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Uraling Star and Catholic Mestengers
3W O fLfuAN, VUNIOAY, ?MAY 2i, i1.
Story of an Irish Home Thirty Years Ago.
'b stew sad hours that bring us l tbings III ood
.1d l good tLings irOm evil.'-TliNTb,).
The library at Castle Daly, since the Thorn
ley occooupancy of the place, had taken a more
habitable look than when Mr. Daly only neused
It to yawn away an hour in on a rainy day.
The rest of the wide empty house echoed loot- i
steps drearily, and looked dismal; but cheer
f0l sociability and home comfort seemed to
have taken up their abode among the heaped
up bookshelves and well-laden writing and
work tables with which the brot!oer and sister
When the front door had clcsed behind Mins h
O'Flaherty, Bride T'hornley eumployed herself
in puttlog the few ordering tonctes to the d
room, needed to bring it to the perfection of n
esayneas her brother loved to see in the even
ing. She gathered up the scattered leaves of
the MS. she had been copying, and laid it ready a
for a last loving inspection ; she arranged the b
boohs her brother was most likely to want, on
his own particular table; sue let down the j
heavy curtains over the winudows, and wheel- ,
ed two armchairs to their places opposite each
other on the hearth-rup; then she sat down and h
stared at the tire. It was not often she
lether thoughte Ily back to old timts, but to
night they ew baok, B-Seand-berher rorher
were in the habit of telling each other philo- a
sophioally that to allow recollections of past o
sorrows and privations to rise up was a mere t,
waste of mental strength, an inlflction of por
poseless pain ; but to-night the painful images n
would arise, and she could not conjure them a
away. People thought her grave and reserved, o
and old-looking for her years; but had there a
been a time when she was young She saw
herself a pale, still child, gathering her young
er brother and sisters around her to hush their y
play and laughter, because she had discovered o
by her mother's swollen eyelids, and her h
father's knitted brow, that something had gone
wrong with the elders of the house and that y
the sound of mirth jarred on them. She saw o
herself a thin brown-faced girl without any of
the charms of girlhood, thrusting from her all
timidity, all yearning after her mother's love h
and care, that she might go forth and work t
among strangers. She heard over again the t
bitter tales of privation, of "oarking cares"
and shames which that young girl had to hear h
when she returned for short holidays to her
home. 8he saw herself kneeling by her dying n
mother's bedside, straining to catch the last a
feeble injunctions that fell from her parched a
death-drawn lips-not concerning herself
hardly a farewell to herself. She had been
bold to be capable of struggling alone in the
world for so long, that there was no need for a
anxiety about her; it was the younger, more h
lovable ones, that claimed even those last e
thotbghts. A little rosy face-a golden head- b
lay nestled against the mother's cheek; towards
that her dying eyes were turned. ".'hild, be o
mother to this child !" And then the tired soul t
had esoeped from the worn-out body, and the o
burden under which the elder woman had sank
fll'on the girl's shoulders. It had been heavy b
in the long years that had followed. Unbear- s
able she told herself it would have been, but t
for the help that came, when she discovered
that there was one among her young charges
able to take part with her in carrying the load; I
one wbose determination to work and strng- e
gle, and suffer, rather than sink, matched her
own; one from whom a word of conrsel could I
be obtained now and again; one who could be
trasted, in small things and great, not to fail. I
Bride traced in thought the stepsby which she
and this young brother had changed positions
towards each other, till, from his looking up to
her, she had learned to rely and lean upon him.
What a rest it had been! What a tower of
strength he bad proved to be, when the stress
of the storm came I And when the worst was
over-yes, perhaps there was a time when she
had felt young, like other people, with energy to
pe, and that strange babbling up of eager
thoughts and bright hopes in the heart that
leads to purposeless talk, and pleasure in mere
motion and life such as kittens and poppies
seem to have. She had known it during that
one year when she and John bad kept house
together in London before death had invaded
the brother and sister band A very straiten
ed household it had been, and the struggle to
keep it together hard for the two yourg beads, r
ba they had all been gay together. Bride t
thought she could not then have been such a
very formal, oold, repulsive person as Miss
O'Flaherty seemed to find her now. Perhaps
in that far back time, when there had been
yoUnger sisters to care for her looks and sew
bows on her dresses, and arrange her soft, silky
brown hair in becoming fasbion round her
head, there might-if she had not always been
too busy -if she had gone out into the world
and made acquaintances as other girls did
there might have been a possibility of her hav
ing been loved-of her having ha4 some story
of her own, some Insight into the great mys
tery that seemed to fill up so large a space in
other people's lives. Strange thoeight to ~ssh
aerose her, now that youth and the possibility
lay so far behind I Well, if no love of the
asual kind had come in that one sunny strip of
life, that one breathing space between crush
ing anxieties and heartrending bereavements,
something else had come-something that
Bride Thornley was well content should stand
for her in the place of what is usually called
love. It was then that she and John had
found each other out. lHeart and conscience
had been proved before, but it was in that leis
ure that their close mental companionship had
begun-then they had frst tasted what keen
pleasure interchange of thought between minds
that stimulate and satisfy each other can give
What talks they nesed to have in their quiet
evenings after days of hard work, when, from
the dingy, London lodging-house parlor, their
minds took bold tights into realms of specula
tion and fancy, which seemed their own by
divine right, because they were most at home
there. What lovely dream-pictures rose np;
wbat sparkles of a it tlashed out; bow elkquent.
how wise, and how brilliant tney were for
each other !
The first eagerness with which their studies
were proseented moght have faded somewhat,
the talks grown lees eloquent, with the discov
ery that mysteries ara not to be solved by dint
ddissoasion ; but the old comradeship was as
close and sweet as ever still, the salt of life to
Whatever John Thornley nlight be to other
Inople, to his sister Brid e o was the sunshine
ad glory, the very fountain of joy of her life
eald she bear ever to lose him, or even to
ahbare posseson of him with anyone else
Had not his grave fsce an extra attraction for
her, becanse bshe thought that to no other eyes
but her own would it ever look beautifol
There did not appear to be any special reason
for asking herself that question to night, but
1i oame and absorbed Bride so completely that
a be did not observe, as she might otherwise
have done, that her brother was absent a long
time from the room, or that when he did re
tarna, and came and stood by the fire, there
was an expresion of suppressed excitement on
bhis face, which it had not worn half-an-hour
before. It wa he who broke the silensoe at
"Bride, I have something to tell you."
She looked up with a start and an exclama
tilo of dismay. "Ab, I knew there was some
thin-that gun I-Go on, I'm ready."
"eo. st sch fanoies quite out of your
head. I have told youea really all I know of
that matter. This is something far more im
portant. It ooocerns oorselvesentirely."
"Good, or bad f"
"I don't quite know which you will think it."
"Bad, then, if it means change; we have
had a fairly happy time lately, and, according
to past experience, trouble is due. What
quarter can it come from 1 Whiteoliff Bay
and Babette, I guess. She has quarrelled with
Mrs. Maynard, or perhaps in a fit of desperation
over the eternal stocking-darning she has
rushed into some silly flirtation, or engaged
herself imprudently, and they want you to in
'Quite wrong ; what could make you think
of sunbch a thing It's odd how even the sensi
blest woman's thoughts always fly off to love.
"Indeed, John, it was not quite a vague
guess; ifyou had read Babette's late letters as
attentively as I read them, you would have
noticed the hints that gave my thoughts that
"Hints as to growing weariness of stocking
darning or dawning love,-which I"
"I think I detect a combination of both
states of feeling "
"Hum; we may have to inquire into that by
and bye; but the news of to night, which I
have just read in one of those letters I brought
in my pocket from Ballyowen, concerns a very
d!fferent matter from marriages or giving in
marriage. Bride, our granduancle, John May
nard, is dead "
"Dead I Well, I suppose be was a great age;
where did hbe die Had he any friend near
"I don't know about a friend. His lawyer
James Clarke was with him. The old man
sent for him to Florence when he was taken
ill, and be stayed till after the funeral. It is
he who writes to me about the will."
"Well, well, John, you know what I want to
ask. How is it after all 1 Has he died rich or
poor ? Has be divided his money fairly among
all his dutiful, expectant relations excepting
our twoselves, or has hoe left it all to a hospi
"He has left a very large fortune indeed;
muoh larger than any one expected I fancy,
and he has not divided it. With the exception
of a few emall legacies, it all goes to one per.
"And the lawyer has written abnut it to you
-to you John I" A vivid color flashed into
Bride's face ; she rose from her chair and held
out her hands to her brother. He crossed the
hearth and took both in a firm clasp.
"No, Bride, that thought must go out of
your head at once. I am not the heir. It con
cerns us nearly though."
"Then it is Lesbia."
"Yes, it is little Lesbia. O:d John Maynard
has left. the bulk of his great fortune to her
theobhild-our child is a groat heiress now;
that's tle news that has come to-night."
"I can't take it it- Baby-our poor little Ba
"Rich little Babette, you mean. She need
never break her heart over a stocking-basket
again ; as to the incipient lovesmaking, that
will have to be looked after perhaps."
"How will she feel about it when she hears
-Babette a great heiress! I always thought
the old man would reward us for sending her
away by remembering her in his will, but that
he should pass over so many other relations
equally near and single her out to Inherit all
his fortune is different from what I expected "
"Our mother was his favorite niece till she
married. I fancy he always secretly intended
to make her children his heirs, and as we out
ourselves off, there was only Lesbia."
"lHow I should like to be near her and see
her face, when she is told. It is seven years
since we have seen her. Oh, John, does not
this, at all events, end her banishment t Shall
we not have her with us now "
"Of course. This will please you. You and
I are left sole guardians. A proof that, how
ever angry the old man professed to be, he re
speoted our conduct at the bottom. He has
left us each a legacy of four thousand pounds,
and we are to have four hundred a year for
looking after the young lady and her property
till she marries."
"A salary ftr taking care of our own little
sister, whom we have provided for since she
was five years old ! Can we bear that, John 1!'
"I suppose it soothed the old man at the last
to do us so much of justice without altogether
revoking his threat. We must take it as he
"But how about the other relations-the Jo
seph Maynards I"
"They have a legacy equal to ours."
"And the bulk of the old mon's rich hoards
goes to Leabia ! How strange it will be to the
Joseph Maynards to see her set up on such a
pinnacle of prosperity-the little cinder-girl of
their house this seven years. I am afraid they
will be very angry."
"They won't like it ; but they have no more
right to grumble than you or I, except that
they have been kept longer in suspense. Old
John made all his money himself, and had a
right to do what he pleased with it."
'If it had pleased him to spend some of it in
helping us when we needed help sorely, what
grateful hearts he might have hal round his
"Let that thought rest now he has gone."
"It shall. I don't suppose, though, that Mrs
Joseph Maynard will be as silent over the
wrongs of her preciors bays. Lesbia will not
have much comfort after the news of her fort
une reaches Wbitecliff.'
"We will send for her as soon as possible."
"How strange it will be to have her again,
a girl of seventeen and an heiress, instead of
the little clinging thing I neused to dress, and
coddle and teach, and work my fingers to the
bone for t I hope she is not much changed.
John, do you remember the night we resolved
to esoarate ourselves from her seven years
ago t how my heart ached !"
'Yes, it troubled you more to part from
Lesbia than to give up your chance of inherit
ing the great Maynard fortune."
"We elder ones had no choice. We could
not promise to disown our father, or not to go
back to him if he wanted us, and we could
not foresee he never would. I think we had
only two or three letters from him during the
next six months, and t' on we heard of his
death in Canada. The deciciJn could not be
reoalled then "
"Why, you have never wisheed to recall it;
have you '
"Not till to-night; to-night I think it does
give me pain to remember that, if things had
fallen out ever so little differently, this great
fortune would have come to yon."
"The 'falling out' would have had to be very
different for this money to come to you or me
as we are now. Think what mean reptiles we
should have grown into by this time if we had
been depending on that despotic old man all
these years Leshi has, at all events, got the
fI ortune without having had to serve an ap
prenticeship of servility to earn it."
"Yes, but if the thought that made my
heart beat so quickly just gow had proved a
correct guess : if he had, as I hoped just then,
relented and done you full justice at the last."
"It would have been a bad precedent. It's
best to know that, if one makes a choice, one
must expect to abide by it, and that one can't
turnone's back on an object and reach it by
walkling the opposite way."
'You would have been in your right place."
"Perhape; but don't be covetous, madam.
I believe that ifl had the money I should have
Sdone something with it you would not have
I greatly approved."
"I can't imagine not approvnlog of what yon
"I shbould have bought this house and estate
r of Mr. Daly-he'll have to sell it sooner or later
S-and settled down into an Irish landlord."
'To be shot dead from behind a stone wall
three months after. I would not have let you."
"yTea, you would; you as well as I have a
spice of the obstinate temper that helped old
Uncle John to make hle fortune. Ton don't
like any more than I to be baded in an nouder
Staking you have once put your hands to."
'-You have oured me of ever grading Labia
her fortune again. As it is, we can hardly
keep her here. You wlil have to give up the
agency. Did not you may we had eahob four
thousand pounds t Why, that is enormous
riches. It sets you free at last to devote your
whole time to study and suoh literary work
as you really care for."
"Time will settle all that. What we haveto
do at once is to write to Babette and the
Joseph Maynards. I should like the child to
receive the news from us first' if it comes to
her through Mrs. Joseph it wili be spiced with
"The little thing has not bad a brilliantly
happy home with our good consins. I fear.
She has been very good to complain so little;
and now to think of having her again for our
own. She most have grown up very pretty.
Do son remember the dimples in her cheeks,
John, and her beautiful big brown eyes I"
"I so ppose she was a pretty ohild, but I don't
think I liked her eyes as well as I like some
other eyes in the family ; yours, for example,
Bride, always seem to me to have a great deal
more in them "
"Mine?" A personal compliment was such
a strange thing to Bride Tifornley, that coming
even from her brother, it brought a vivid
blush to her face. "My pale grey things I
You don't know what you are talking about,
John ; you have no appreciatlon for beauty."
"Yes, I have, but it does not oblige me to
like sparkling glass beads stuck in a face. I
know quite well what I do admire."
"Do you, really 1'
"Yes, that I do. really."
"You are laughing. John."
"At the terror I have put you into with that
word. In one instant of time you conjured
up the notion that I was preparing to tell you
of some lovg conoealed attachment, by way of
winding up the surprises of the evening. Did
not I say truly that your feminine thoughts
were always flying off to matoh-making 1" -
"It is wise of me to keep myself prepared.
It most come some time, and if I never think
of it I shall not be ready."
"I don't see what preparation you would
need for such a communication if I were ever
in a condition to make it."
' Of course you don't, you matter-of-factest
' Don't yon profess also to be a matter-of
factesl woman i"
"Yes, but the gulf there is between man and
woman in such a matter as this I'
"The golf is created simply by your woman
ly unreasonableness in supposing that the new
feeling, if it ever does come, must necessarily
be so absorbing as to blot out old ones. It
would not with me. Make yourself easy on
that score, Bride; I cannot imagine such a
thing of myself. IfI ever do fall in love, I
shall look out for having the same calm, satis
fling, equal-minded comradeship with my
wife that you and I have had together. I have
thought it well over, and that is my highest
ideal of human attachment. And that is
what I mean to go in for."
"No, you won't. I am not at all pleased to
hear you say so. I think it a very bad sign
that you have formed the plan."
"I have formed no plan ; it is von who are
planning. I think we do very well as we are,
and that nothing can be more unoalled for
than your drilling yourself to expect changes.
It would be ridiculous for you and me to talk
sentiment to each other ; but if you are in no
haste to dissolve our old partnerebip, I am
not-it satitfies me."
"John, that is as good as a fortune to me; I
am richer now than Bdbette."
Thbir manners were habitually so reserved,
and it was so seldom that personal feelings
were discussed between them, that Bride felt
those few words a possession to be laid by in
her memory and often looked at, especially
when after a moment's krave silence her
brother stooped down and put his lips to her
forehead. It seemed to her to be a seal on
the old bond of followsiip, given on this day
when new conditions were about to enter into
"Now let us have tee, and writs the letters
that are to transform Cinderella into the Prin
cess," said John.
"They will only invest her with her silk
robes and her chariot and glass slippers,"
Bride answered. "rhePrince is another ques
tion, and for my part I hope he will be a long
time in coming."
"We must not however take measures to keep
him away, or we shall lay ourselves open to the
imputation of manoeuvring to keep our own
four hundred a year."
"As if anyone in their senses would suspect
you of interested motives."
"Heiress hunters will be very apt to do so if
I interfere with their game, I suspect. The
thild will be a more anxious charge for the
future, than when-"----
"You lifted her sobbing from the bed where
our mother lay dead, John. It shall be very
tender care we take, shall it not,-of herself,
not of her fortune, with as little thwarting as
may be of any true feeling that comes I
should not like hers to be a colorless life."
"A corlorless life is not by any means the
worst fate that can befall a woman. We have
witnessed one edr more cruel, and our earnest
care must bo that Leebia's life shall in no de
gree repeat that. Our poor mother was an ex
peotant heiress in her youth, you remember;
and I heard her say that she owed all her on
happiness to her having had the prospect of
these same Maynard hoaeds hanging so long
over her head. Our father would have been
a different man but for the thought of thenm."
S"Yes, yes, I know. But we will be the wisest
I providences over Lesbia. She shall not have
a chance of making a mistake in her marriage;
but don't let us attempt to forecast her future
I till our letters are written, or I am certain we
shall not make them encouraging enough. I
want the news to come to her sweet and
Tee spirits of the two guardians rose as they
wrote, and Bride was so well satisfied with the
I letters she sealed and directed at the close of
r the evening that for the first time since her
I residence at Castle Daly she ran down to the
I lodge gate with the letter-bag to deposit the
i precious budget in the po-tman's hands her
self, and to administer a not unnecessary ad
monition to him to make a point of reaobing
lallyowen that nlorning in time to catch the
; mail. The man of coaree polled up his horse
to enter into a lorg and vociferousne defence of
habe own punctuahly, and in the vehemence of
I his gesticulations threw down a bag, which
being imperfectly fastened, emptied its contents
on to the road. Bride stooped to gather up the
Sletters, and as she returned them to their place
could not help seeing that the direotion
of one was the same little seaside town in Eng
I land for which her own letters were destined.
I She crossed her arms on the upper bar of the
gate when at last the carman had been pre
vailed on to start again, and watohed him
drive up the steep white road whipping and
s houting to his horses with a great display of
a energy, while the bhildren from the mud cabins
on the mountain side rushed down, and threw
Sthemselves full in his way, whooping and hes
arsing and waving ragged caps and sticks, till
Bride thought it a wonder that ear. horse,
t driver, and letter-bags were not precipitated
Sover the rocky ledge into the dancing waters
below. She stayed looking up the road till the
oar had rounded the summit of the hill, and
the last urchin crept back to his mud retreat,
a her thoughts following the queer-looking mes
e senger who was bearing on the first stage of
its journey the news that was to make such a
revolution in one little life. She wiabshed she
oould somehow corjure herself within the
e folds of her letter and creep out when it
r reached its destination at last at the other side
of the kingdom, to add some words tenderer
I and graver yet than any that had come to her
the evening before. Her head bowed itself at
a last on her clasped hands, and purple moon
1 tains and shimmering lake, and shouting
t cbildren paased oat of her vision as her heart
rose in yearning prayer to Him whose felt pre
senoe with all annihilates distance, glvng infato
His hands the task of delivering from unsafe
elation the eager little bears that had to learn
that the now strange temptation of a "time of,
wealth".was ooming upon her.
Anne O Flaherty's thoughts took flight in the
same direction many times that day. The let
ter whose dlrection Bride had read was here
She bad written it off impulsively on her arri
val home the night before, and not allowed
herself to re-read it in the morning. It was
fall of the impression her visit to tie Thorn
tlys had made on her. Not mitigating any
thing of hergfears, or serupling to urge strong
ly on Mr. Daly the motive for a speedy return
to Ireland, which she knew would be most
powerful with him, the duty of not allowing
another man to run risks for his sake which hb
was not sharing.
8he was -anxious and unsettled all the day
after her letter went. She did not exactly re
gret bavirg written it, but the cooler judg.
went of the morning showed her it was an
important step she had taken, and that the
reading of her letter would certainly make "a
change in the lives of those she most oared for.
Would they have cause to thank or reproach
her for it by and bye? Would Mrs. Daly ever
forgive her for bringing her husband back to
Ireland just then t
There was however no nese in questioning or
regretting. Bearers of good news and bad had
passed oat of their writers' control now, and
through the bright sunshine and the dark
night, and-the dawn of another day, were over
the sea, by quiet country roads, through noisy
towns and pleasant English villiges, to meet
the eyes and hands that would never after
wards forget the feeling of those particular
sheets of paper between their fingers, the poet.
tion and shape of the words on which their
startled glances fell.
My purse hold no red gold no coin of the silver white;
No herds are mine to drive thrpugh the long twilight;
Bnt the pretty girl that would tke me, all bare though
I be and aloes.
Ohl I'd take her with me kindly to the county Terose
A sharp shower was falling, turning the
badlypaved streetsef the little seaside village
of Whiteclilf into a succession of gutters and
puddles, and driving the early promenaders
and the troops of children, mamma.s, and nurse
maids on their way to their morning bath in
the sea, to beat, hasty retreats into the green
verandaaed houses that stretobed in irregular
rows along the cliff. In ten minutes the busy
little place was deserted, and discontented
loungers at the windows had nothing to regale
thtir eyes upon but the rain drops splashing
in the gutters and the occasional advent of a
dripping umbrella, or a woman *ith a basket
of abrimps on her head. Pelham Daly had
been standing for nearly three-quarters of an
hour in the window of one of these houses.
lazily swinging the tassel of the window-blind
backwards and forwards, and contemplating
that pleasant prospect in no very contented
frame of mind. Ellen had accused him play
fully of being always out of humor when it
rained, and Counor had made a calculation of
how many sulky days he might reckon on hav
ing in a year, if he spent his life at Castle
Daly, and be had not taken their remarks in
very good part. He thought within himself
that he had very special reasons for being die
gusted at the torn the weather had taken in
this last week of his College vacation, but he
could not make out a very satisfactory account
of these reasons to his own mind in the course
of his meditations at the window. Of course
it wee of no consequence whatever to him,
whether that picnic to the pirate's cave. plan
ned with the Maynards, came off while he was
at Whitecliff or after after he had left. He
had only consented to join it out of good
nature, and that there might be some one of
the party capable of taking reasonsable cars
of Ellen; and yet-and yet-"Yes, certainly,"
he thought, "it was towards him, and nob to
wards Connor, that a certain pair of brown
eyes had glanced when, on parting for the
night at the Maynards' garden gate, the words
'We shall meet to-morrow' had been spoken
softly. The swinging tassel, the square win
dow-frane, the dripping pavement vanished
altogether from Pelham's vision for a few min
utes while the momentous question of the exact
direction of that glance occupied his thoughts
-in their place came a little pink and brown
face set in smooth bands of soft dusky hair,
and two bright eyes, flashing quick glances,
whose mesaning required a good deal of after
thought. N.t that he cared or was ever likely
to care seriously what the glances meant, only
it was tautalizing never farirly to know
whether one was looked at or not. All at once,
in a second, his eyes recovered the power of
seeing what was before them-the dream-pic
tore faded and reality o.me in its place,
vividly, startlingly, sending quick pulses
through all his veins as he gazed. The back
door of a house just opposite, but divided from
the street by a narrow strip of garden, opened,
and a child of four trotted forth into the rain.
The slim figure of a girl dashed o it after him
and caught him by the skirts to drag him in.
Floating pink Liunces, a white handkerchief
thrown over a dark head, little feet in thin
slippers showing on the wet step, slender hands
stretched out,-that was the spectacle Pel
ham's eyes fastened upon and recognized in a
moment. A small contest followed. The little
child struggled hard to escape from the arms
that captured him. A sturdy hand directed a
blow at the pink cheek, shaded by the hand
kerchief. Pelham clutched the window-frame
with a wild purpose of flinging himself out,
across the divided space on to the scene of
action. Then all was over; the fiAures retreat
ed as suddenly as they had appeared, and no
evidence of the incident remained but the deep
glow that had burned itself into Pelham's
race, and the quick beating of his heart that
had been so quiet a minute before.
It was no concern of his, certainly, he said
to himself, he was going away to-morrow and
should never see any of those people again;
but if any excuse for thrashing every one of
those cubs of Maynards could be aflorded
him before he took his departure, he should
leave the place with an easier mind. How
could Ellen and Connor witness such a state
of things as indifferently as they did ? How
could they laugh gaily over the incongruities
of their friend's surroundings, and see only
subjects for amusement in the little indignities
which made him, who had no pretence to her
friendship, indignant and hearteore I He re
called warm words and beaming looks bestow
ed one hour, which did not preclude littlej >kes
at pretty Lesbia's expense the next, and he said
to himself that such hypocrisy made him sick.
Poor, bright-eyed, ill need, trusting LesbiaI
whom he was leaving to-morrow to the mer
oies of exacting relations and half-hearted
friends. He leaving ! What was he thinking
of. As if he had anything to do with her, or
she would ever even know that there was one
person in the world who resented her wrongs
as they deserved to be resented !
"There "' cried Connor, looking up from the
desk where he had been writing diligently for
the last quarter of an hour, "I have done it,
Ellen, and not so badly either, I will say that
for myself. I doubt whether there are many
fellows, this side the Channel at all events,
who could have turned off a 'nate' little copy
of verses, as sweet as sugar, by Jove-in the
time, exactly twelve minutes and a half by the
The silence, which had actuaolly lasted nearly
half an hour, here came to an end, and the
olack of tongues that hardly ever oeased in
Ellen's and Connoer's waking hours when they
were together, begsn again.
"YVersees, Connort? I thought you said you
were going to read mathematics soberly this
rainy morning ?"
"What can a poor fellow do, when a youn
lady with the cannuingest eyes in the world
ocmes round him by moonlight, saying tow
"mavourneen" is the prottiest word ever
snoken, and would not it go well in a song ?
How can he help himself writing s song about
her the first thing in the morning ?"
"Oh Consor, Conner, It was you who began
I with your 'mavonruneas'-I beard you. But
I loet as ee what you have written."o
"eam yF ; read It alood. I flatter myself
that there's a tonob of the real thing in the
verses, and that bhey'll torn off your tongue
like music. Try them."
he's orewned with a rare diadem.
"Her throne ie pnre old bat not fit
er one eo strangl fair,. to sit
Upon, and yet she honoa it
slaves every moomest throng her feet,
With eager eyes epralsed to oset
Each least desire of here, most sweet
'" But oh, she wears the plainest own,
Her dear head ns'er orowned a orown,
Orly ty heart makes her renowu
"And her gold throne I spoke about,
Je only bullt of love without
Any possible flaw throughout
" My thoughts are born in chains, they move
ALi roucn and rourd her in one groove,
Living to wait on her I love
"But it's an out-and-out love song," cried
Ellen, when she had finished reading.
"And what else would it be ? What else
is worth puttinglinto musio and giving her to
read but just love T"
"I don't know what Lesbia will think of it
though-this line about the poorest gown-it's
verp pretty, bat.will she like it '
"I can't take it out; it's just tbat gives the
touch of pathos and makes the verses above
the common. It's the one grain of real poetry
in the whole thing, for it came warm and true
out of my heart. I was thinking of her as she
lIoked last night, when that little rescal, Bob
Maynard, threw a handful of wet sand over
her dress. She stood--still, looking- at -the
stains, with her red lip up, and the big tears
swelling in her jewels of eyes-the poor little
darling of the world, that she is ! Mavour.
"Oh Connor, Connor, I do believe you will
talk yourself into being actually in love with
her at last, and you know in reality it's all
make-believe and talk-words, words, words."
" I know nothing of the kind; how can you
judge f Every man meets hia fate some time."
"Man! But you are a boy."
"And Babette is a baby; so we are well
matched. Come, give me an envelope. I don't
say that I have quite the brass to give these
verses into her own hands. I'll send them
anonymously by poet, and she can make out
whom they come from if she pleases."
" You won't, really ?"
"Who's to hinder me Y"
"I will. I won't allow any each nonsense
to go out of the honse. I won't have you
mnake such a fool of yourself," cried Pelham,
turning from the window with a very red, in.
dignant face, which, during all the preoions
conversation, he had been trying to bring into
sufficient order to expcsu to Connor's quizzing
" Hollo I Don Pomposo Forioso ! we had for
gotten you were in the room," cried Conneor.
" You would not have had the luck to hear my
verses, I can tell you, if I had remembered
your existence five minutes ago; but since you
have heard, what objection does your wisdom
find to them f"
"Give the letter to me; it shan't go. As I said
before, I won't let you make a confounded
foolof yourself, and insult Miss Maynard."
"Insult Miss Maynard I That's a good joke,
when she asked me to write tbe verses herself,
and is expecting them this minute-the darl
"Ellen, you can let him speak in that way of
your friend 1"
"My dear Pelham, I don't see anything to be
so very angry about. Conneor drew her on
certainly, but Lesbia did drop a hint about
wishing to have some verses written on par
pose for herself-I heard it."
"Well, I have often been told that women
are envious of each other, and speak ill of
their dearest friends behind their backs, and
now I believe it."
"Easy, Pelham, easy. Abuse me as much as
you like, and welcome-I'll take it kindly;
but don't fall font of Ellen, if you please. The
notion of her needing to be envious and jeanr
one of little Lesbia Maynard beats everything
'You say that, and you write verses about
gold thrones and chains. What a confounded
humbug you are I"
Connor laughed aloud. "Well, no one will
accuse you of being that same. You have as
floe a talent for insulting your relations and
friends as the biggest hypocrite in the world
would need to prove his sincerity by."
"I did not insult you-nothing of the kind;
but I'm in earnest that those verses don't go to
"Oh, I can be in earnest too, if you like;
but just look here, Pelham I We are not
schoolboys now to quarrel conveniently, and
we found out once before that it did not an
swer for us two to interfere with each other.
We made a mess of it when it was only a
question of a dog between us, and a young
lady is a much more awkward subject to dis
"And indeed, Pelham, you are taking it a
great deal too serionusly," put in Ellen, eagerly.
"Don't you know that Connor is always writ
uig verses to young ladies, and never sending
them ? Why be has written poems on every
one of the seven Miss O'Roones of Ballyowen ;
and as to the Dublin young ladies of his aso.
quaintance, you should see what he finds to say
and sing about them."
"No, he shall not see" cried Connor, taking
up his writing-ass3, and deliberately placing
the sheet from which Ellen had read in an in
side pooket already well stuffed with M88.
"It's like shaking a red rag before a mad bull's
eyes to show a scrap of poetry to Pelham. Let
him subside, poor fellow; we've poked him ap
enough for one day, and he begins to look dan
gerous. Hullo ! there's the postman coming up
the street. I shall run down and intercept my
share of his budget. I always hate letters ex
cept on a rainy day, and then there's some use
in them. If I find a billet doux from the
youngest Miss O'Rooue, Pelham shan't read it."
(To be continued.)
Ever the most popular as well as the best of
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hibitions, the celebrated Slina FAIILT MACIINIS has
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FUNEPILS, MARRIAwG, ETC.-Attention is
ealled to the card of Coroner J. G. Roche, which we
publish in our a4rertlsing columns. He will take
charge cf lunerals and theembalmingof bodies. Having
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For particulars regarding Electric Belts, ad
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For sale in all quanttles by
26............... Co-ti Street..............26
V3 78 ly Sole Manufacturer.
A positive core for BRheumatism. Gout, Neeuralg_ and
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lor ein by the prinlpal dhruggists.
Price, 1 50 per bottle.
IFBRLEW & CO., Proprietors
de2 717y P.O. Box 140e, New Orleans.
t',,r |'art.htlc address Da. SANrouD, New Yrk..
se30 ly seow
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WESTERN PRODUCE, LIQUORS. ETC.
NEW BUTTER. NEW BUTTER,
We are now receiving and offer to the trade
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OF THE FINEST QUALITIES.
and will be regularly supplied by daily arrivals.
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GRAIN, CORNMEAL AND ATY
57,59,61,63...New Levee Street.. -.57, 59, 61, 0
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-'.v&J ~ oU