Newspaper Page Text
TEDS NATIONAL TBIBTJNE: WASHINGTON, D. C, JULY 1, 1882.
BATTLE OF MISSION RIDGE.
Br MES. BAHAII 3IATnKWS.
The autumn'? sun tho days abridge.
And shadows lengthen in the wood,
"VVhcrc Lookout Mount' and Mission Ridge
Like 'etr.mels together stood,
Grand, rising in the s-outhcrn air, ,
Protective in their very forms,
liitcireling Chattanooga fair,
As if tofchicld her from all storms.
That autumn brings a ttorm, alas !
More fierce than any e'er she knew,
Tor yonder, through the mountain-pass.
There files an army clad in blue.
Her sons, with Bragg, are on the heights,
But lo! this army intervenes;
And many a heart with terror blights
At thought of the portending 6-cenes.
All ominous thc-c armies lay -
One at the top. one at the feet;
Shall wc anticipate the day
When thoPc tn o waiting armies meet?
Anticipate ? N.iy, all too t-oon !
Alas, too ?oon for -some 'twas found,
For hearts giew faint with siek'ning swoon
Where ghastly forms bestrewed the ground. r;
For Sherman's army came one night
And crossed the river stealthily
There, stationed on the foeman's right,
He waits the morning quietly.
ICcAt day the booming cannons roared.
All day was heard the battle's tread,
And on the hillside blood was poured,
Till night broods over wounded, dead.
Jfcxt morn begins an awful day;
And Sherman's men are fighting yet.
E'er noon Joe ITooker came that way,
And Lookout Mountain ho beset;
He pushed along the northern pass ;
He climbed the eastern ledges steep;
TJp, up and on, until at last
The evening dews began to weep."
Now twilight .shades the earth enshrouds,
And night is creeping on amain
And see! a storm is in the clouds!
Powder's the lightning, blood the rain.
O night of carnage, night of blood.
And stalking death relentless sweeps;
E'er break of day Joe Hooker stood
Monarch of Lookout's lofty peaks.
Morn's dusky shades but half concealed
Grant's men enseonsed near fortress wood,
"Whife brighter lights above revca'.cd
Hragg's army still defiant stood.
But hark ! sis booming shots resound;
An order comes in every roar:
" Charge, chirge, and take the foeman's ground 1 "
And see! they wait to hear no more;
Along the ridge, from end to end,
Bursts one continuous line of smoke,
While musketry and cannon blend
As if Thor's thundeis had awoke.
They're climbing up the rocky spurs,
They spring like madmen to the foe,
While through their midst lead meteors whir,
And crush and tear them as they go.
How can they hope lo reach the top
In such a sweeping, death-fraught fire?
They do not waver, do not stop ;
They fight aud climb on. higher, higher
J?ow fiercer, darker grows the fight;
Where, where, I pray, are thoe brave men?
The -moke has hidden them from sight
But sec! they come in view again.
Far up the cliff two horsemen ride
And beckon on the men behind ;
Harkcr and Sheridan, side by side,
Have thus far up the mountain climbed.
2sow they dismount, they climb, thoy creep,
They heed not danger, din or noise
And close behind them, up the steep,
Is Opdycke with his "Tiger boys."
Sec, see, they climb the mountain's brow.
They're shouting, hear them, cheer on cheer,
And Lookout Mountain takes jt now-
And sends the echo far and near.
All valiantly Bragg stood that day
With rallying shout on shout and then,
Reluctantly he turns away
And follows his retreating men.
O day of glorjous victory !
Of ignominious defeat ;
One urwy shouts triumphantly
The other flees with hurrying feet.
Mon i u mourn for those who fell that day;
Wi--p, country, weep for those who bled;
For v- in blue, for boys in gray
'lie hillside cold and dead.
Hii O errth, tlio-i- foims so still ;
. De wcr. deok tho-e miugh d graves,
' . -NPtiu' Lord, 0 men, that still
.jtiiii'.s Limner oVr them waves.
A:f, 0.. March 3, ISsl.
IJy Axes James.
Shelton Pai k, the stalely mansion of-Sir
Peter and Lady -Shell on, is fall of guests.
The latest anived is Sir Walter "Wynne, a
handsome young fellow, with a fine estate,
who follows his aunt, the widow of his uncle,
from whom he had inherited, his title and
estate: a lady to whom he is very much at
tached, and who has" heen at Shelton Park
for a fortnight already.
These two find themselves alone in the
drawing-room, just before dinner. t
" "Who are here, Aunt Bess ? " the young
fellow is asking.
" "Well, first of all, General and Mrs. Fan
shawe, and that very pretty flame of yours,
their daughter, Mistress Blanche."
" Is she a flame of mine ? " Sir "Walter asks
" I thought so. Very well, then that very
handsome, haughty Miss Harrington, who
has a pretty little fortune, and I think is
making a conquest of Captain Barton, who
is here with his sister. Then that very idle
young scamp, Lord. Ellerhy "
"Ah Ellerby ! They say Ellerby has run
into debt heavily, and means to marry an'
heiress. Is it Miss Harrington who attracts
" No, my dear. You do not know, it seems,
that we have a millionaire amongst us. Yes,
a cousin of Lady Sheldon's, the orphan
daughter of Captain "Wardom, but niece, by
the mother's side, of a rich old iron manu
facturer of Coalshire, who died six months
ago, and made this girl, Jeau "Wardom, his
adopted daughter and heiress."
"Ah, what is she like?"
"Well, a nice little girl, I should say;
quite too good for Ellerby."
"Nevertheless, Ellerby is a great ' catch.'
Vast entailed estates, you know. Anyone
"Only the Spencers. Sweet little girls
they are; and Mrs. Spencer is a kindly soul,
if she is silly. And half a dozen others."
Lady Wynne stops; for the door opens,
and there glides in such a vision of loveliness:
an exquisitely beautiful girl, fair, stately,
graceful as a lily on its stem. She looks like
a lily, in her soft flowing drapery of glisten
ing white silk.
" Oh, Sir Walter ! What a pleasant sur
prise !" she says, in sweet, soft, languid tones,
as she stops in pretty astonishment ; and the
young man hurries to meet her.
" But I have had all the pleasures of antic
ipation!" lie replies, gallantly, as MissFan
shawe's little snow-flake of a hand is laid
.or an instant, with affected shyness, into his.
The room is full of people directly ; and
lie buzz of conversation grows louder.
Presently, Sir Walter sees a pietty, slender
tile figure, in deep mourning, entering the
i.jom, and clipping quietly into a seat. Lord
Hllerby makes his way to her speedily, and
in gins to talk to Iter with an air of absorbed
devotion ; but Sir Walter is near enough to
ce that she answers him quietly, cooly, and
almost in monosyllables.
"Come and be introduced to Jean Wardom,
Sir Walter," says blnff, good-natured Sir
Peter, and in a moment Sir Walter finds him
self bowing to Miss Wardom, who smiles,
and looks up at him out of the very loveliest
pair of dark-gray, black-fringed, honest-looking,
innocent eyes he has ever beheld. She
has dark hair, too, that waves deliciously,
and a clear complexion, that is usually pale,
but has now a soft rose-blush that comes
and goes constantly.
" Yon have been at Shelton Hall often be
fore, I suppose, Miss Wardom," says Sir
" No, never. I never even saw Lady Shel
ton, before I came here, a week ajio," is the
reply, in -a voice a3 clear and soft and frank
as the eyes.
''And all these people were strangers to
you.' Well, you have a fine opportunity to
study character now, aud find us all out,"
1 Sir Walter says, jestingly.
, "Why, I knew something about you all,
before I saw you," Miss Wardom says, smil
ing. "About all of us? About me, too? Why,
what have you heard?" exclaims Lord
Ellerby, so eagerly that Miss Wardom
" Better not press that question, Ellerby,"
Sir Walter says, with a laugh in, his hazel
" Lady Shelton told me something about
eaeh one of her expected guests," Miss War
dom resumes. " It is very kind of her. She
did not want me to feel that I was among
" Ladv Shelton ! Oh. mv character is safe
in her bauds," Lord Ellerby declares, with a
" I trust she made honorable mention of
me?" Sir Walter half questions.
Miss Wardom shakes her head smilingly,
as she answers :
"Of course I shall not betray her. But
after all, I do not mind very much what one
person tells me about another." A mischiev
ous gleam laughs out of her eyes. " Each
one has his own impression about every one
he knows. Lady Shelton gave me her im
pressions mine may be very different."
"Frightful thought," cries Sir Walter,
gayly. But here the conversation is inter
rupted by the butler announcing dinner, and
Sir Walter goes in with Miss Faiibhawe.
But all through the meal he is thinking of
Jean Wardom's eyes. " How they seem 1o
look into your very soul," lie says to himself.
" I would not like lo have to face her, with
a lie on my lips."
It is the dull interval after dinner, when
the ladies are alone in the drawing-room.
Miss Harrington is reading a novel ; for she
always does whatever pleases herself most;
and the rest of the ladies are keeping up a
languid, intermittent conversation.
"Are you fond of Coalshire. Miss Wardom?"
asks Mrs. Barton, a good-natured, rather
" I was very happy there," Jean Wardom
answers, smiling. " I have lived there nearly
all my life."
"Oh, then, you must have hunted a great
deal. It is such an awful jolly hunting
country. Don't you adore riding ?" exclaims
Miss Barton, a dashing, handsome girl, who
is " very popular with gentlemen," and whom
'gossip says will even smoke with them.
1 " I have never hunted in my life. A sober
jog on my uncle's old horse has been the ex
tent of my riding."
Miss Barton opens her eyes wide with
amazement. "Live in Coalshire, and not
hunt? Why, I thought everybody but you
are afraid, perhaps ? "
" I do not think I should bo afraid," Jean
" Then why " begins Miss Barton. But
Lady Shelton deftly interrupts.
" You shall hunt this winter, Jean. Sir
Teter will take ileasure in teaching you to
ride, she says.
" I suppose you often met the Duchess of
Rosedale, Miss Wardom," says Mrs. Fan
shawe, in her most condescending tones.
" I often saw her. Indeed, I spoke to her
once," (and she breaks into a merry little
laugh, but checks herself and goes on- again-,)
"but I do not know her at all.j'
" Miss Wardom's uncle was such an invalid
and she of course could not leave him. She
has been quite a recluse, poor dear child,"
Lady Shelton says, pityingly.
"Yes, I have gone out very little, and I
doubt whether the duchess would ever have
known of my existence, if I had not once had
the ill-luck to tread on the train of her dress,
at a flower-show."
"You didn't do that?" ejaculates Mrs. Spen
cer, rousing herself from her usual state of
sleepy indifference, lo turn and look at Miss
Wardom with awe-struek eyes.
" What did the duchess say ? " ask May
and Ella Spencer, breathlessly.
" Oh, she said, ' Bless my soul child, look
where you are going,' " Jean answers.
"And you what did you say?" pursues
"I stepped of the train, and said I was
sorry. Poor lady ! She must have thought
us a dreadful rabble; for while I was beg
ging her pardon, someone else hooked a
parasol into her hair, and I had to untangle
it." Jean stops to laugh at the recollection,
as she says this.
"And then, were you introduced to her?"
asks Miss Fanshawe, with interest.
" No. I did not know any of her parly.
I did overhear her say to our rector's wife,
afterwards, 'Who is that young woman talk
ing to your daughter?'" Aud Mrs. Castle
man told her it was 'Jean Wardom.' Sol
suppose her grace sometimes remembered
my existence, when she arrayed herself in
her brown satin dress. I am afraid I tore it
out of the gathers. 1 was very sorry, for she
seemed a nice, jolly little woman."
Jean says this with perfect serenity, and
leans back in her chair, still smiling a little
at the remembrance of her encounter with
the duchess. Lady Shellou looks a little
annoyed, and rather abruptly asks Ella
Spencerto open the piano and play some
thing. A brilliant duet from Ella and May has
the effect of bringing the younger gentlemen
immediately from the dining-room. Lord
Ellerby slips adroitly into a seat beside Miss
Wardom. Captain Button devotes himself
to his capricious and haughty idol, Miss
Harrington. Other people stray about, or
stand around the piano. Suddenly, there is
a hush, for Blanche Fanshawe is singing the
" Jewel Song " in Faust. Blanche's singing !
It is like the jet of a fountain, throwing its
sparkling waters high into the sunlight, and
falling again into a cascade of diamonds.
Liquid, brilliant, clear and flexible as water,
is Blanche's voice. Long before the song is
over," Jean Wardom has stolen across the
room, and stands by the piano, listening,
fascinated, with deepening color and spark
" Oh," she sighs, softly, when it is over, " I
never,- never heard any singing half so
lovely." Sir Walter is standing near her.
He does not say a word ; but Blanche sees
that his eyes are fixed upon Miss Wardom's
face, with evident, undisguised admiration.
She rises abruptly from the piano, and no
entreaties prevail upon her lo sing again.
"Thanks. 1-am not in voice, to-night,"
she says, coldly, to Sir Walter. "But I am
sure Miss Wardom will sing for you."
"Do you sing Miss Wardom?" asks Sir
Jean blushes her pretty wild-rose blush as
she answers, unwillingly, " I used to sing a
little, at home. But it was only songs and
ballads. No one could care for them after
Miss Fanshawe's lovely singing."
"Oh, but we do care. We all love old
songs. I adore ballads," Blanche protests,
eagerly. She plainly sees that Miss War
dom's attempt to sing will cover her with
ridicule, and she is determined she shall sing.
She entreats, and makes other people, until
Jean yields; and going lo the piano, softly
touches a choul or two and begins to sing.
It is indeed an old-fashioned song she has
chosen: the song about "My Nannie, OJ"
that nobody sings in these days. She sings
it simply, clearly, in a sweet, sympathetic
voice that touches the heart.
The men, at least, like it. They draw
around the piano, and listen eagerly, If her
voice trembles a little at first, it is full and
steady long before she reaches the last Verse:
"My Nannie's simple, fair, and young,
ICea aitful wiles to win ye, O;
May ill befa' the flattering tongue,
Thai, wad beguile my Nannie, O !
Ker face is f;ur, her heart U true,
As spotless as she's bonny, O !
Tho opening gowan, wet wi' dew,
jJCae purer is than Nannie, O ! "
" My child, that is charming," exclaims
old Lady "Wynne, her bright, dark eyes look
ing suspiciously dewy. " No, no, you shall
not stop. Sing again for us."
There is a chorus of entreaties for more.
The gentlemen are so enthusiastic in their
admiration of the sang and the singer, that
Blanche could nlmo3t bite out her tongue in
her vexation. She had brought it on herself.
She had meant to make "the girl "ridicu
lous, and she has given her a triumph.
The days go by. Jean Wardom has been
two weeks at Sheltou Hall. She is very
happy. Lady Shelton aud Sir Peter pet her ;
Lady Wynne unbends to her moie than to
anyone else ; and the gentlemen unanimously
admire her. If some of the ladies dislike,
scorn, or envy her, she does not seem to be
aware of it ; but goes on her way, bright and
suimy, and sweet as the summer weather
" Who arc going to walk, this lovely morn
ing? " Jean asks, as she stands by the drawing-room
window, and looks out on the
emerald lawn, and the cool shadows of the
park beyond it.
" You and I are," answers Lord Ellerby,
so very promptly that everyone laughs.
Everyone but Jean, who colors a little, and
parts her lips, as if to speak, but closes them
again. She is undeniably vexed at this cool
appropriation of her, and it is not the first
time, either. At least Sir Walter thinks this
of her. ;
" I beg your pardon, Ellerby," he saye,
coolly. " Hate to disappoint you, but Miss
Wardom is going to ride with me. Are you
not, Miss Wardom ? "
" Oh, I should like it very much," Jean
replies, eagerly, giving him a quick, grateful
" Do I understand that you have a previous
engagement with Sir Walter, Miss Wardom ?"
Lord Ellerby says, with wrath and indigna
tion in his tone. ,
"Miss Wardom can surely do as she
pleases, Ellerby," Sir Walter says, carelessly.
" Was it a previous engagement, Miss
Wardom?" Otherwise, Wynne had no
Lord Ellerby is speaking hotly; but Jean
stops him, with a little smile and gesture.
"I had no engagement with either," she
says, very gently, "but I prefer lo ride."
And then she quietly leaves the room.
Sir Walter looks out of the window, and
whistles softly to conceal a smile, while Lord
Ellerby frowns darkly, and flings himself
down in a chair beside Miss Fanshawe.
" Oh, I am so much obliged to you for tak
ing mo to ride, this morning," Jean exclaims,
as she and Sir Walter go.
"The obligation is entirely on my side,
Miss Waidom," laughs Sir Walter.
"Yes, I know," Jeau answers, laughing in
turn. ".But if you knew how much I did
not want to walk with Lord Ellerby. And
I really saw no way out of it, till you so nobly
came to the rescue."
" Then it is Ellerby I am indebted to, after
all ; you only rido with mo to escape a worse
fate," Sir Walter suggests, mischievously.
Jean laughs, and flashes a demure little
glance at him ; but she docs not speak. He
leans forward to see her face; for a sudden
doubt comes over him, at this, like a dash
of cold water. Perhaps she is only riding
with him, to escape a worse fate. The
decided discomfort which this idea occasions
him, opens his eyes to the knowledge that
he cares very much to ride with her ; to talk
with her; and that he would like this sum
mer day, and this ride with Jean Wardom,
to go on and on, indefinitely.
" You don't answer me," he exclaims, rather
vehemently. " You are too honest to dis
claim, arid you cannot say you would have
cared if " '
But he never gets any furthor ; for Jean
lifts her lovely eyes to his f.tce, in -utter un
disguised :isionishmcut, and interrupts him.
"Why, of course I wanted to come, any
way," she says. " You and I have always
been friends. You are always good to me.
Why shouldn't I like to ride with you ? "
"Why, indeed," he replies, gayly. "I was
talking nonsense. But tell mo why yon dis
liked so much the prospect of a walk with
Jeau looks away, and colors a little, but
will not answer.
"Don't you like him? Ladies generally
adore Ellerby, and I am sure he tries hard
to make you like him," Sir Walter continues,
watching her keenly as he says it.
"No. I neither like, nor respect him;,
and 1 wish he would not try to mako me
like him ; for I never shall," Jean answers,
at last, with emphasis.
"Poor Ellerby! That is hard lines for
him," Sir Walter says, generously.
" Not at all. He is not a person to be in
earnest about anything, except that, like
some people I have read about in the Bible,
he 'does evil with both hands, earnestly.'"
Certainly, Jean herself is earnest, in the
quiet contempt with which she says this.
Then, giving her horse a touch with the whip,
she goes off in a canter.
Through quiet country lanes they ride;
by the side of pcacelul streams, shaded by
drooping willows; then slowly homeward,
through shady wood roads, where the sum
mer sun scarcely penetrates. It is an en
chanted ride, that Sir Walter never forgets.
"Are you tired? I hope not," Sir Yalter.
says, as he assists her to dismount. " Ko
member, weire to have a great many such
rides. I will bring over my ' Belle,' as I
said, and then I hope you will ride with me I
every day ? " He half whispers this au
dacious request; but his eyes seek hers,
" Oh, I don't know ! Perhaps if if Lady
Shelton will let me," Jean replies, with a
pretty blush, and then she runs away
upstairs, the -happiest girl in the world.
Sir Walter strolls into the drawing-room,
which is full of ladies, and Mrs. Fanshawe
asks, with half a sneer : " I hope yon found
Miss Waidom able to ride, without holding
on by the pommel? "
"She doesu't lack confidence in other
things," interposes Miss Fanshawe, with a
sneer she does not attempt to hide.
"What do you mean?" says Sir Walter,
"Oh, it is her manner," says Blanche, in
nocently. " It is not fast, you know, but
well, she speaks her mind with suchterrible
"litis she much mind to speak of? She
strikes me as a silly little thing," Miss Har
rington remarks, carelessly.
"She lacks culture, poor dear child," Mrs.
Barton chimes in.
" Shockingly under-bred," Mrs. Fanshawe
utters, with a portentous shake of the head.
" No girl should be allowed to "
" To speak the truth ? " breaks out Sir
Walter, with a rather dangerous look.
Mrs. Fanshawe glares at him, and does not
"Don't you think her a kind-hearted,
obliging sort of girl, though ?" ventures Ella
Spencer, in a timid voice.
Mts. Fanshawe looks at her, and shakes
her head again.
"Ah, indeed!" she says, coldly. "Isn't it
rather a pity, my dear, that you should copy
such very defiant and objectionable manners
Sir Walter feels that he can endure no
more, and so walks off into the library.
Lady Wynne is writing there.
"What, is the matter, Wat?" she asks,
looking up as he enters.
"Those women!" he exclaims, vehemently.
"Why can't they let Miss Wardom alone?
Sho has done nothing to them."
" Oh, yes she has," Lady Wynne replies,
tranquilty. "She dares to be pretty and
pleasing ; and she shames them, too, by her
truth and honesty. Do you know what she
makes me think of? She always brings to
my mind that line of Keats's : ' Oh, what a
power has white simplicity ! '"
Two moro weeks of glorious summer
weather drift by. Jean has half a dozen
delicious rides, on Sir Walt r's pretty bay,
"Belle," which he litis had brought over
from his place, twenty miles away, as he had
Can she ever forget that last ride of all,
when they draw rein on the summit of the
highest hill in the county, and watch the
sun going down in splendor behind the
western hills ? Jean Jeans forward to rest
her cheek on her hand, and they are both
" In that lost land, in that soft clime,
In the crimson evening weather."
She quotes this in an absent. tone, scarcely
above her breath.
"What are you thinking of?" Sir Walter
asks, bending to sec her face. " There is no
' lost land,' surely, in your memory ? "
She rouses herself, and looks up with a
smile. " No I was only saying it over, be
cause it is so pretty: 'tho crimson evening
weather.' Did you imagine," with an arch i
look, "that 'I was thinking of my first love,'
like Owen-Meredith ? "
" I rather hoped you might be and. that
your thoughts had not very far to go either,''
he says, daringly, bending his dark eyes on
Jean turns and looks at him, laughing.
"I won't pretend not to understand you,"
she cries, gayly. " I can only admire your
"Do you think I am jesting?" he ex
claims, pressing nearer to her, and laying
his hand on hers. " Don't you know I would
rather have a place in your thoughts, than
have anything else this world can give me?"
" Why, you have a place there a very
high one, too," she replies, blushing and
smiling, yet drawing her hand gently away
"Ah, but I cannot be content without the
first the dearest place there," he says,
quickly and passionately.
Jean shakes her head smilingly. "Isn't
it a little too soon to expect me to give you
that?." she says, and then she adds, quickly:
" See, the sun' is going down! Wc will be
late for dinner, if wo do not hurry." And
with a word and a touch to Belle, she is off.
Sir Walter acknowledges to himself that it
is " too soon " to dare hope that she loves
him, and he determines to be patient. Ho
will not speak again yet. But is there no
"love-making "without words? His eyes,
his voice, his manner, say so plainly " I love
you," that Jean hears it, feels it, during all
that long, delicious ride home in the twilight,
aud during all the evening that follows. She
does not talk much to him; for Lord Eller
by manages to get his " innings " now, and
makes lovo to her himself in a way that
leaves her very angry and indignant; but
now and then she meets a glance of those
earnest dark eyes of Sir Walter's that sets
her heart beating, and there is a moment at
" good-night" time, when her hand rests in
his, and he Avhispers, softly : " Will to-morrow
be too soon ? " She runs away, without
answering, except by down-dropped eyelids
and tho sweetest blush.
To-morrow ! To-morrow ! Well, it comes ;
a balmy, perfect summer day. Jean appears
at breakfast iu a soft, flowing white dress,
sindlooks ravishingly pretty. There is a hand
ful of dewy roses on her plate. She does not
need to ask who put them there ; but glances
across the table at Sir Walter, nods in answer
to his bow and smile, and proceeds to fasten
the flowers at her throat. One great, velvety
crimson rose she tucks prettily away amidst
her dark hair.
" What time shall we ride to-day, Miss
Wardom ? " asks Sir Walter, after breakfast.
"Not till after luncheon, I think," she
answers. " I have promised to show Mrs.
Spencer a new knitting-stitch, this morning."
" Then I will ride over to Langford, with
Sir Peter, now. You will be ready ? " He
goes away reluctantly, and Jean watches him
riding down the avenue, and turning to look
back and wave a farewell to her.
Then she gives her whole mind to Mrs.
Spencer and the new stitch.
Meanwhile, May, who is an enthusiastic
little soul, sits and watches her, admiringly.
"What is the matter with you to-day,
Jeanie? " she asks, presently. " You look
so pretty I could just eat you."
" Oh, you goose," Jean laughs. " If you
wero not sitting there idle, you wouldn't
talk such nonsense. ' Idleness is the parent
of mischief.' "
" Well, but oh, I do think you ought to
be the happiest girl in the world. You have
everything : beauty, and riches, aud "
" Do you call five hundred a year 'riches? ' "
Jean asks, carelessly. " It is quite enough
for me, but it is not generally considered
"Five hundred a ye'ar? Why, I thought
we heard "
May stops, in open-mouthed astonishment.
" Heard what ? " Jean asks, putting down
the knitting, and looking at her inquiringly.
"Why, that you had millions," May gasp3.
"How did you hear that? Who could
have told you such a falsehood?" Jean
asks this with quick, sudden surprise. No
one answers. There is a dead silence in the
room. She sees everyone looking at her,
with surprised glances.
" May, tell me, is it only your nonsense,
or did anyono really think Lady Shelton,
-what does she mean ? "
She turns, with a sudden appealing look,
to her hostess. But the latter looks as blankly
amased as anyone else ; and when she speaks,
it is in an utterly bewildered tone.
" My dear, I thought" she says. ' Good
heavens, yon don't mean to say that that
your uncle didn't leave you his money?"
"He left me five hundred pounds a year.
He thought that was enough for a woman.
The rest of his fortune he leit to his neph
Jean speaks very steadily and clearly.
The words arc fatally distinct. Everybody
hears them. Mrs. Fanshawe and her daugh
ter exchange swift glances of triumph; and
Miss Harrington puts up her eye-glass de
liberalelv, and stares curiouulv at Jean.
There is nothing for Lady Shelton to do
but to burst into tears, and waddle out of
the room ; which she docs promptly. Jean
looks around the silent circle, and says with
quiet dignity :
" I am very sorry there has been such a
mistaken impression about me. I do not
know how it happened."
" Never mind, my love," says kindly Mrs.
Spencer, taking Jean's hand. " I am sure we
all love you as much as if you had millions.
" I an sure you do," whispers Jean, with a
grateful look, and then follows Lady Shel
ton. Lady Shelton is bitterly mortified and dis
tressed. She is not a reasonable woman ; so
poor Jean finds herself treated as a culprit,
and scolded, because of Lady Shelton's mis
take. " You did not tell me he had not left yon
his money, when I asked yon to come here,"
she sobs, fretfully.
" You did not ask me about it, Lady Shel
ton. You wrote to me, kindly ; and I was
grateful. I thought you were kind- to me
because you had been fond of my father,"
Jean says, with quivering lips.
" Oh, so I was. But then, couldn't you
see that if I had known you were poor, I
would never have wanted to take you
out of your proper sphere "
" I might have seen it, but I did not, some
how," Jean replies, too bewildered to be
"And since you have been here all this
lime when Lord Ellerby and Sir Walter
Wynne have paid you such 'devoted atten
tion dear me, child ask yourself: Would
such men care to devote themselves to
an insignificant little chit, with a m-mis-erable
f-five hundred a year?" sobs Lady
Shelton, quite overcome with wretchedness
Jean rises up, very pale and very proud.
" You are quite right. I have been blind
and foolish," she says, in a cold, restrained
tone. " I am quite ' out of my proper sphere'
here. I thank you and Sir Peter for your
kindness to me, aud I am going away, now."
Lady Shelton begins a weak expostulation;
but before she concludes, Jean is gone.
Downstairs, there is much flutter and ex
citement about this astonishing discovery.
" I always felt there wtis something wrong
about that girl," Mrs. Fanshawe exclaims,
exultingly, as the door closes after Jean.
"It was all Lady Shelton's folly," says
Miss Harrington. " Eeally, the little thing
behaves very nicely about it."
"Her head has been quite turned, I fear.
Dear me, what a pity," vaguely laments Mrs.
They all have a great deal to say about it:
all except Lady Wynne, who preserves
An hour later, there comes a quick tap on
Jean Wardom's door ; and when her little
maid opens it, there stands Lady Wynne.
" May I come in ? " she says. Before Jean"
can answer, she is in.
" I hear you are going away, child. I am
very sorry for it." And sho takes Jean's
hand in both hers, and clasps it firmly.
Jean has been crying, but she is very palo
and calm now. " You are very kind, Lady
Wynne," sho says, in a quiet, controlled sort
" I was commissioned to bring yon a note,
my dear, and to take an answer," tho old
lady continues. " I will sit down, and wait
for it. I hope you will not refuse any re
quest you find there."
With trembling fingers, and a sudden scar
let spot on each cheek, Jean opens the note,
and reads as follows :
" Is it possible you are going away ? Pray,
come down to tho librarj'. I must speak to
you. Yours sincerely,
She turns away from those bright old eyes
that are watching her, and goes to her desk,
to write an answer. Tho cold little fingers
that hold the pen are very steady and reso
lute. " Yes," she writes, " I am going away. I
ought never to have been here. I cannot
come down. I am busy packing. I must
say 'good-bye," now. Very sincerely, your
friend, Jeax Wahdom."
Ludy Wynne rises to take the note; takes
Jean's hand with it, again, in her warm, firm
clasp ; looks kindly in the girl's face a mo
ment; aud then stoops and kisses her.
After that she walks out, without a word.
Jean's eyes fill with sudden tears ; but
she goes back steadily to her packing ; and
that finished, dresses herself for her journey.
Half an hour later, comes a note from Lady
" Who can talk, with a maid in the room?"
itsays. " Comedown to my little parlor, child,
for awile, to bid me good-bye. Don't refuse
to gratify an old woman, who Idves you.
"Your friend, Elizabeth Wyxne."
Lady Wynne's room is cool, and shady,
and perfumed with roses, that climb around
the casement. Jean has spent many a pleas
ant hour there ; but she goes down unwil
lingly enough now. She hesitates; half
turns back ; but at last she entere, looking
very pale in her black dress. She is closing
the door behind her, but in an instant turns
to open it again ; for instead of " an old
woman" in a steel-gray silk dress, there
starts forward to meet her a young man,
with an eager, handsome face, and imploring
She puts out her hand, blindly, towards
the door. But he is there before her.
" Jean, you are so cruel ! You' would not
come to me, until Aunt Bess cheated you
into it." He looks at her reproachfully,
standing with his bade against the door.
" Let me go ! Oh, I must not talk to you,"
she says, her breath coming quickly, and
her cheeks turning from snow to flame.
" I will let you go, when you have listened
to me," he replies. Then he leaves the door,
to take both her trembling little hands, and
hold them fast, arid look down, with pas
sionate love, into her eyes.
"Oh, Jean, my darling," he cries. "You
do love me, don't you ? How can you help
it, when I love yon so much better than
She cannot help it. She does not speak;
but he sees it in the depths of her lovely,
truthful eyes. Yet she keeps him back,
when he is going to take her in his arm3.
"No, no!" she cries. "You have been
deceived, all this time and I did not know
it. You thought I was very rich "
" You are mistaken," he says, gravely and
earnestly. " I have known, for two weeks,
that the man who married you would get
nothing but the priceless treasure of your
dear, .dear self, and your love. Jeanie am I
to have that?"
She makes no resistance, now, to the
strong arms that clasp her so closely, or the
warm kisses that are pressed upon her lips.
She is too happy to speak.
" Jeanie, I shall not believe my own good
fortune I shall think I am dreaming, if you
do not say you love me." He whispers thi3
with tender reproach.
Then she raises her head, and looks at
him, with these wonderful dark-gray eyes,
that had looked his heart away the fir3fc
time he saw them.
"Ah, I do, indeed, love you," she murmurs,
She doe3 not once think, now, to tell him
that it is " too soon " to love him. She only
knows that, half an honr ago, she was utterly,
hopelessly wretched, because she thought
she was never to see him again, and now his
arms are around her, and he loves her with
all his heart.
" But how did you know I hadn't any
money ? " she bethinks herself to ask, an
hour or so after this.
" The Duchess of Eosedale told Aunt Bess.
' Lady Shelton only imagined the money,'
she wrote. 'You had no millions; but you
had the sweetest face, and the prettiest man
ners, she ever saw.' I wasn't prepared to
contradict her," Sir Walter says, laughing.
" But did you never think that that per
haps I knew people thought I was rich?"
Jean inquires, earnestly.
"Never, my darling! Could Ilook in
those dear eyes, and believe you so false?"
he asks, with indignant tenderness.
"Young people," remarks Lady Wynne's
voice, at the door, "I suppose you do not
know that the luncheon-bell rang long ago,
and that if you have come to any conclusion,
(oh, I see you have,) perhaps it might be aa
well to relieve Lady Shelton's mind. She is
still shedding floods of tears, I believe. But
first kiss me, child."
And with tears in her bright eyes, she
takes Jean in her arms and kisses her ten
derly. "You don't mind his loving me, then?"
Jean whispers, anxiously.
The old lady laughs, and kisses her again,
as she answera :
" I am very glad, my dear little WniTK
Simplicity." Peterson's Magazine.
THE MAGAZINES FOR JULY,
Harpers Magazine for July is an exception
ally fino number instructive, entertaining,
amusing. Within its ample pages may bo
found choice morceaus from tho best writers of
the age. Tiio publishers of this magazmo are
entitled to the thanks of a host of people of
both sexes for a general knowledge of places
and events, of which they would otherwiso
have remained in profound ignorance to tho
day of their death. Tho sketches of travel
alono are wprth tho subscription price of tho
The Century for July contains a frontispieco
portrait of Ealph Waldo Emerson, accompany
ing a paper by Emma Lazarus on " Emerson's
Personality ; " also an engraving of tho last
portrait of ITenry D. Thoreaii, from a tintypo
presented to J. H. Treadwell by Mr. Emerson.
The sketch of " Thoreau " is from the graceful
pen of John Burroughs, and is writtten in his
happiest vein. All the departments of this ex
cellent publication are up to the full standard
of merit, and tho number is a thoroughly en
tertaining and instructive one.
Wide Awake for July brings a sigh of regret
to grown-up boys and girls of forty and upwards
that no such periodical was furnished for tho
amusement and instruction of their childhood.
Although printed for boys and girls, tho feast
is spread in such a tempting way that it
is tend by all the family. Life pictures, both
written and engraved, abound in it. Even the
fairies are depicted in such a taking way that
ouacan easily believe them real, and regret not
having lived in an ago when lie could havo
formed their acquaintance.
Lippincolt's Magazine for July contains a
choice collection of light and entertaining mat
ter, particularly adapted for summer reading.
Mr. .Robinson's contribution on "Black-Eas3
Fisheries" carries us in imagination to some of
the least frequented streams of the Adirondacks.
It is beautifully illustrated. Anna Bowman's
"Sketch of Peasant Life" is highly entertain
ing, and Mr. Holden's artiele, "Tho Tiger of
the Sea," pictures some exciting adventures
among the man-eaters and other monsters off
the Florida coast. In fiction Lippincott's is,,-i3
usually, especially attractive. There is a capi
tal Fourth of July story; tho opening chapters
of a new serial" Fairy Gold ; " and numerous
sketches, poetry and miscellaneous matter of
Deinorcst'a Magazine for July is prepared to
coimucmorato the sixtieth birthday of the pro
prietor and senior editor, W. Jennings Dcnio
rest, aud is the finest number over issued of
this popular monthly. Among tho many read
ablo articles are " Brook-Farm Period in Now
England," by Col. Thomas W. Higginson ;" Eng
lish Women hi Bondage," by Kate Field ; "I?. W.
Emerson," by Miss Alcott. Mrs. Julia Ward
Howe and Mrs. Louiso Chandler Moulton are
among tho poetical contributors.