, must forget the past.” “ Never! its memory is Woven with tny very Lie. No, Margaret; thec-Vd barriers of conven tionalism cannot separate hearts that Nature has formed iur each other. They eannot make us cease to love.” Still she only repeated the words that rang like a knell through her heart’s desolate chambers. “ We khftt sllol dd have gone through life together, ‘-a k apart; and as she bowed her f&eo in tier ungloved hands, Claude saw tars strug ./‘Y through the white fingers. “, dear st,” he exclaimed, drawing her To him ah the impetuous ardor she so well reraem b red, • let tU paths our feet may tread diverge ever so jar ipart, we are bound to each other by a tie which Nature recognizes—by a love, none tjk ka3 sacred that no superficial rites have sane tioned it. At this moment, you are mine, far more than his to whom you gave your hand at the altar.” “ 0h:! wlmt are y°. saying ?” cried Margaret* releasing herself from his embrace, and springing to her feet wuh a bewildered air. “ I must not, listen to such words; I kiiow the weakness of my owp heart. Oh! Claotje/in pity leave me. 1 Wily have you sought rue? Why did you come to Edgc.Gon f r . / - * “To see you for the last stime before leaving the country forevor. I wished to show you the pic ture of yourself I painted- from and fin ished the night L received your letter. I arrived here this morning; learned indde&fcflly vrytmt PENFIELD, GA, THURSDAY, AUGUST 6, 1857* secluded habits, and despaired of seeing yon. 1 did not hope for an interview, but I liugered around your dwehing, thinking I might fliseern your figure at the window, I saw you leave the bouse,Ami immediately afterwards your husband, rode aw/y. nn 1 then I waiter] a few moments and followed you. Bnt yon sliail not long be made unhappy by the presence of him you have so deep ly Wronged. I only carnO so bid you farewell- Do not refuse me this 1- fqf interview. It is no crime, only to l<xk awhile into the sweet face that is my inspiration, and dream that the old days have came back arain. You will not go, Marga ret P Unfortunately for the firm purposes with which ?he was endeavoring to fortify herself, Margaret raised her eyes to these of her poet lover. Those bright, bewildering, fascinating eyesr— had she forgotten their power over her in. former days ? Involuntarily a smile played around her tips as she encountered his glance of pleading eloquence, and yielding to his wish, she again resumed her seat upon the flower-sprinkled hillock, where the lengthening shadows were playing fantastically with the stray gleams of sunshine. The mellow light of sunset lent a witchery to the scene. The wild retreat assumed ft softer beauty, and Love was its animating spirit. The bright birds and fragraqt winds sang of love; the young leaves trembled to caressing zephyrs, and the flowers, sprinkled everywhere like scattered jewels, seemed the visible hand writing of Love upon the earth, aa the stars are upon the heavens. What wonder that those two young hearts should yield to the silent spell of this all pervading pow er, and in the interchange of congenial thoughts, forget the flight of time—the vow's that might not be revoked —the broad gulf that lay between the paths before them in the future—-every thing—save each other. * * y % * u lt is the last time,” murmured Margaret to herself, to silence the accusing whispers of con science. “It would have been cruel to deny Lim the interview he so earnestly requested, as a part ing favor.” Yet the quick blood mounted to her brow, as she heard her husband’s tread up b the gravel walk. He lingered awhile before opening the door of the hail—perhaps in the hope that another step won’d answer his own—a white arm t>e thrown around him, and a kiss of welcome pressed upon his brow : but upon entering the silting room, Margaret did not even look ttp from the enamelled card that had just been -handed her by ft servant. Bbe sat for a moment, apparently lost in thought; for her white fingers were ner* vously bending the card, while Oswald searched for his slippers and took the newspaper from the t-.b!e, “An invitation to Mrs. DeCourcy’s fancy ball,’’ she said at length, placing the envelope in his hand, He glanced carelessly at iis contents and returned it without comment. From mutual disinclination, they had taken no part in anv amusement of the kind since the first tVw weeks of bridal gayety. “ Will you go ?” she asked, with leal interest in her tone3. He looked up with surprise. “Even if I wish ed to Attend, I have business next Thursday night that will occupy me until late ” “Then I will go with Jessie and Mr= Cameron, I received a note from her this evening, begging tne to accompany them. CHAPTER V. “ There was for him one only dream, cn earth ! There was for him one only star above! He bent in passionate idolatry, Before his heart’s sole idol!” It was the evening of the Fancy Bail. Marga ret’s dressing room wns lighted up with onnsual brilliancy, and flowers, jewels, and ribbons were strewn in bright confusion over the toilette. Nev er had she lingered so long before her mirror— never had she bestowed ro much attention upon her own surpassing beauty—-and ns Bhe stood be-” fore the Psyche glass, that reflected her entire figure, fascinated by her own radiant loveliness, never was the ideal Uaideq, whoro character she personated, endowed by the Poet’s fsney with rarer Symmetry or more lustrous eyes; whtlo her oriental dress of amber satin, with its costly lace looped up with sprays of natural jessamine, and its wicie sleeves falling back to reveal the white and jewelled arm, well suited her regal style of beauty. “ It is the last time,” she had repeated* to her self when justifying her interview with Claude.— “He is ere this, farTtway from Edgertcti.” And yet, although she would not have acknowledged it to herself—the secret of her sudden desire to min glo7n the gay scenes she had apparently twSune ed, was the fmintf hope of seeing him again. Leaning upon the arm of Mr, Cafaeroft, she entered the crowded saloon of Mrs. DeCqurcy, where her presence created a marked sensatipn among the crowd of fashionables, to whom she rtas almost a straDger. . iw-’ ‘Aa* Mm. DeCourqy, the wife of the Edgertonmfl* lioniaire, had spared no expense so the entertain ment she intended should be tbe most brflflapt on# of the season, and the ri.h mallow light of the gilded ch#mlel!ers made the floorer ‘wreathed room# —with their mirrored wal's, ornaments of gold and crystal, and gaily rohgd oocup inia—a a scene of fairy-like enchantment. Margaret’s beauty obtained for her more attention than she desired; but she had not sought indiscriminate admiration and wit-hdrewrfrom it as soon as possi ble. She was sitting in a curtained n’cove, alone ar.d thoughtful, leaningher arm upon the gilded harp, and watching the ever moving forms before her, when Jessie came up fluttered and exci’ed. “Have you seen him?” she asked abruptly. K Seen whom ?” inquired Margaret, her color deepening as she spoke. ‘ Why the lion of the night. Mi's. DeCourcy never gives a party without one—generally savage looking foreigners, literary celebrities, or distin guished statesmen, perfectly unapproachable, and wrapped up in a lofty sense of their.own superior ity. But this one is nothing of the kind. Be is young and handsome—an artist 1 think—on his way to Italy, and a distant rela’ive of Mr. De- Courcy. But you must see him and be introduc ed,” and walking lightly away, she returned in a few moments and p:esented Claude Montrose. ‘‘Shall I be forgiven for again intruding ?” he whispered, sinking into a seat by her side. “The bird that has been's6 long a Captive will return to its cage, even when set .at liberty,” and the smile, which was Margaiet’sonly reply, was not a reproving one. But the words, low as they had had been spo ken, were overheard by one eager listener, for Florence Ashly stood near, partially concealed l>y the drapery that curtained the recess, and watch ing as she always did, every movement of Marga ret, with her basilisk eves filled with serpent like malice. From the first, Margaret had been con scious that, she was the object of this girl’s bitter hatred, and the words intentionally uttered by Florence in her hearing on the night of her raar riage, gave her a clue to the cause of this aver sion. Haughty, tyrannical, and endowed with keen and subtle penetration, Florence Ashly had grown to womanhood almost unloving and unloved; remembering nothing of her mother, and feeling no affection for her stern, business like father, who paid brief periodical visits to the home of her un cle, of which she was now an inmate. Her one human feeling was her deep, absorbing love, al most reverence, for her gentle cousin, Anna, who'G Christian duties she admired without en deavoring to imitate. But even this feeling par took of the fierce impetuosity of her natnre. She was painfully watchful of her idol. She was jeal ous of the love she thought given to Oswald, but when she fancied that bis marrikge to another, and his “ base desertion”—for so she persisted in call ing it, notwithstanding the remonstrances of her cousin—had brought sorrow to the meek, uncom plaining Anna, her fiery indignation was aroused against him, and still more vehemently against Margivet, who she believed had compelled Oswald to fulfi 1 their youthful engagement. ***** The Sweet Spring days glided by like the clouds of a Sutmne: eve, and still Claude lingered at Edgerton, and Margaret ceased to urge his depar ture, or to chide him for his stay. There were others too who seemed interested in his move ments. “Girls,” cried Jessie Cameron,* (the Duly indivi dual who was never awed by Florence Ashly’s haughty sarcasm,) “ Did you know that our statue of clay has been animated, and that the hand some y©ung artist is the modern Pygmalion ? Ought he not to feel elated at such n conquest ?” and she glanced mischievously at Florence, who only replied by a contemptuous smile, as she turned away from the group of girls who were assembled at one of ,lhe fetinions succeeding Mrs. DeOoureey’s grand fete. • “Love!” she said scornfully. “I will leave it to such silly creatures as Jessie Cameron and her coterie, to pet all such ‘curled darlings.’ Just now there i9 another and far different feeling upper most in my mind.” Half an hour later, she stood in the vine-cover eel back verandali with Claude Montrose by her side. IJo had be?n speaking very earnestly, but a pauso had just ensued. “ Now Miss Ashly,” he exclaimed, breaking the silence, “ you have surprised me into a revelation of my life secret; but I need not ask so true a friend of Margaret never to betray it” The shadows of the trumpet-vine were trem bling over her face, so that he could not see its expression of malignant joy, or the sinister smile that curled her lip. “ What a pity it is 1” she said lightly, as aho reached forward to pluck a spray from the honey suckle, “ that We were not born in your sunny France—where the lietfrt iis not fettered by the .iron chain of public opinion—where a woman who has thoughtlessly united herself to a man she finds she Cannot esteem, is not compelled by custom to spend her whole life in his uncongenial society,- Where in brief, it is no harm to love, as it among these uascendant* .4 the Puritans, who denounce what even Jesus gently reproved.” He looked earnestly into her face for an instant, and a glow overspread bu fine features, for her tohe find manner hud expressed more than her vrords had done. Both were silent for awhile; Claude * revolving in his mini the thoughts his companion had suggested, nnd she breaking off the delicate pink buds of the honeysuckle and scattering them at her feet. Suddenly she raised her eyes, “ And 6o yon really intend leaving us in a .day or two, it may be never to return, Mrs. DeConrcy tells me. I anvv you your pleasant tour, for I suppose you will visit all the most noted scenes of the old world ; trie galleries of art filled wirii ckef <Toeuvres, that will give fresh inspiration to your genius; the crumbling ruins, the Arcadian vales arid lakes ‘that seem a downward sky,’ and then, having wandered like a bird, from spot to spot, you will choose the fairest, and bu Id there your nest—romc secluded vaueluse— “Far from the cruel and the cold, Where the bright eyes of angels only, In watchful kindness shall behold, A Paradise so loved and lonely.” “ But,” she added, fixing her penetrating eyes full upon him, “your Eden would lose half its charms without an Eve. Shall your Paradise be destitute of one “ Not if my utmost eloquence < ■. ••;.- IVV Ife answered impetuously, interpret y tie mute lan guage of those eyes, while her w dropped, Iks distilled poison, into Tbs heart. He started and colored slightly, ns figure gri ded to hie side. “Claude;” said Mrs. DeGourcy, “pardon me for interrupting your Me a Me, but we have just con cluded to arrange the tableaux for to-morrow nigLt in honor of your departure, as yon seem determin ed upon leaving the next day. I wish you would use your influence in prevailing on Mrs. Graham to attend. No one else comes up to my idoa of a Eebekah, and she has positively refused to come* Exhaust your powers of persuasion upon her how ever, and I am sure she will consent.” CHAPTER VI. •* Oh fierce and strong is temptation’s power, And the heart grows weak in the trial hour.” In her dimly lighted drawing room, half buried in the rich cushions of the sofa, reclined Margaret •Graham, and upon an ottaman at her flet Claude had thrown himself in an Attitude of careless grace, while his hand wandered listlessly over the strings of her guitar. Without, the soft April rain was falling iu low music—descending like muffled foot falls upon the green sward—filling the silver cups of the field liilies and the fragrant chalices of the roses that clustered around the window near which Kit the two dreamers. Never had Margaret seemed lovelier. Some influence had. imparted a voluptuous softness to her stately beauty, and her dark dress with its full of dark lace, set off the dazzling fairness of her complexion. She was listening to the half whispered words of her young companion, whose eyes full of intense and unrestrained admiration, were fixed upon her varying countenance. Taking the guitar, she sang, “Oh ! would I were & spirit of song, I’d float forever around, above, you, For a musical spirit could never do wrong, And it would not he wrong to lone you.” “ It is no crime to love,” lie exclaimed passion ately, taking the little hand that lay across the instrument. “Two hearts that were designed for each other, eftn as little restrain the gushing of muflial feeling, ns two'streams meeting in the same valley can prevent the mingling of their waters* Tt vvould be more criminal to resist the impulses of our nature. Destiny must be accomplished.” It was a dangerous philosophy, and uncon sciously to them, the tempter was beckoning them to the flowery brink of a precipice. “ Margaret,’ 11 said Claude, breaking a silence of several moments continuance, “ hard as are the words, they must be spoken. I came this even ing, in very truth to bid you farewell. I leave Edgetton to-morrow morning, perhaps this very night/ 1 “So soon !” she almost gasped, growing white as the roses in her hair, and endeavoring to con ceal her agitated countenance, with the open book she held. A slip of paper fell from between the leaves, pencilled over in Margaret’s delicate hand. Taking it up, Claude read aloud the touching lines of the Highland bard, “Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met, and never parted, We had notr been broken-hcartefl.” His voice, low and quivering wits! .notion, gave a deeper pathos to the words, ’at seemed the knell of departed hopes. Margaret was sobbing like a grieved child. Olaudo drew nearer to her, putting back lovingly the curls that shaded her brow, and winding his arms around her slender sown, he besought her in tones of passionate en treaty to fly with him to the sunny land beyond the •efmr-to the home, whose loveliness he paint* C TERMS: 1 $1 In advanoe; or, $2 at the end ofthe yeir. ) JOHN H. SEALS k • PROFttlEteK. m. HIII.-NCIIBIR 31. I c ’ ith all a poet’s enthusiasm, where no re in -’v should meet her; where new,.lontig.aud syn.; a I, slug ’friends would gather around -her, and the past-i e only as a vague, dark dream—a leaf torn from the book of memory. There was ro response, huL the little .hand;he held returned his burning clasp with a trembling pressure, and triumphant joy flushed the bright face of the artist lover; hut it wa3 quickly dis pelled. The silent struggle in Margaret’s breast was over, and putting away the loving arms, and insing, pale but cairn, she said firmly, despite the mingled anguish and’ tenderness that thrilled through her tones, “No Claude, it would be a sin—a sin that would weigh heavily upon our souls. You must go alone Claude; but if it will be any comfort to you I will confess that at this moment my heart is pleading for you; yearning to find rest and quiet ia the sunshine of your love. But it must not be; may God help and strengthen you aod-pressing her pale lips to Lis forehead, she motioned him away, and sauk again upon the couch in helpless, hopeless grief. It was all over now. She had refused the love which she felt her earthly happiness; aye! her very life needed ; and she had not even the satis faction of feeling that the strength of virtue akm had triumphed over temptation ; for as she lay there, looking into her own heart, suspicion flash* ed across her mind that less exal.ed motives bad in part influenced her decision r that a germ of affection for her husband lay hidden and hitherto unsuspected in her heart. The beautiful glimpses of his inner nature, that bis daily actions, more than words, had giren her, had won her esteem; but until this hour of temptation she dreamed not ;hat a deeper chord of feeling had been touched* And now to love without hope of requital! how this discovery chafed her woman’s pride; for of late Oswald had been more cold and reserved than ever, and her dormant jealousy had been reawak ened in all its strength, when on opening a draw of his private secretary, she discovered a small staled packet, apparently of letters, with the words “From Anna,” written upon the ribbon that bound them. This, she dared not open, but there was another envelope containing some faded vio lets and a long, bright, tress of sunny hair. Her thoughts had wandered to this discovery of her husband’s souvenir?, when a slight tap upon the Venetian blinds of the window’ near her arous ed her from lier reverie, and as she looked up a slip of paper fluttered to her feet. Opening it she read tbe lines written iu an unfamilir hand. “ Knowing you to be a model of conjug and devo* tion, and being well aware how unselfishly your affectionate heart rejoices in the happiness of your husband, I cannoi refrain from inquiring if you know in what manner that admirable benedict, spends these delightful Spring evenings. May-hap it was only a little bird loid me that they were passed in the very agreeable and no doubt highly pious society of a certain former lady love, who was once, (perhaps is still.) the sole-mistress of his heart. Does it not please you to know that he has been so delightfully entertained> If you are incredulous, and will take the trouble to go out upon the unfrequented road leading from the Bel woods, you cau witness the petite comedie your* | acif” ” / ; I Ilad the style been different, Margaret might I have suspected Claude of disguising Ids liand v. ‘.eg, but she knew that, though goaded bv dis i appointment, and'even for the sake of achieving an earnestly desired end, bis high, generous nature would not inflict pain by such cruel irony; espe cially upon the woman he loved. She sat for a moment motionless with surprise and indignation, and then crushing the letter with a hitter smile, she rang for her majd and desired her to send up the boy who acted as ostler. “ John,” she said, as he appeared at the door, “saddle black Jean, and bring him around imme diately.” “ What, mistis 1” ventured the boy, and the shower not quito over yet. It’s sprinklin’ pretty smartly now, and the sun’s do.WQ too I guess.” “ Never mind the rain, go and do as I have told you, as quickly as possible;” and with another wondering stare, John disappeared -to obey the command. Margaret hastily donned her rich.habit; fasten ed with trembling hands the velvet cap, whose snowy plumes were scarcely more colorless than the brow they shaded, and drawing on her guant lets reached the gate just as John appeared, lead ing the beautiful anjmal by his ornamented bridle. Her rapid ride through her favorite wood soon brought her to the’ unfrequented road, which as the mysterious missive had said, was wild and pic turesque, overshadowed by , arching trees, and winding along 1 rills, and through vales watered by babbling brooks. For nearly a mile, the only house situated upon .it was the little cottage of widow Lee, hid away among the trees. This, Margaret -had passed, aud was beginning to hopfc that her ride would prove?fruitless, when a sud den turn in the road brOhght her quite near the objects of her search. Atroa had removed her hat, for the shower \m