Newspaper Page Text
THE DEMOCRAIC NORTHWEST, THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 1. 1881.
Ok, MnwW Ml
It aanua Ml
Of wbat bafril
In taoae happy d vbmwt kwrd ao wan,
Wban bnrtt together Um Sabbata knell
In aurlaurholT uuatt aacll,
Ovar to bill and throuith th dell.
En I lelt the for Um ara.
Oh, aad la mj heart at Ita mournful too,
Aa.I aiaud her a atraturrr, forattn. alone.
And think of Uie tiniaa, wbvn UUa aarna old tree
Oaveaat-ltar, Maggl, to tnea and me.
Thoar were happy day, aveet M affile BelL
W hen we beard together the old church bell ;
The year are mauy, and aad, aince then.
Bat no lore of my heart baa ever been
Like the love 1 bur to thee.
Ah! Mantle Bell, why did I dream
To nil a place In the world'a wUrm?
I have won fortune, and honor, aud f nine,
but what to me U an empty uanie
bince thou art loat to mar
Twaa hen- that we prt.i. .et Maggie Bell,
Here where the aliadv ol tiie old tnt- fell :
1 rexninnberltaiwaya rt-inemuer it well;
Th old true la wiihrrliiL', pawlns away,
lu leavea to the wiudn. ita trunk to decay.
And chaugre m-wme written wherever 1 dwell,
blnoe the daya of ourchildhoott, MaRie Bell.
Twaa youuertur fat here cottage atood,
Cloae by the brook-eide, cloee by the wind;
The gn at old liani, with the roof ao tall,
The old bay loft above the at U,
The moirty well, the old atone wall.
The landed floor, and the oaken hall
Where we danced together lu runtic ball,
I remember them well, I remember them all
And the little porch with the woodbine bower,
Wheuoe wo could aee the old church tower,
And where, for many atwilight hour,
We liitened to the distant knell.
Ah ou the air it roae and fell.
Of that familiar old church bell.
The little bench beside the dour.
The honeysuckle hanging o'er,
The pathway leading from the gate.
Where thou at eventide would'at w ait
To greet me when I came ;
The well pole awiugi tig high In air,
The fragrance dwelling everywhere,
Th pear tree wit li itH niKtie aeat
Where I, when aittlng at thy feet,
Had carved thy churilied name
All theft', all tlleae come hack to me,
Aa I Htaud beneath tliia tree
And I acarce can believe Unit 'tie all a dream
Of my childhood's days, aweet Maggie Bell,
An over the hill, and over' the atream
I hear the knell of the old church bell .
But all ere withered, or gone to dcotiy,
The frieudu we loved have paaaetl away.
Deserted, the cottage aliuidx aa of yore,
But there's no one to clone the open door ;
The lattice in broken, and the w indow pane,
The snow dril t lu, aud the driving rain ;
The starn lwk down through the broken roof,
And the night bird now keep not aloof;
The well-pole is broken, aud lies on the ground,
The hedges are trampled, mid scuttered around ;
And all that we cheriidicd oud loved so well
Uas withered, or cone tu decay, Maggie Bell.
Ob, Magglo Bell, sweet Mnggle Bell,
"Twere better fur me hod thy funeral Vnell
Been toled, ere we parted, upon the old bell
'Twere better lor uie, and better for thee,
Hadat been content with a simple lot,
With honest toll and a humble cot,
Had I but made tliee. iny honor nnd fame
My world, anil my fortune, ambition, and aim
Thy love would have been ulltheee to me !
We parted, both with many tears,
For three lonrisiimniero, three long years;
We parted here beneath this tree,
Thou to thy chamber, 1 to the sea;
And we both could hear the old church bell,
As, with a melancholy knell,
It seemed to say farewell, farewell 1
I saw thee, bowed with grief, depart,
With both hands pressed upon thy heart,
Till my dimmed even could see no more,
And then I hastened to the Bhore.
The boat put off, with gentle swell
The oceau billows and fell,
While faintly came the dlatimt knell,
Tolling, from the old church bell,
Sweet Maggie Belli
Oh, Maggie Bell, you never knew
The high resolveB which filled my brain,
Aa on the deck 1 stood, while Hew
Our berk, like sea-bird, o'er the Main. -
Ab one by one the Bails unfurled,
I thought it wiib u manly part
To forth and buttle with the world,
To make me worthy of thy heart
And so'I Wfliit, With hlghftitent;;
Prom continent to continent,
On mealy-purpose bent. f
The world w as all my Held,
I Bailed o'er everv sea.
But Maggie was my shield,
My star of destiny.
Oh, how I toiled In thOBe young years,
W ith what alternate hopes and fears
X battled with my fate;
I struggled for a Bingle aim,
ltoileu for fortune, worked for fame,
To make unto myself a name ;
1 gained it but too late.
Five yearB had gone, I homeward came,
I had won honor, fortune, fame,
And with a high and manly pride
1 came to claim thee ai a bride.
I sought thy humeHtead, Maggie Bell,
The twilight Hhadows deeper grew:
I orosBed the brook, I pasned the dell,
And soon thy cottage came lu view.'
But darker grew the twilight shade,
I now had reached the little gate ;
I waited, fori felt afraid,
J fell the warning of a fate.
A light from out the canemeut Khone ;
I saw another tenant there;
Thy mother, Maggie, knelt alone
Beeide thy couch in prayer.
I crossed the garden, reach'd the door,
I summoned with afalterlng hand;
I heard a footstep on the lloor,
Upon the grating sand ;
It nearer, nearer, nearer came,
A Blow, heart-broken, joyless tread,
In it I read not of thy shame,
only thought thee (lead.
Oh, Maggie Bell, that f earful night !
God only kuows what then I felt,
Ab on the floor, till morning light,
Thy father, with a kindly hand,
Led me Rdown the lane ;
We reached the spot where now I stand,
With madness in my braiu.
His wafl the footstep on the floor,
'Twaa he who to the door-way came,
And here where we had stood before,
He told me, Maggie, of thy shame.
He told me how young Clarence Lee
We had been friends in boyish days
Had brought great riobes from the sea,
And of his manly winuing ways,
And how he talked and sang to thee,
While thou wouldat more attention lend.
Because he talked ao much of me.
Because ho was my friend ;
And how, about two years before
For three since parting then had sped
There came a message to your door
That I wen dead.
He told me of thy gtef and tears,
And how young tjlarance Lee,
Because he was uiy friend for years,
Was more endeared to thee ;
And how thy tender heart to his
Would more and more incline,
Becauee you Bcemed to feel that this
Was still a link to mine.
The winter passed, the spring-time came,
Almost forgotten waH my name;
The roses to thy oheek returned.
And In thy gentle heart there burned
A love lor Clarence Lee
But not as earnest, not the same
Contented, angel-lighted liomc
That you had felt for me.
And then thy father's voice grew low,
He drew ray head unto his breast,
And, in a broken voice, aud slow,
He told me all the rest.
Tie said: "The nightcame on apace.
Young Clarence Lee had sought his homo,
And Maggie, with a troubled face,
Came to our little room.
She talked of all her childhood's years,
Hhe spoke of thee with many tears,
And, kneeling at her mother's feet,
Maid she never knew how sweet
Her home had always been.
She placed her hand in mine, and said,
While on her mother's knee she laid
Her tearful face serene :
'Tell me, dear parents, were I dead,
And in the quiet church yard laid
Beside my little brother Ned,
vv none grave is irenii auu
Would you miHB me much when the twilight came,
Would I alwavs be to yon the same,
Would In your prayers be whispered my name,
Without any sorrow, without any shame?
Oh, toll in, would Maggie be, in truth,
A memory still, with the dew of youth,
One of the golden links of three
Removed to a higher destiny?
Would you cherish her still, aa If aha were here,
Love her as fondly, keep her as dear,
With never a sorrow, never a tear,
From summer to summer, from year to year?
Would yon leave my chair in the euine old spot,
The little table beside the out,
Th bible upon it, with never a blot
Of iear, when thinking of Maggie's lot?
Would you miss me much? would my memory he
As dear and as true as your's to me,
. 'Till we meet In a higher destiny?'
ipo. I ttrt Boprfallv, drtrd p air tw.
Aad eoagto, ah, e ameVrlv. a aeuiaa arrfeara.
Kb klMrd aa aaorr food I y Ihaa trrr before,
b i-4 a tu blm hrr, aad said, aa of ,
lib eveld knaal la metre H, a rlula aa tee Boar.
W e Messed arr aaost earae.Uj. ktssrd aer ea-ala.
We rate-ad aer aa kmartr. banished bar pain ;
W aoulBNl ber, we rasnsbsd aud bade bar raanaU,
But so ahlsprn'd 'good Bleat,'
Aad Mot softly ay.
And w UKHicht thai tbs )oy-llfht
WooM cocu with Um day.
Th norntng eaiar and w teamed H all
It cam hks a shadow. It earns Ilka a pelL
And w thought how wTrtrhrd aba mast ha,
Th chad of our heart, the Joy of our life.
Away on th sea with Clarence l.ra.
Not as a maiden, no. a a wife."
Tour father paused, and to ale home
W turned w it h Borrowing tread ;
My heart w ith grief we otrrouce,
I wished that I wi re dead.
Your mother suet as at th door,
Hhe knew I had been there before.
"I give you Maggie'a room," ah said.
And through the Uvekmg night,
Until the morning light,
My heart waa wedded to the place,
1 eould not leave It, if I would
The changing years come on apace.
And IM-alh beneath the cottage stood!
Thy father and thy mother too.
Sleep uow beneath the old yew tree:
Twere better thua they never knew
The deeper ahame that came to thee.
They never knew of the hitter night
That britiue but the hopeless morn.
Of the breaking heart, with smile bedight,
Nor of the wuniling'e acorn ;
Tbey never knew of the maddened brain,
With the brow ao calm and smooth,
That hidea, like the cankering rose, the pain,
W ith never a hand to soothe.
They never knew of the grief and care,
Nor the burning secret tears,
Nor the yearnings of the heart for prayer.
Subdued by sinful fears.
Tbey knew not this, poor Maggie Bell,
As sped the sorrowing day,
They never knew of what befell
The child whom they had loved so well,
For whom they still did pray.
They left your chair in the same old spot,
The Utile table beside the out;
They watched the vines with tender rare,
Aud the flow ere still grew as when you were there,
And for many a day, aud many a year,
They waited with little of hope to cheer,
While their eyea grew dim with the aecret tear;
But she never eame ! and the old yew tree
Will shadow but two instead of three.
Oh, Maggie Bell, would that the knell
Had reached thy heart of that old bell,
Which then their requiem tolled :
It might, amidst thy bitter pain,
Have lured thy spirit back again
To those dear chimes of old.
I cherish thee still, sweet Maggie Bell,
As the girl that I loved, that I loved so well :
I never think of the grief, aud the blot,
That blighted my love, that blighted thy lot.
I only think of the Maggie Bell
Who wandered with me through valley and dell,
And listened with me to the mournful kuell
Which came to our ears of the till church bell
That Maggie Bell,
Whom I loved so well 1
HUGH KENRICK'S WILL
THE STORY OF A POSY RING.
BY MAKOAKKT HI,' NT.
Author of "T lie Leaden Vrtslct;" "Thomi
croft Model;" &c. tc.
"Madam, I was not even aware of your
relationship till this morning1, when Mrs.
Lishman told me about it. Yes, I know
yon and Mr. Kenrick did not meet, but
then you wrote to each other."
"Yes, we wrote to each other, and our
letters were friendly you, who have ev
erything1 which belonged to my brother,
will doubtless have my letters also that
fe, if 'he honoreuV me by k.eeiin heni so
you w4U be able to judge of the terms'on
which we corresponded. We were not
such good friends as brother and 6ister
ought to be, but still I never expected to
be left without a penny!"
"It hurts me very much to think this
was the case," said Lucy. "But "
"It hurts me a thousand times more!"
interrupted Mrs. Richmond, "more espe
cially as there is no help for it! My broth
er left me nothing, and I will take nothing!
I do not choose to fare better than he in
tended nie to do. I am poor enough, I
can assure you, but I do not mean to be
come richer in the way you propose."
"But consider, madam," urged Lucy,
"he has left me far more than I want it
would divide into two very good incomes
and it is but just that you should have
half Tf it!"
"That is true; indeed, I think it would
be more just if I had the whole, for I do
not sep why a young lady, whose only
claim on my brother's regard was that she
bore Borne likeness to a girl he was in love
with some fifty years ago, and whose face
he had, no doubt, so entirely forgotten,
that he could easily have persuaded him
self that any girl of eighteen was like her
well, I do not fsee why an imaginary
likeness of this kind "
"But it was not imaginary, madam," in
terrupted Aunt Esther energetically, for
to doubt this likeness seemed to her to
make Lucy's claim to be Mr. Kenrick'a
heiress entirely invalid. "We have the
other Miss Clavering's picture hanging up
in the breakfast-room in Chester Square,
and it is bo like my niece that it might
have been painted from her!"
"You wish to think bo, madam. Well,
likeness or no likeness, I do not see why
my own brother is going to set me aside
for the sake of a chance likeness! I shall
always call his conduct most monstrous,
"Madam, you need not say so much
about this, or use such words when my
niece is going to behave so generously
"Please, Aunt Esther," began Lucy,
"please don't say that "
"You are generous," said Mrs. Rich
mond, apparently making the admission
reluctantly, "I do not deny that you are,
but I do not intend to profit by your kind
ness. My brother made a will which
bears every appearance of being made by
a man in his dotage I must suffer I do
not accuse you of any attempt to influence
him, for I know you were not near him to
do it; but I do say he acted very foolish
ly and very cruelly! I can never forget
or forgive it. You wrote to ask my son
to give you leBsons. How can you expect
him to enter your house? you did not
know who we were, you say; now that
you do know, you must see how painful it
is to both of us to be reminded of your ex
istence! Leave me now, please, and keep
away from ue! We were poor before my
brother died we are poor still but,
thank God, my son has talent!"
"Your son has genius! I never in my
life saw anything more beautiful than his
drawings!" cried Lucy, enthusiastically 5
and then she added, "Please let me buy
that one I liked so."
"You have got the place itself!" replied
Mrs. Richmond, bitterly. . Be content
with that! My son does not paint for
"Lucy's eves becan to shine with a wa
tery bnlluuicy artlll lb prrvisteo, "Mr.
Richmond. I feel the truth of what yoa
ay I think it mast unjust that yoa
should have been thua treated by your
brother I do not Ter to reaipn all be
gare me, but I offer yoa four or fire thou
sand a year I entreat you to take it."
And I refuse to take it! 1 am as itroud
aa you are! You don't like to keep it
when you know my claim, and I don't
ehonae to be beholden to you! I must
beg to put an end to this interview. You,
as a rich lady, will move in a sphere of so
bifty wholly removed from mine IT we do
happen to meii please be so rood as to
leave me iiniKitireO. Before you go, let
me thank you. though, fur this offer that
you have made me."
"You might have accepted it! You
might have sjiokrn as woman to woman!
Why not receive what I offer in the spirit
in which I wish to give jt P
"I receive nothing1 from you! Whatev
er came to me ought to i-mne from my
own brother I wondt-r you do not see
that. I can never forgive my brother!"
Miss Esther Moore fjronnud. audibly
"Not forgive a dead mauT
"Could you forgive him yourself, mad
am I" said Mrs. Richmond, indignantly
turning to Aunt Esther. "Could you pa
tiently see your own father's portrait,
your mother's, all the family plate, luniks,
jewels, and everything else which had in
terest for you taken frtn you and your
eon, and handed over to a child like your
niece there, fur whom they have, and c:m
have, no value T your niece, who wan al
most as much of a stranger to the man
who heaped all this wealth on her as sliu
is to me whom she has deprived of it!"
, "You shall have everv picture you wish
to have," cried Lucy, starting1 to her feet;
"you shall come yourself and take away
everything you see which ever belonged
to your family! I did not ask Mr. Ken
rick to give these things to me, and I do
not intend to keep them"
Mrs. Richmond shook her head "A lit
tle more or a little less, what does it mat
ter! one thing is not more unjust than
another in this. What is done is done I
must once more beg you to leave me. I
am not a young woman, and a conversa
tion like this is very trying tame!"
"To Lincoln's Inn Fields," said" Lncy to
the coachman, the moment she was once
more in her carriage.
"Where fins you going now!" inquired
Aunt Esther. "Dear Lucy, let us get
home. That dreadful old lady has quite
shaken my nerves."
"I must see Mr. Strachey."
Mr. Strachey was Mr. Kenrick's lawyer.
"You are going to force y'dnr money on
a woman who is determined not to have
"No, I am going to have it made over
to her son."
"Lucy, you are a very odd mixture of
strength and weakness; sometimes you
let people turn you any way they like,
and at others you are perfectly head
strong." "Only when I am sure I am right," mur
mured Lucy i and when Aunt Esther look
ed round she saw the poor girl was crying
quietly in the comer of the carriage, "It
will make you happier to do this, you
think, darling f asked the old lady,'kind
ly. "Yes, I shall be miserable until it is
"Then let us have it doneft. .'
But. when they got to Mr'. 'Strcicheye
chambers he was as business-like and stifl
as his own parchments. "Resign five
thousand a year in favor of Mr. Hugh
Kenrick Richmond! Miss Clavering, you
do not seem to have studied the late Mr.
Kendck's will. You are unable to alien
ate a penny. You can dispose of the prop
erty after your death, but not alienate any
part of it. The testator was very anxious
that all should be kept as he left it. He
had his own ideas on this subject, and his
will expressly forbids you to part with
any books, pictures, plate, houses, lands,
or money either, except in the way of law
ful and necessary outlay." ,
"And if I transgress and get you to set
tie four or five thousand a year on this
gentleman, who has a far better right to
it than I have!"
"It can't bo done, madam. If you take
any step of this kind you forfeit your
claim to the whole of Mr. Kenrick's es
tate." "And what becomes of it!"
"It will be divided among various char
itable institutions but this is out of the
question! You must renounce your gen
erous, and pardon me if I add, most Quix
"Say what you like," cried the oppress
ed Lucy; "I have had worse things than
that said to me to-day. I have been with
The lawyer smiled. He had heard a de
scription of that lady.
"You told me a minute since that I could
not give away any pictures or plate.
Surely that does not apply to family pic
tures! I may let Mrs. Richmond have
her father's picture and her mother's, and
any family plate or jewels!"
"Indeed, Miss Clavering you may not.
All these tilings come under the category
of property not to be alienated. You can
part with nothing. You can allow Mrs.
Richmond a yearly income dependent on
your pleasure. You can make nothing
"Has Mrs. Richmond never read her
brother's will!" was Miss Moore's most
natural question. "Does she not know
the conditions he made! She did not ap
pear to do so."
"Her son saw the will, but I doubt if he
has imparted much of its contents to his
mother. He said he should not do so.
The disappointment made her very ill,
and I am pretty sure that he has kept ev
erything from her knowledge that he
"Then Jyou give me no help whatever,
Mr. Strachey 1 You say I must part with
no money, no pictures, no anything!"
"You can from time to time make her a
"She would not take it. Mr, Strachey,
I am a very unhappy girl!" and in this
frame of mind Lucy mode her way-home.
If Lucy could have been happy any
where she must, have been so at Calder
water. It was thomost beautiful place
she had ever seen. The Grange was an
old-fashioned white-washed house, over
grown with roses and' honeysuckles. It
was charmingly picturesque, and withal
most comfortable. It stood on a sloping
hill-side, overlooking the lake, and beyond
the lake was the mountain pass, guarded
by one of the finest mountains of the dis
trict. There was a good deal of land at
tached to the house, and Lucv could
watch ber own sleek, dpJed cows feed
ing in ber own rich pastures, eould see
them eotne trorij.inir to the "byre" at the
welcome milking hour, eould count her
white dots of shwp on the fell sides, feed
ber own pipesrm and poultry, and lose ber
way in ber own wood. A very pretty
wood sheltered Caller Orange from all
but gentle winds. It was lull of wild
flowers and ferns, and a tiny mountain
stream came tumUing down a rocky bed
from the heights of the fell above and
made its way through it. All in this wood
waa left to nature the trees had been
thinned here and there, and winding paths
cut, or miniature bridges built, and that
For one week Lucy explored her new
territory with increasing delight. "I
think," nlie caid, "I could live here for
ever, without raring to see any human lie
ing but you. Aunt Esther. There is only
one thing that makes me unhappy here,
and that is those birds. They sing bo joy
ottxly fi-om morning until night that they
end by making me miserable. I can't be
so happy as they are that's what they
make me feel!"
' The Mostyns came to pay a long visit at
Calder Orange. Lucy waited for them at
the lodge, and when the cari'iage drove
up she was leaning mrd'tatively against
the great gate.
"Well, Lucy," cried Min. Mostyn, alight
ing, "how do you like the feeling of hxk
ing over your own gate ! Philip says that
that is one or the great joys of ownen
ship!" "I like the feeling of ownership im
mensely," said Lucy, "if only I had not
the consciousness that I had gained it at
the expense of other people."
Oh, those stupid Richmonds, you
mean," cried Mrs. Lettice.
"Now, Lucy, have done with such non
sense," said Mr. Mostyn. "The place is
yours! If you really can't lie happy till
you have given it up to some one who en
vies you the possession of it, begin with
me. If everybody who succeeded to an
estate ran about oflering the greater part
of what he had got to everyone who chose
to think he hud a lietter claim to it, the
whole country would be turned topsey
"Yes, really, my dear child," added his
wife; "I think I never heard anything so
idiotic in my life as that expedition of
yours to Mrs. Richmond! Be thankful
that you came out of it bo well." Lucy
"Lucy, you were always tele montee,'
said Philip kindly. "You should have
Some days passed very happy days.
Lucy showed all the beauties of her gar
dens and woods and fields to Lettice, who
admired them heartily ; but she drew the
lines at the cows and poultry, and refused
to commend them for anything but their
utility. At last, too, Lettice grew tired of
Woods , and fields and "outside things,"
and said, "Let us stay in the house this
"Very well," said Lucy, and she seated
herself by the window, and began silently
to admire the mountain before her.
"Is that mountain yours, Lucy!" said
"No," replied Lncy
"Then why on earth do you spend your
time in looking at it! I would not. Let
us spend our time in doinsr something nice,
Have you looked into all the drawers and
cupboards yet !"
"No," said Lucy, "it makes me so mel
ancholy. I don't like turning over things
which belonged to dead people."
'Nonsense! People can't live for ever.
And how hprrilily crowded and disagreea
ble the world would lie if they did. I
like this house of yours it is one of the
most comfortable places I ever saw, but I
wonder you don't explore a little. I have
always wished some one would leave me a
great house like this full of unexplored
cabinets. Think how nice it would be to
open drawer after drawer, and find dia
mond necklaces and ear-rings, and enam
elled portraits of lovely ladies set in dia
monds and pearls. The thing which al
ways worries me is to know how far it
would be right for me to take these pearls
and diamonds off the portraits to make
something pretty to wear myself. You
sue, after all, they do them the ladies
you know, no good.
Lucy laughed, and said, "You surely do
not give much time to the question!"
"Yes, I do, when I think about it. Come,
we are doing nothing; let us open that
marquetry affair in the corner, and see
what we can discover in it."
They found the key, they opened the
cabinet; inside it in a pigeon-hole they
saw bundles of yellow-lookmg letters tied
up with ribbon which might once have
been blue or green or any color, but was
now dull white. Lucy exclaimed, "They
are from the other Miss Clavering!" for
thus was Mr. Kenrick's lost love now al
"If I were you I'd bum them,"
"It would le more respectful, perhaps,'
said Lucy touching them with tender rev
erence. "It would be a great deal more sensible!
Letters of that kind are always silly, and
every one thinks so but the person who
receives them.. Stay! is this her por
It was a well-painted miniature of Miss
Clavering, and it really did resemble
"I have a great mind to pass my time
in traveling as a matter of speculation!''
cried Mrs. Mostyn. "But after all, one
might spend a life-time and not have the
good luck you had. What are you look
ing at so mournfully ! Let me see. 'Por
trait of my sister Susan in her youth.'
That is Mr. ivennck's writing I suppose,"
and so saying Lettice took from Lucy's
hand a sheet of paper containing a minia
ture, a few faded flowers and a lock of
"You see he did not love her!" said Lucy-
"My word! but she does look a Tartar!"
cried Lettice. Things did strike the two
girls Bo differently.
"Portrait of poor Susan's boy." This
was written on another packet and when
they opened it they saw the likeness of a
good-tempered, fine-looking boy of nine,
and a lock of soft young hair.
''Oh, do shut up all these things!" cried
Lettice, for she saw that Lucy was begin
ning to make herself miserable over the
thought that Mr. Kenrick would not have
preserved these portraits so carefully if
he had not had a very tender feeling for
the originals and if bo, why had he pre
ferred a stranger before them I "Shut up
those things, Lucy, and look ' here," and
be polled out a large bunch of scala
That it wbat they used to dangle at their
fobs,' as they called them, and there is
one of their turnips of watches! I dare,
say it was Mr. Kenrick's father's. I al
ways think those dear old gentlemen
ought to have been grateful to the foot
pads and highwaymen who relieved them
of such nnwieldly burdens."
This new drawer wsa almost filled with
things labelled aa belonging to "my dear
mother." Her pomander bos was there,
and ber equipage. This last was a pretty
little enamelled box with scissors, thimble,
needle-case and scent-bottle, made to hang
to the waistliand. Her fata was there, her
wedding ring, a bonbomiicre, and a ring
or two, but the principal articles of jew
elry were absorbed in the large .collection
in London. "Mrs. Richmond ought to
have everyone of these things!" cried Lu
cy. "Think of a perfect stranger having
all these keepsakes and all th.we pocket
books too! I can't keep them! ' She shall
have them! At every turn I am remind-'
ed of the injustice I have done these peo
ple!" "Nonsense, Lucy! No doubt she got
her share of her mother's thing, and if
she did not, she can't have theee! You
are to forfeit all you have if you give up
any part of it, and you surely would not
1 ise all you have for the nake of giving a
f;w failed gimcraeks to a civ old woman
with "a great deal more ill-temper than
sentiment about her! Ion irwil-l lie very
"No one can accuse you of sentiment,
"I don't know. I am sensible just now
because you are so foolish ; on other occa
sions I have my due share of the useless
commodity! Come, we have made a dis
mal morning for ourselves with this stupid
old cabinet! Shut it up, and let us go
They went into the garden, and on into
the wood. Lucy still looked as if she had
not forgotten the contents of the cabinet.
Mrs. Mostyn set herself the task of dissi
pating this cloud. "I wish to make two
remarks to you Miss Lucy," said she.
"One is that Mr. Kenrick's behavior to his
sister shows that she must have treated
him very ill, and that he could not forget
it and the moral of that is, mind that
you always treat your sister well,and obey
her. The other is, life is short, and short
is the time in which we can be happy!
That over, we are 'huddled out of sight,
and all of our little treasures are stuffed
away too, perhaps into the pigeon-holes
of some old marquetry cabinet. You will
be very simple if you let that happen to
you without your having some happiness
in the meantime! Now, really, with this
lovely place, and with all the nice things
you have, you ought to be the happiest
girl in the world!"
"I know I ought, and I will try to for
get about these Richmond's after all, it
was not my fault."
"Of course it wns not! You will soon
find yon have enough to do with repent
ing your own sins. I have, I can assure
you! Come, let us enjoy this sweet place,
I think I like your London house better,
though I don't believe I really like the
country at least, I don' want more of it
than I have aj Hazelwood, You have a
great deal too much of it here! All your
birds and beasts come far too close to the
house, and' so dohe trees." -They bring
those odious midges and all that endless
noise of birds my life is a burden to me
with your midges, Lucy! In fact, I think
I hate a place where insect and animal life
is so rampant as it is here! Men and wo
men are quite pushed out of the world!
What with the midges biting, and the
wasps crawling about the carpets and
stinging one's feet if one forgets to put a
pair of slippers on, and one's fingers every
time one picks any thing up,and the doves
and pigeons coohooing from daybreak till
dusk, all about nothing too, and the hens
making such an idiotic fuss every time
they lay a common egg, and your ill-tempered
old turkeys gobbling, and rooks
cawing, and geese and cows and pigs and
donkeys conversing incessantly in their
own very unseemly language one can't
get a moment's rest! Talk of the quiet of
the country, what a mistake! I like a
place where everything is not given up to
birds and beasts and insects! London is
the best place! You have nothing to cope
with there, but the noise of human beings
and carriages! Lucy, let us go to London
for a week or two."
The truth was that Mrs. Mostvn had
come to the conclusion that in Lucy's
present excit able and uncomfortable frame
of mind, Calder Grange was a most unde
sirable place of residence for her and
wanted to get away to Bome place where
she could have more change of scene, and
less time to torment herself with her own
thoughts. Lucy quite understood this
quite saw the drift of all Lettice's ram
bling and pathetic lamentations but she
wished to stay where she was and said so.
She had made up -her mind to stay at
Calder Grange till November, and she
begged Lettice not to try to persuade her
to leave it, for her decision was unaltera
ble." "Well, I have said my say, and you do
not agree with me; but you would be
much happier if you moved about more."
"I am going into the village with Aunt
Esther almost directly."
"Flannel -petticoating!" said Lettice "I
got enough of that at home. I flannel
petticoated and stockinged every old wo
man in the place before I came away. I
shall never forget how fluffy the air was
for hours after it was over! Give me a
book and shut the windows, for those birds
of yours deafen me. Now go to your old
women. I am all right here."
Lucy and Aunt Esther walked into the
village. They wanted-to see one of the
cottagers who was doing some work for
the Grange establishment. The morning
was still in full beauty, and the1 tender
lights and shadows on the mountain be
fore them were an exquisite pleasure to
both. Their path lay through the wood,
and most lovely it was to watch the sun
light forcing its way through the wav
ing green leaves above and to catch
glimpses of the silver-shining' lake and
the sunlit mists still clinging to the moun
tain. "Lettice says she hates the coun
try, and wants me to go away somewhere,"
said Lucy; "but, Aunt Esther, let us make
our home here.. I had no idea there was
'such a lovely place in the world as this.
I could not bring myself to leave it."
They reached the village and the house
of which they were in search. A white
capped Cumbrian-dame, cleanly, comely,
and industrious j Bftt knitting in her own
picturesque porch ) her seat was a slab of
grey slate. She took- them into her cot-
taga and into the best room, which bad
not known Vliat an open window was for
weeks. Grey slate was plenty good
enough fur her to ait on, but the ladies
must go in.
"And bow are times with you, Mrs.
Cmethwaiter inquired Aunt Esther, when
the business part of the visit was over.
"In a middling way, ma'am; nothing to
"You have not let your rooms yet," aaii
"No, ma'am not yet rhapa not
"How is that H asked Aunt Esther, "1
thought you were sure to let such nice
rooms, and such a splendid view! Oh, you
are sure to let them!"
"Well, ma'am, I may, but then I may
not. Are you not going to spend the sum
mer here. Miss Clavering, ma'am! I
hotie you don't thiuk it over bold of me to
at-k." . o
"I," said Lucy in some surprise; "yes, I
am going to stay here."
"You will be here the whole summer,
"Most likely, anil perhaps autumn and
"Mrs. Crosthwaite did not look as if the '
news were altogether acceptable to her;
she made a Bound between a low grunt
and a groan, and said, "Well, that is a
"It is so pretty here," said Lucy.
"Yes, it's pretty, there's no denying
that!" The good woman's eyes had
strayed away to some large, flat, deal
cases in one corner, and now she was look
ing ruefully at them.
"What nice, clean-looking 'packages!"
said Aunt Esther. "What are they! Some
commercial traveler's things!"
"Nay, nay, nothing o' that sort, not
thevl They belong to an artiss a paint
er he called himself. He waa making pic
turs here last year."
Lucy felt suddenly interested: she earn
estly hoped that Aunt Esther would not
ask his name, for she was almost certain
that she knew it. She wanted to hear
"He was an industrious gentleman.
Early and late and late and early, he waa
always on the go. And the splendid pic
ture he did paint! It was just for all the
world as if you had shut up the trees and
mountains in a pictur-frame for anyone to
"And you are expecting him back here
I suppose!" said Aunt Esther. "I am
glad of that."
"Well, I exjiect him and I don't expect
him! You said you should lie here till
the back end. Miss Clavering!"
Lucy felt a strange thrill of vexation
and discomfort. In a moment she had un
derstood all. This was where Mr. Rich
mond had lodged before and now he want
ed to come again, but not if she were at
the Grange. "My stay is uncertain," said
she : "I may go sooner. I might be oblig
ed to go at once."
Mrs. Crosthwaite's face brightened visi
bly. "I was sure you would never stop
the whole year here! I said so" and
then she looked confused, and reddened,
as if ashamed she had said so much.
"I suppose," said Lucy, artfully, "this
gentleman sometimes paints about the
Grange in the gardens and woods. I
daresay he would feel more free to co
about as he likes if the houe were crnp-Y
"Yes, I think that's it."
Lucy wns in great terror lest Aunt Es
ther, who was manifestly much puzzled,
should ask his name. She made her a
sign to say nothing: she did not want this
Mrs. Crosthwaite to be alilo to tell Mr.
Richmond that Miss Clavering had guess
ed who wanted to come. If possible his
name must not be' mentioned between
them. "He, perhaps, asked you," Baid
Lucy, "to write and tell him when the
house was unoccupied again, and then he
would come and finish what he had be
gun! Did he not!" for now she remem
bered that Mr. Fraser had told her that
Mr. Richmond was busy with, a large pic
ture he could not finish.
to bh coutistued.
A Traveler's Story.
After spending months . at European
and American watering places and thous
ands of dollars looking for health, I re
turned home disheartened and wretched.
I had conjulted the best physicians and
traveled far and near without benefit,
and expected to die. A friend urged a
trial of Parker's Ginger Tonic. Three
bottles and careful diet have worked
wonders and brought me excellent health
and spirits, and you may publish my ex
perience for the benefit of similar suffer
ers. A Cincinnati lady. aug21-lm
The Republicans of the Senate lacked
one vote to constitute the necessary
three-fifth 3 majority to pass the reso
lution submitting the question of
amending the Constitution, so as to
give the Legislature full control of the
liquor traffic, and ' riot one Democrat
could be found with sand enough in
his craw to vote with the Republicans.
The foregoing statement " is incor
rect, to speak mildly. The Republi
can leaders, to extricate their party
from a dilemma on the temperance
question, prepared a make-shift amend
ment, embracing several pr6positions,
more than necessary, and labored to
force its adoption by the General As
sembly, to relieve the Republicans of
responsibility, by referring the matter
to the people. This subterfuge the
Democratic Senators would not accept,
but offered to the Republicans a prop
osition, striking from the Constitution
the clause prohibiting license, and the
substitution of the following:
"The Legislature shall pass laws reg
ulating or restricting the sale of intox
icating, vinous and malt liquors, and
to compensate for injuries resulting
With the adoption of this amen'd
ment by the General Assembly and
ratification by the people, the Legisla
ture would have been vested with full '
power to control the liquor trafici'"1
which the Republican State plaoform V
of this year .professes to favor, but up- '
on this amendment every Republican - y
Senator present voted f 'No," prevented '
its adoption, and exposed tha insincer
ity of Republican professions.,
The Richmond (Va.) State writes: Ex
Mayor J. A, Gentry, Manchester, this
State, was cured of rheumatism by St.
Jacobs Oil. ,. ,