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10 THE SOUTHERN WORLD, MARCH 1,1882. Conducted by Mrb. Fanny Farmey. TIIK NIIADEIilWN MIIORK. We liave a niueli lovod friend; a few brief year* We walk him down the path of life; And then ala over, and he .steps In-fore Ur elite we see our friendship changed to strife. Thunk Uod! amid the dying loves of earth, We can behold a land where deathless love has birth! We have a home; a circle round our hearth, And merry sounds and pleasant sights are there; The year goes round—there Is an empty place. The lire Is ont, the festive hoard Is hare. Hut o’er death's river, on the shodeless shore, A home Is gathering to be destroyed no more. The eye Is bright, the cheek Is warm and fair. Youth, health, and pleasure rush through every vein— One day's sharp agony, or months’ long woe, lilds beauty how down in the shrine of pain ; Thank (loci! no dire mischance, no cropping 111, With anguish and with woe our Father’s mansions fill. We bask ourselves In wealth’s luxuriant court, Darkness and hardness are to us unknown; Then suddenly we wake from our bright dream. And riches and their fairy train are down. How sweet to know that on the changeless shore, Diadems of fadeless gold ure laid for us in store! And oftentimes on life’s tempestuous sen, When our frail hark Is tossed by wind and wave, We should he carried down the whirlpool there, J)ld not a vision from afar oil - save; A hay where our fragile boat shall moor, The dreary voyage past, the raging tempest o'er. There nrc no scatter<*d homes In that fur land, No riven friends, no agony nor pain, No broken hearts, nor treacherous fortune there; No darksome graves, where liredong love Is lain 'No trial, no temp|atton, and no sin; The ransomed race of men to angels are akin. Heed not the thorns that strew thine heavenward way; Pr»*ss onward, upward, glorious is the prize; Forget thy sorrows; o’er thy ruined home, Beyond thy lost friend’s grave, lift up thine eyes, To lilm. who, when life’s troubled dream Is o’er, Will welcome thee at last upon the shadeless shore. —N. O. Independent. MlHH HIIITO MlVK KXI’KKIILWK. “I am glad you like him. 1 knew yon would. Yes, lie is a good deal like his boots —strong and substantial. Hut you should see Mrs. Profe^gior. I wonder what you’d think her like?” “Her bonnets, may he.” "There, you've hit it exactly—pretty ex pensive, to he handled with rare. Have you seen her? No? O, I know, Prof. Helton wns Ned's teacher, lie told you about them, of course. They are such an odd couple. Haven't a single thing in common, have they, Charley?" “Well, yes, love, it strikes me they have. 1 believe they are both a little behind time.” We laughed, and then my friend said, “But yon are always willing to forgive the Professor for keiqring you waiting; ho is such good company when yoh do got him.” I was always willing to pardon his wife for her dilatoriness,” put in the husband, "and wish she had been another lmlf hour lute.” Ned had told me, 11s my friend, Mrs. Brack ett, surmised, about Prof. Helton, He Imd been married about three months when Ned left Ashwood. (lenerally speaking, hoys rather take to pretty women, and, generally speaking, also, they don't particularly ad mire old maid school touchers; and so it had nlwuys seemed a little odd to me that Ned should dislike the Professor’s wife, and be so enthusiastic over Miss White, the precep tress. “Tell me about Miss White,” I said. “Do yon think she cared for him?” “Cared for him! She just wnrshi)>cd the man. I was there through it nil, and I know. She fought against it fora long time, but when Prof. Sclton married, it broke Miss White’s henrt; and slio was forty-live years old, and the Professor only thirty. Sounds funny, don’t it, to talk of a woman of forty- live breaking lior heart for a man full fifteen years her junior? But if you’d known Miss White you’d lmvo pitied her. You couldn’t hnve helped it!” "But what made her so foolish ? I should have thought her henrt had gotten pretty flexible by that time." “Perhaps it grew brittle with age, like your china tea service you won’t allow any body to touch, Clara,” put in Prof Hmckctt, “because it’s un heirloom, and so old and fragile.” “Hadn’t she ever had any beaux f" I asked, “She must have been a very charming wo man, hy all accounts. Queer she had never married, wasn't it?” “I’ve hoard her childhood was unhappy. Her father and mother were both from good' families, but it was a money mutch, and, as It proved, a money match with very little money in it. Her mother was sick and ner vous. Her father was a hard man; one of those men who never manifest any affection for anybody. Perhaps lie would havp been different with a wife who loved him. It must have rattier a hardening effect upon a man to feel tliutliis wife only married him for his money. Both were quick tempered, and, well, I don’t know anything about it. Miss White seldom alluded to her family, and then only in a general sort of a way. However, I imagine the first twenty-five years of her life were not running over witli happiness. Her only sister married a scamp who never more than half supported his family. After tier mother's death, Miss White went to take care of her sister, who was an invalid. That is, shortly after her mother's death, for her father married again in less than a year. I think going to her sister must have cost Miss White a hard struggle, for if there was any person in the world shecordialiy hated, it was her brother- in-law. “I know him ; he’s a scamp, but that isn't the worst of It, liy half. I’ve seen scamps whom one could manage to love very well; but this brother-in-law of Miss White was not one of the engaging scamps. Hisstingi- ncss was worse than his rascality. He was wlmt one might call a two-cent scamp. But tlie sister did not live long, and at last, when she was nearly thirty yenrs old, Miss White had a chance to try life for herself. She had 11 good education, which site hud acquired almost wholly alone. She wns aline linguist. Soon after her sister's death she had some money to full to her; not a great deal, hut enough to give tier the advantages of travel und private instruction in those branches she had been unable to acquire by herself. Then she came to Ashwood; she had been there eight years when we knew’ her, and wns past forty. You’d never iiave thought it, though. Site was just as gay and jolly us any of the girls. Not a bit of the ‘Mrs. Gen eral’ about her. She didn’t affect juvenility. She was one of those women who are always young. The scholars all liked her, the pro fessors all liked her; everybody liked her— yes, it did seem funny that she was un old maid. I’m sure it couldn’t hnve been from necessity. She wus one of the linest scholars 1 ever knew. You know you always said, Charley, you didn’t believe there was a man in the State could heat her in Greek. Site could spenk French and German, paint and sing, and O, I don’t know wlmt all! Her scholars used to suy, ‘I wonder if there is anything Miss White don’t know?” Perhaps you think she was pedantic. She wasn’t; not the least hit of it. Site Imd seen too much of the world for flint. “Prof. Seltou cuiiic to Ashwood soon after we did. The old professor of Natural Sciences imd died, and Prof. Sclton was called to tils clinlr. You have seen Prof. Sclton. Well, lie looked just the same five years ago us he does now; wore the same rough, stout boots, Imd the same firm look nliout the mouth, and the same honest eyes. It isn’t put 011. I never blamed the Profes sor, nltliougli some of tlie teachers did. He never intended to make Miss Wiiitc love him, never had an inkling of tier rent feel ings toward him, unless, perhups, when it wus too lute. Tlie mere fuel of her being fifteen years his senior made him feel per fectly safe, I siipiiosc. He was always very guarded in his intercourse witli thegirls. 1 imagine she seemed more like a mother to him." “How did tiiey come to lie sointimntc? Were their tastes alike ?” I asked. "0, yes; it seemed to come about of itself. Miss White was an enthusiast in geology and botany. She imd a title herbarium, and every summer when she came hack from her vacation, she would bring n box of speci mens for her cabinet, with her. The Profes sor was writing a series of articles on the Flora of the State for a scientific magazine, nnd quite nnturally would drop into Miss White’s room to talk his subjects up with her. She was all interest. I always thought tlie Professor got some of his best ideas from her. Indeed, lie thought so himself. They came out in hook form a few months ago. Please get the book, Charlie. It’s on the third shelf, right there by your Homer; you see the dedication: ‘To tlie memory of my true friend and co-worker.’ At first, he’d only run in for a half hour or so, but his calls kept on lengthening until it soon came to be quite understood if anything were wanted of Prof. Selton between 7 o'clock in the evening and the retiring bell, that lie must be sought in Miss White’s room. He never seemed to think anything about it, but would say, Til leave my papers here and come back when I am at liberty,” witli quite tlie same matter-of-fact voice he would have said, 'I’ll cotne bock and finish my cigar,' to a gentleman friend. I was very Intimate with Miss White, and evenings, when Charlie was with tlie Greek Professor, I always went to her. Prof. Selton was almost always there. Her little sitting room was just tlie coziest place! There were two canaries; she used to let them fly about as they pleased. Don’t you remember, Charlie, how one of them used to percli over the lambrequins? We called him the ‘Baron,’ and 0, say, Charlie, don’t you remember that handsome fellow that we named ‘Nar cissus* becuuse lie was so fond of admiring himself in tlie mirror? We found a young turtle in tlie brook one day, and brought him home witli us. Miss White kepthim in her room in a glass snucedish behind a pile of books in tlie corner. We use to get bits of raw meat to feed him on, and the turtle got to be quite tame, nnd would go sprawl ing about tlie room with an air of perfect comradeship. In the winter, Miss White always bad an open fire, and it was such a wnrm. cheery place to toast one’s toes. Her fires never had the sulks." Here Mrs. Charlie gave her own fire a sug gestive poke with her antique firetongs, as much as to say; “Go thou and do likewise;” then she held them high up above the fire and clapped them smartly together to shake off tlie ashes before putting them back by tlie tall, sliiny-lieaded fire-shovel. A very tidy body is Mrs. Charlie, and not a little proud of her pretty home; she gave a satis fied glance around tlie room, then leaned buck aguin in her easy chair and went on: “What a difference there is in rooms, isn’t there? Some rooms seem ns unfitted for nice little chats as Westminster or Notre Dame for a modern sermon. Some rooms hnve no suggestiveness about them, unless, indeed, they suggest a funeral or something of the sort. Anyway, all your ideas die the minute you sit down on—for one can't say in—one of tlie stiff chairs, and there's noth ing left to do hut study tlie figures on the carpet in a vacant sort of a way, and say something idiotic about tlie weather. We never talked about tlie weather in Miss White’s room. We never were at a loss for something to say. Tlie walls would seem to open and let in so much of the out-door world. Everything suggested something. There was, I remember, a plate of rocks and sea shells in one corner hy the fireplace; stones from tlie beach, witli barnacles cling ing to them. Before you knew, you’d be back hy tlie seashore, listening to tlie com ing in of tlie tide, recalling bits of life and odd types you met there, comparing notes. But I was going to tell you about tlie Pro fessor. He hoarded in tlie hall, and wits Miss White’s opposite at table. Charlie and I were in the same division. Of course you know Charlie was tlie Professor’s assistant in Greek and Butin tlie first three years after we were married. It was at table that Miss White first got acquainted with tho Profes sor. Now, Charlie, please do keep still. Yon needn’t tell Miss Cary that foolish story of yours nliout tlie meat. I know it was very silly in Miss White, but a woman is always silly when she is in love. I don’t mind ad mitting tills much, for n man is a fool in the same situation.” There was a twinkle in tlie Professor’s eye which seemed to promise a hearty laugh for three. 1 didn’t like to lose it, so I said : “Mrs. Charlie, by your leave I would like to hear the story.” “ O, well, lie’s dying to tell it, of course. Go on, Charlie, but do confine yourself to facts.” “As my dear gossip—I use this word in its primitive sense, my love—‘God, sip, alli ance,’ consult your Webster if you doubt niy definition—as iny dear gossip was say ing, Miss White and tlie Professor were vis- a-vis at tlie table. The Professor, as I have already suggested, was given to being a little late, and it was charming to see Miss White trot out into the kitchen and presently come out with a steaming plateful of soup for the delinquent. If the rest of us were late we had to eat our soup cold. You never went utter hot bouilion for me, you know you never did, Clara, and you the bride of less than a twelvemonth." • "You never gave me a chance. I never knew you to cat a spoonful of soup all the- time wo were at Ashwood.” “Too suggestive of tlie ghosts of departed dinners, you know. However, we were all rather jealous of the'Professor, for Miss White was a remarkable woman; really the most remarkable woman I ever knew, wtth tho two present exceptions, of course. But to my story of how Cupid made one remark able woman behave in a remarkably foolish manner. It was at dinner; we were all pret ty hungry. If you’ve ever boarded in a sem inary boarding house, you know how dis consolate and sort 0’ down at the heel one’s stomach gets to feeling between meals. It was Wednesday, and there was a nice roast on the table. We’d had baked beans Mon day, pork steak Tuesday. I never eat ponk, you know, and of course you can imagine that joint looked very appetizing.” “Now, Charlie, you needn't pretend yon can remember the bill of fare for tlie week before. We both know what your memory is. ” “Please don’t interrupt—I remember it distinctly. Didn’t we always have warmed over beans Mondays, pork steak Tuesdays, and didn’t the boys alway say: “If you want a favor of Prof. Brackett, you must ask Wednesdays. As I was saying, it was Wednesday, and the roast was particularly fine, Miss White always presided over tlie tea urn, and of course the Professor carved. Tlie meats were always carved before grnce. The Professor was late. I was about to take up the carving knife, “ ‘Ah, sighed Miss White, ‘how I do wisli Prof. Selton would come, ho does carve so beautifully!’ "I drew back my band. You will admit it was rather hard on me, for, us you know,if there’sany one thing I particularly pride my self upon, it’s my skill in dislocating a tur key, or carving a joint. I glanced at tlie other fellow in our division—Tom Adams— he was a senior. There was a queer look on his face. “All the other divisions began to carve, finished carving. Neither Adams nor I so much as looked at the carving knife. Grace was said, tho other divisions were served, eating had commenced. Tlie attention of the whole table was divided between tlie dinner and us. Miss White began to look rosy. Slie wasn’t so far gone as not to be conscious of her maladrcsse. I hope my ac cent is Parisian, Miss Cary? Adams and myself kept up a brisk conversation about trout fishing, and tlie joint remained un touched. "At last hunger began to get tlie better of Adam’s wounded susceptibilities. His right hand moved, but notin tlie direction of the carving knife. It was down undertlie table, there was a scraping motion of tlie right foot, lie leaned backwurd a little to tlie left side, as a man must who seeks his right trousers pocket. Outcnmea handful of cop pers. •‘ ‘Well, Professor which shall it be? lieuds, I carve’—just then a very welcome head loomed out from behind a pillar, by the door, and Prof. 8elton bore down upon us. The light that shone overour countenance! was something more than a reflection of tlie broad sunshine on tlie face of Miss White. We were so confoundedly hungry, you see, and after waiting so long, it would have been rather hard to have curved that joint in the eyes of tlie whole tablo. I hope you appreci ate the situation. Mrs. Bracket tlie story is in your hands.” “At that time Miss White was dead in love witli tlie Professor, and we all knew it—by wel mean all her intimate friends—nnd Miss White knew it herself. She didn’t at first. I think she was blinded as to tlie nature of her regards for the Professor at first. How ever this may be, she never was blinded ns to his feelings towards her. When she admitted to herself that she was in love witli a man fifteen years tier junior, she knew as well as she knew afterwards, that his affection for her had nothing of a lover's fondness about it. I think when she found out how tlie case stood with her she contemplated going away. She was very sad tlie first of the winter—not a bit like herself. As the Christ mas holidays drew near she said to me one day: “ ‘Mrs. Brackett, what do you think tlie girls would say if I were to leave ?’ “ ‘I think they would be highly astonished and very sorry,’ was all I said. “But8he didn’tleavc,Iknew she wouldn’t. Of what use would it have been? As long as she lived, she never would cease loving Prof. Selton. I watched her and in a few days I saw that she had given up the struggle. I think she stopped trying to deceive her self, that she frankly admitted her lovo to herself, and mode up her mind to enjoy his society as long as she could. She onjoyed life too much to put out its sunshine with her own hand. “ He’s a good man and I love him. To love a good man is nothing to be ashamed of. What if he Is fifteen years younger than I am. That don’t change my feelings toward him. I know he will never love me other than as a friend. I'll enjoy his friendship os long os I can, and when he marries, why, then it will be time to go away I’ “I think she said something like this to herself, and after saying it felt better. She never said anything about it to others. It