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Thoms and Orange Blossoms,
BY THE AUTHOR OF ROMANCE OF A YOUNG GIRL. Continued. "No, not very,” she answered, frank ly. I seem just beginning to awake. One month ago t was quite content —X was not rapturously happy, but I was far from miserable —now lam dis satisfied. I want to know a thousand things that I have never thought of be fore. I want to know what the w'orld is like beyond this green, dreamy little spot, and it is your fault that I have conceived these vain desires.” “Mine!” he replied, with a flush of delight and pride. “I am delighted to hoar it.” “I am not sure,” she said, "whether you have acted very wisely. Now that I am awake to the realities and possi bilities of life, it seems to me I shall never be satisfied with my present state of distance again. The question is whether it would not have been bet ter for me to remain dormant.” “It is far better /or you to be cogni zant of all that Is going on around you,” he cried, with passionate ve hemence. “Why should your bright beauty be buried here?” “There is fny aunt,” cried Violet. “Promise that you will see mo again." he cried, with all the energy of despair—“here, tomorrow evening, when the moon shines, and that terri ble aunt of yours has gone to sleep. Will you, Miss Deaton —Violet —will you come?” And she had Just time to whisper "Yes." CHAPTER VI. fxml Ryvers thought more seriously that night than he bad ever thought before. He was madly in love with this beautiful girl. He told himself that he must win her for his wife, or he should never know happiness more. He looked the position in the face. He was Baron Ryvers of Ryverswe'l. the sole heir of an ancient race, lord of Mount Avon in Hampshire, owner of one of the prettiest estates in the Isle of Wight, anil a fine old castle and a nioor in the highlands, one of the most eligible and wealthy barons in Eng land: and he was madly in love with a young girl who detested the aristoc racy, and had told him she would never marry any of them. l/ove had come to him as a terrible fever. It had taken possession of his whole being. As he walked home un der the shade of the spreading trees, he vowed to himself that he would win her. The beautiful face of the girl was ever before him. How he loved her! lie had never thought It possible that he could care for any one like this. How beautiful she looked on the other side of the rose-covered hedge! Why had he rot leaped over it, caught her in his arms, and carried her away? Ills heart was ou Are, No matter what obstacles were In the way, he would marry hor, If she would have him. But he felt quite sure she would nei ther love nor marry him If she knew his position and title. He must win her as an artist, If he won her at all; and afterward, when he had made her his wife, when ho had taught her to love him so dearly that she could not live without him. ho would tell her tho whole truth; she would not be angry then. Ills fate, after all, would be happier than that of many men. How many were married simply for their title, wealth, or other outward advantages! With him It would be quite different. Ho would lie married for himself alone —for pure love. How ho would repay her! It was no easy task that lay before him. On the one hand, he had resolv ed to marry a girl who hated the aris tocracy; on the other hand, he would have to persuade his mother, who was certainly as proud a woman as any In Knglaud, to consent to his marriage with a penniless girl. “She must consent,” he cried to him self: “she will consent! If the difficul ties were a thousand times greater than they are, I would fight my way through then.” Hitherto lie had been scarcely met! than a boy-—kindly, noble, but a dreamer; he was a man now, with a man's purpose. Once more his thoughts went back to ityversweil, where his mother dwelt in luxurious splendor. When Randolph had wrung from her, per mission to go on this sketching-tour— permission sho granted sore v against her will- she said, when bidding hitu farewell: '•I do Hl>f wrn yon against the COJft , mon fair,tn of young men; no son of mine will ever commit those. Ton are not likely to fall in love with a dairy-maid. or to marry a curate's daughter; but. after this, I trust you you will give up your notions of paint lug, amt thiutv *ejiously of settling in life. There aAmt v or three girls,” continued her ladyships "whom I should have liked you to meet. There sre Gwendoline Mar and Jocelyn, both beauties and both heiresses But it is of uq us speaking of that Just now." "None In the world," he had answer ed.* ‘'AH l can think about at the pres ent moment is my sketching-tour. \ou must consent, mother; nothing else has yuy attractions for me—l have heard so much of those splendid War wickshire treet. As for—for girts; there Is plenty of time to discuss them in the future.” “Yes there is plenty of time, as you observe: and I can trust to you Ran dolph. You have the true instincts of a gentleman and a Ryvers. Why Providence should have given to my only son the tastes of a wandering artist will always be a puzzle to me. But I must say this for you, Randolph —your aver-lnve of art is your great est fault." At the time he had kissed his mother laughingly; now he remembered with a little dismay that he had to ask her consent before he could marry. Violet, however, was worth any effort, any trouble that he might ex perience in winning her. The aid name, held in reverence for so many generations, the old titles gallantly kept, the grand old home, the family honors—he would have sa'criflced them all, would have laid them all at her feet. The hot, Impetuous love that, like a lava tide, swept all before it, was one of the characteristics of the race. The Ryvers were a very old family, and had come over to England with the Conqueror. They were a branch of the great De Riviere family. After they settled in England, as time went on they dropped the “De” and adopted the English method of spelling the name. They had not lost the Norman style of features, the dark hair, and the dark eyes of the Sforman race; but they were English enough in other re spects. The family had passed through vicissitudes; they had been sometimes rich, sometimes poor, but always loyal A Ryvers stood by the side of Edward the First when he showed his Infant son to the assembled chieftains; the Ryvers fought boldly in the crusades; a Ryvers saved the King’s life in the War of the Roses. It they did no accumulate money, they acquired fame and honor. It was the Merrle Monarch who gave the grand old estate of Ryversweil to the head of the family, together with his barony. The old race was fast becoming ex tinct now. When Philip, Lord Ryvers, died, hfc left, three children, two daugh ters and one son. The son, being then only five years old, had a long minority before him. The elder daughter. Mar guerite, a beautiful brunette, married the Karl of lister. The second daugh ter, Monica, was still unmarried, and •lived with Lady Ryvers. Personal beauty was one of the characteristics of the Ryvers family. Their daugh ters always married well, for they were among the moat beautiful women in the land, and their gift of beauty had brought them into relationship with some of the oldest families In the country. That Monica was still un married was her own fault. She had admirers in plenty, but none that pleased her. During tho minority of the young Raron, the family had resided at Ityversweil. When the young heir came of age he would live there; and, In the event of his marrying, his moth er would retire to the Dower House, a pretty, picturesque dwelling standing near Mount Avon. Lady Ryvers was quite agreeable to this arrangement. She had enjoyed her life and lived heT day. Hor great anxiety now was to see her son well married. She had several eligible heiresses in view; but there Was nothing to be done until he was cured of his art craze. It was a great blow to Lady Ryvers when, one day her son turned to her and said; “Mother, I wish 1 had been born to be an artist.” "My son." said the proud lady re garding him in consternation, “never let me hear such a sentiment from your lips again. You may be a patron of art—the Ryverses have always been that —but an artist —oh, never!” One might as well have forbidden the wind to blow, the stars to shine, or the (lowers to grow, as have forbidden the young heir to paint. He was an artist born. He had the keen perceptions, the passion for color, the fine, true sense that show the artist. He began In the nursery, where his sketches were the admiration of nurses and servants. Lady Ryvers repressed hlstnlent; she never praised it. never alluded to it, and made It a point always to speak of art and artists in the most con temptuous fashion; but she could not change the boy or alter his tempt r mont. A fine brave, handsome young Eng lishman. Randolph, Lord Ryvers. was the pride and delight of the whole household. His mother almost wor shiped him, his sisters loved and were proud of him. Now he had grown to tho age of twenty, and this sketching tour was to be one of his last indul gences of youth. His childhood and youth had been Irreproachable; even Lady Ryvers herself admitted that his love of art had kept him from "any thing worse.” Mother and, sisters were looking forward now to the time when he should take home a wife to Ryversdale—one worthy to reign there and sustain the prestige of the grand old race. And this was the young fellow who j was going mad for love of Violet Bea- I ton at St. Byno'a. CHAPTER VII. There was no moon on the night Lord Ryvers had looked forward to with such anxiety; but the light scarcely dies out of the sky on a fair July night. From the bonny woods of St. Byno’s a faint, sweet sound, like the echo of the Aeolian harp, reached Violet's ears; from the river came a ccft, musical murmur. It was not till after a hard struggle with her conscience that Violet went to keep her appointment. She con soled herself, however, with a false line of argument. Miss Atherton had forbidden her to leave the garden, and the was not going to leave it. She would be within the rose-covered hedge; and she would not have gone at all but that she really felt sorry for the young artist. He had looked so handsome so imploring, the promise to see him again had almost uncon sciously been wrung from her. It was all her aunt’s fault. If she had allowed them to say good-by open ly and quietly, there would have been no need for this twilight Interview. After all, she did not quite like it. Her sense of propriety was opposed to it; but she could not let him go with out one word; he had been so pleasant and kind to her. The girl’s heart re belled against her aunt. Why had she not asked the young artist in, and allowed them to spend an hour or two I together? Then he would have said good-by, and would have gone out of their lives probably forever. Now she was going to do that which she would rather not have done. “Go to your room at once,” Miss Atherton had said, when the usual family devotions were over. “You will not want a candle. It Is quite light enough. Good-night.” And then Miss Atherton had retired to rest, happily unconscious of her niece’s meditated plans. Meanwhile a handsome, ardent young lover moved softly through the deep shadows of St. Byno’s wood, looking with anxious eyes that pierced them at the picturesque cottage. He went slowly down to the riverside, crossed the corner of the wood, passed the little gate where the white acacia3 grew, down by the rose-covered hedge, and then he stood still. Never had his heart beaten so before. There was no stir in the cottage; the white blinds were down. Would she come? The Ryverses were not famous for patience; but the young lord had never been in such a fever of suspense before. Would she come? Ah, there was a stir, something surely was mov ing over the long grass that shook the white clover, and sent the acacia leaves fluttering to the ground! But it was only the summer night breeze. Would she never come? A little bird in the far distance twittered. He heard the deep baying of a hound across the river. “Oh, my love, my darling,” he cried, “If you would but come!” And just then the pale beautiful face of the young girl looked anxiously down through the shadows. She could not see him, and she did not know if he was there. Just as he had pictured her. she came out. in her long blue dress; over her head she had thrown a black lace veil. It was dark er than she thought it would be. She stopped for one moment under the chestnut- trees to reconnoiter before she passed on to the place of redez vous. In another minute they were standing face to face, the handsome young lover and the falr-halred, beau tiful girl. "How good of you to come!” he said. “I hardly dared hope you would do so.” “I ought not to have come,” she said. "Dc not praise me for doing what 1 know to be wrong; but you have been so kind to me, and I have enjoyed your intimacy so much, I did not like to think 1 should not see you again." He was looking at the hedge. “I am standing,” he said, “outside the gates of Paradise. Will you open them for me?” "I cannot,” she answered. “You can If you will. Tell me that 1 may leap over this hedge.” “1 ought not to do so," she said. “I cannot see you here, and I want to see your face again," he urged. She was silent for a few moments. Then she thought to herself that, as he was there, he might just as well be on one side of the hedge as the other. “You may come.” she said softly. "But mind you do not fall.” “1 could clear a hedge twice as for midable as that,” he replied, with a laugh; and the next moment he was standing by her side. “How strange and agile you are!” She said to him with a smile, looking admiringly at him, as women do look at brave, manly men. "Show me anything that I would not do to have the happiness of standing by your side for one minute. You said something to me about good-by. Do you think I could leave you?” His voice trembled with passion. "I have never thought about it,” she said. “I suppose you will go when your picture is finished?" "I am quite sure I shall not. Ido not care w hether the picture Is finish ed or not. I csre for nothing—do you not see —I care for nothing in this wide world but you.” “But me.” she repeated, wonderingly —"but me?” “Yes you. You can send me away from you If you will; but think; for the mercy of Heaven, think before you do it. I love you and I cannot leave you. I love you and I would rather lie dead here at your feet than leave you. Do you understand, my beautiful, fair-haired darling. Is It madness to say 1 love you? Then I am of all men the most mad.” "You love me?" she repeated, grave ly. “Why, you have only seen me three or four times!” To be continued. A WONDERFUL GLOBE! ONE OF THE SIGHTS AT THE* PARIS FAIR. I GEOCRAPHYOAT A GLANCE Remarkable Conveniences Offered for Learning Much of the Earth’s Sur face —But a Wierd Subterranean Pit Is Still a Greater Source of Wonderment. The great globe, which is a feature of the Paris exposition, differs vastly from the first outlines given to the public originally xa idea of coil structing a railroad about this repro duction of the world was given up, and instead elevators and stairways run to nine tiers or floors, from each of which a section of the globe can be seen. It is thus possible to follow the equator ial line, the temperate, or the arctic and anarctic circles and make a thor ough study of the earth’s surface. The globe was guilt by T. Ruddiman Johnston on a scale of 1 in 500,000 of the actual size of the earth, or roughly oue-eighth of an inch to the mile. It measures 84 feet in diameter, and has The Earth in a surface area of 22,000 feet. Some idea of the vastness of the work is con veyed by the fact that If the material composing the covering were unrolled it would form a band one foot In width and four miles in length. In order that the globe may be properly In spected It is surrounded by a circular wall, round which runs a series of gal leries. The globe itself revolves slow ly, thus permitting the spectator to view every part. Every place of any note Is given and all towns of ’5,000 Inhabitants, while larger towns are marked according to scale. Various colors are employed to distinguish between sea and land, for est and desert, while every zone has a different shade. The ocean and wind currents, the differences of atmos pheric pressure and of temperature, and the variations of the magnetic needle are all given, together with the distribution of the various races of man kind and the world's fauna and flora. No branch of geography, therefore, in the widest meaning of the word, Is neglected, and a proper study of the globe should In ltselff form a liberal education. But Paris will have even a more wonderful exhibit. To pass from the north pole to the equator, from the; cold of winter to the heat of summer, one leaves this miniature globe and finds one’s way across the exhibition grounds to where an enormous shaft with radiating galleries Is now being sunk Into the earth. This pit is as deep as the Eiffel tower Is high, and, like the Eiffel tower, will be provided with an elevator. As you descend every variety of cli mate Is experienced. Added to this the four elements are represented. From a region where aerial navigation is the chief attraction, where. In fact, one may hire a pair of wings and be come for the nonce a bird, one passes to the torrid zone with its tropical , vegetation and Its 'birds of gorgeous plumage. Here one may peep into 1 volcanoes, ride on elephants and camels, and refresh one's self after tbe exertion on curries and delicious fruits served by dusky attendants In snowy white. In defiance of all geographical possi bilities. the north pole la barely a step from the equator. The transforma tion is extraordinary. The splendor and luxury of the oriental world have disappeared. Reindeer and dogs take the place of elephants and camels, luxuriant fol iage gives way to ice and snow, the white turbans of th* Hindoo are super seded by the fur coverings of the Usquimaux. In spite of Dr. Nansen's enthusiasm over the food and drink of the polar re gions. the blubber that the fur-be muffled attendants serve fails to be ap- petivring after the refreshments ot ■lore congenia. climes. To regale himself on the national beverage,, on the smoked and melted snow, on a de coction of herbs in milk, cn oil ob tained from fish, or on barley water flavored with tallow, and, if circum stances will permit, the blood of rein deer would be the last resource of the thirsty. Below this region of snow, with its vast ice palaces, its polar bears, its seals, its icebergs, beneath this land of pigmy humanity, is the sea. This vast sea is full of life. Miniature ships ot all nations, from the brown-sailed junks of China to the British man-of war, are floating in the water. Finny monsters come lazily forward to stare at each intruder, curious fish dart hither and thither among the coral banks and the exquisite flora of the ocean deep. It becomes necessary to undergo a terrible ordeal. These waters have to be explored. If the diving suit is too formidable, one cannot, at least, refuse an excursion in a torpedo boat. In fact, it is a relief that below the sea the shaft does not penetrate to where the interior fires of the earth are burn , ing. Otherwise the cooking for the I restaurants of the Champs des Mars might have been performed cheaply , and conveniently over subterranean | fires. The visitor, terrified at the enter prise he has undertaken; the visitor | who has been flying in the air one mo ment, and the next hobnobbing wtth tbe fish, is already anxious to leave the shaft, and to find himself once more upon terra firma. The rabbit hole, which led Alice to her Wonder land, was, in fact, insignificant beside this pit. MATRIMONY AND SUCCESS. Max O'Rell on the Question, "Does Marriage Help a Man?” Max O'Rell, the well-known writer and lecturer, discusse as follows in the New York Journal the interesting question, “Does Marriage Help a Man?” Does marriage help a man? Well, if he marries a rich wife, of course it does; but, you see, money helps, wherever It comes from, and so we must put this consideration out of the question altogether. Let us also say, and at once, too, that If a man finds happiness in mat rimony marriage will help him, what ever his position may be; but happi ness, too. helps, wherever it comes from, and so we must put this con sideration out of the question also. And, before answering the question, or, rather, before presenting argu ments both in the affirmative and in the negative, we must examine the different positions that a man may occupy in life. In commercial pursuits marriage will help a man. If money-making is the chief concern of his life an at tentive, interested and saving wife will enable a man to devote all his mind to business, and, by a careiu! management of her house, will also enable him to amass wealth. If a man holds a post of responsi bility—a government one, for ex ample, In the diplomatic service, in the civil service, in the church, in the university professions—a wife possessed of attractive charms, amiable and tactful will help him, for let us remember that in England, as well as In all countries where it is sought to always appoint the right man in the right place before decid ing on a candidate for any Im portant vacant post, the first question that Is asked is: What kind of a wife has he got? The kind of wife that will help such a man is the one that will help him socially and diplomati cally, by wire-pulling, if you Hke. Now, If interviewers set any value I on their comfort*-nay. on their lives —I advise theta x to avoid this topic, | for the question is not only a very | big one, but a very uncomfortable one indeed, considering that the very men ' who are called to answer It must put down a Jit tie conversation I quite I recently hiijtjn ihe subject lover a cup of tea witty a dinning English lady “But,” she said, “you do not ansS my question: Does marriage man?” “Sometimes yes, sometimes no. It depends a great deal on the profes sion or the calling of the man.” “Well, a doctor, for instance.” “Yes,” I said, “marriage helps a doctor; it stamps him respectable, and many women will not consult a doctor unless they know that he is a married man; but white hair will help him quite as much.” “That is not very promising,” said i the lady. “Well,” I replied “let us try again.” “Surely woman can do much to in spire, to encourage a man whatever his work may be.” “Yes, a sympathetic woman can dp a great deal; but it is very difficult ft quite determine w-hat effect her h’£> may have upon her husband’s work during the various critical periods of his career. There may have been days when, without her encourage ment, he would have lost faith in him self, but such cases are rare. Then > r ou speak of artists, of people who live by praise, feed on it. I have known painters who looked for and found such encouragement from their wives. On the other hand, I have known others who sought solitude when at work —men who could not have expressed their message unless alone with their art. I have known authors who looked for inspiration from their wives, or thought they did, and I have known others who could not do a stroke of work Unless they were absolutely left alone with their thoughts.” “But if a wife makes a man happy, that alone, surely, helps him?” “Of course it does, but the married man has far greater responsibilities than the single one, and he may be obliged to produce for the sake of filling many little hungry mouths. And another thing, you must remem ber that the single man can command the interest of a great number of wo men who would not care to be inter ested in his wife, and very few wives will realize that they may not be as interesting as the’.r husbands. This will cause trouble, unpleasantness at least, and stand in the way of a man’s success..” “Then,” said the lady, “let us change the question. Does marriage hamper a man?’ “UndorDted’’" there are professions which seem to necessitate bachelor hood, where marriage is not only no help, but a handicap. A so’dier, for instance, should not marry, for a mar ried sold>er, good fighting man though he may be never can forget the wife and perhaps the little ones at home.” “I take it,” said my lady inteilocu tor, “that you do not advocate mar riage for the rising poet, painter, dramatist or novelist.” “I do not advocate marriage for any man that has the artistic tempera ment strongly developed. The man who is strong enough to achieve great things is strong enough to achieve them alone, that is, unless he is for tunate enough to meet the exceptional woman. Lord Byron said that noth ing can inflict greater torture upon a woman than the mere fact of loving a poet. This is not due to the heartless or deliberate cruelty of the poet. He himself is to be pitied for being a martyr, the slave of art. It is the natural depth of a poet’s emotions, of an artist's temperament, to fall in love with every lovely woman. The higher we rise in tl*e intellectual scale, says a modern writer, the more varied, complex and deep are the emotional groups w’hich delight and torment the soul. Mental work does not extinguish passions, it feeds the flames, on the contrary, and un fits the brain worker for matrimony. Only people who have uneventful, al most humdrum, lives, are perfectly happy in marriage.” ' Then you do not admit the exist ence of the man who needs the quiet sympathy of a good domestic wife oe fore his art becomes fully articulate’” “No, because the artiU constantly wants stimulants, and a domestic life is not stimulating. Now, do not mis understand me. Marriage can make a man very happy, including the man with the strong artistic temperament but I don’t think that it helps him I have come across hundreds of cases where artistic and literary efforts have been checked and sometimes knled outright by- tuc petty cares and worries of domestic life. The brain worker is very easily irked and tor mented by the most trivial things. He is irritable ami mort sensitive. I have known literary men put right off their work for days simply because devoted wives came into their studies and she- giving them an encouraging kiss, can-fed off their pens to make out their washing list. I have known painters whose faculties were posi tlv-ely benumbed by the presence of their wives. I have known dramatists WuO COIIM r>nvov „ . „ . , , *”-*• M in ear nest before they had sent their families into the countiV, or had themselves left home far behind them. And, mmd you, these men were all fond of their wives.” are not encouraging." Will you have a cup of tea?” “Thank you, with pleasure- but does marriage” “Do you take sugar?” “If you please—but are there not cases” 1 “And cream?” . “Please—Now, tell me” "What I think of the Paris Exnosf tion?” M'osi — J. Ah, yes, it was for money Alone he married her. And yet that's not so funny— He waa the minister.