sunset. the piano and played quadrilles, polkas, waltzes, in rapid succession; but while my fingers flew along the keys my thoughts went as rapidly over the events of the past three months, and a series of pictures, memory-painted, passed before me; some were softly colored, as with the tints of violets and roses, or lighted with the amber hues that lend their beauty to the summer Then the sombre lines prevailed, and like storm-brooding clouds, gathered in darkness above the unsheltered traveller, came the remembrance of the past few stormy weeks, and overcome by the depression that rested with added weight, upon my heart, as I remembered the mockery of my last night's farewell, I closed the piano, and, hurrying to my own room, sought in its privacy, what all women seek when heavy-hearted relief in tears. That evening Paul Clayton was more than usually interesting in conversation, yet I took but little part in it, excusing myself on the plea of a severe beadache a natural consequence of the morning indulgence in tears. Mr. Clayton gave me sympathy and suggested camphor. For the first I was duly grateful; to the seeond not favorably inclined. Later in the evening the Leightons called, and I exerted myself to be agreeable. Before they left, Audrey remarked the absence of Ellery Vaughn, and turning abruptly to me, said-You should have had more compassion, Miss Ware; I am sure such devotion deserved it.' One cannot always assume what is not felt,' was my careless answer. Paul Clayton eyed me narrowly. I felt my cheek burn, and turning toward a table where lay a late publication, I hastened to change the conversation by calling atten tion to it. "A week passed amid a gay round of pleasures, during which time I saw but little of Paul Clayton. He never accompanied us into society, freely acknowledging his distaste for it. Then I began to grow weary of the life I was leading. I Jonged for quiet evenings the sound of footsteps that never came- - I missed the light of a loving eye; Esther, I missed Ellery Vaughn 1 strove to put away the thought, but slowly the conviction came to me, and gradually settled with tenacious hold upon my heart. Weeks came and went, and he did not return, neither did we hear from him. I endeavored to force my thoughts from one constantly recurring theme; to believe that the sense of loss I felt, was caused, wholly, by the absence of those slight, yet constant attentions, every women learns to prize, when coming from one who gives with them his heart's deep devotion. Then it was, Esther, I suffered bitterer regrets than I had ever before endured; yet, to God and my own heart alone, was the anguish known. We do not parade our feelings before the world at times like these, but send them, masked, into the gayest throng, and mingling with others, masked and decked in showy garments, like themselves, they play their part in the great carnival of life. "Aunt Edith ceased to question me, and if Paul Clayton held the key to my locked sorrow, he was too thoroughly kind to intimate its possession by word or sign. Days and weeks passed, and still brain and heart were on the rack. As often as I talked, with partial faith, with Paul Clayton, I felt my hold on all that I had once deemed truth and holy beauty, fast loosening; and I dreaded, more than you can ever know, Esther, the terrible darkness that seemed waiting to fold me in its stifling mantle of despair. "That winter was the saddest portion of my life, though I have suffered bitter sorrow since. The pleasant little room that was mine at aunt Edith's, was the sceno of many a struggle known only to the All-seeing eye of Him against whose truths my weak soul was at war. "When the spring drew near, Paul Clayton spoke of leaving, and though I had spent many pleasant hours with him, and gladly listened to the low, even tones that breathed only eloquence, whatever might be the theme, I felt that my future peace would be the forfeit of his continued presence. It was very pleasant to me to hear him talk of his beautiful art, and, if no doubt of beautiful truths had ever been suffered to pass the portal of his thoughts, I at least, should not so have mourned the crumbling away of the fair temple my faith had unquestioningly builded. But even while he talked to me of art, had not love as well as faith taken a sad and silent leave! Could I grieve, then, to have this man leave me who had caused all else that was dear to forsake me? "Art is much, but Love is more. *** Art symbolizes heaven, but Love is God." And when, one bright spring morning, Paul Clayton silently pressed my hand, and left me, I said-It is best.' "Soon after this, I too, left aunt Edith's for my own home. You well remember our meeting, and the summer Cays we spent together, the last of our earthly companionship. You partially read my heart then, as I nearly read your own. Would it not have been better for both if we had confided in each other? Might not the burden have been lighter if shared together? Yet, you had a stronger support than I; the cross you bore was wreathed with the flowers of unfading hope and abiding faith; and though you walked through the dark waters, you had strength to lift it above the waves, while your eyes were gazing heavenward. And I, oh, Esther, my hands were weak, and I folded them in doubt and despair. 46 It was late in the fall when I received a letter from aunt Edith, informing me she had heard from Ellery Vaughn, who had been for many weeks suffering under severe illness, but it had left him now, though too much enfeebled to allow of his attending to his business as before, and his physician advised his immediate return home, where, by tenderer care, his exhausted energies might sooner be recruited. But one thought filled my mind; Ellery Vaughn was coming home, would be at aunt Edith's, and I should not be there to see him. And his feet had been near to the valley of the shadow of death, and might even now be hastening towards its darkness! A wild, irrepressible longing seized me. O, if I could only see him, it would in part do away the memory of our last parting. I could speak a few kind words to him, and then then I could leave him forever. Days passed, and this At length yearning wish grew stronger. another letter came, informing me of Ellery Vaughn's arrival, and inviting me again to spend the winter with aunt Edith. But I cou'd not leave home; my mother's health was poor, and she needed me. Letters came occasionally, from aunt Edith, telling me of Ellery Vaughn. At first his health seemed improving, then he suffered a relapse, and his life was depaired of for many weeks, and all this time I was not permitted to see him. As the spring returned my mother's health was restored; then I determined nothing should prevent the carrying out my most earnest wish. The heaviest weight upon my heart was removed, ere the preparations for my journey were completed, by a letter, telling me there was hope of Ellery Vaughn's recovery. 66 It was a cheerless day in March, when I once more stood, waiting admittance at aunt Edith's door. It was opened for me, yet before I had time to frame the question that trembled on my lips, the servant turned hastily away, saying she would call my aunt, if I would remain in the back parlor. I entered the room and sat down near the folding doors, and took off my hat and shawl, that I might be in readi ness to see Ellery Vaughn as soon as aunt Edith came to me. I waited a weary time, and dread forbodings filled my heart. What if he were dead! What if I were never again to hear that voice that had been wont to breathe my name in earnest tones? Never again to meet the eyes that had given me their brightest glances? The thought was anguish. With clasped hands whose palms turned outward, that sure indication of intense agony, I waited. Would my aunt never come? A half hour passed before my suspense was relieved; then aunt Edith entered, greeting me cordially, cheerfully. She had been taking her afternoon nap, and the servant had carelessly neglected asking me to her dressing-room, for which she had just been reproving her. Ellery was better, much better; in fact, nearly well. He would be down in the parlor in the evening, in honor of my arrival.' ry "My aching heart was relieved. Ellewas living was almost well! I breathed humble thanksgivings. O, had I not even yet learned there is a bitterness far worse than the agony of death? I had a long while yet to wait before I heard his familiar step, slow and feeble, it is true, yet I knew it. My heart throbbed painfully. He entered. I gave him my hand silently, for I dared not trust my traitor voice with words. He held my hand lightly an instant, then dropping it, said with cold courtesy 66 6 It is a long while since we have met, Miss Ware.' "The answer I made has no place in my memory, yet his tones linger there still, for they chilled me like the bitterest blast of December. Intuitively, I saw the gulf between us that was deeper than death, darker than the grave. And my own hands had made it, Esther; a chasm never to be bridged, for that first interview was a type of all the rest, while Ellery Vaughn remained. Courteous he was at all times, yet never more than coldly polite; never once referring by word or sign to our past acquaintance; never giving me the slightest reason to believe that he remembered or cared for the love that was lost forever. A "In a week from the time of my arrival at aunt Edith's, he left once more, for the West. He despised me, Esther, as every woman deserves to be despised, who trifles with the heart's holiest emotions. woman possessed of pure and generous impulses, whose standard of principle is elevated, will never become a thoroughly versed coquette. She may blindly wander from the path her fine instincts have marked out as right, but once perceiving her error, will hasten to retrace her steps, towards the holier ways of womanly grace and goodness. Those who have taken their degree in the school of coquetry, may carelessly assert It is the only means we have of guarding ourselves against those who may meet us with our own weapons. We have been compelled to act in self-defence.' But their sophistry is worse than folly, it is sin; and even they, at times, will be compelled to know their error, aye, and suffer the bitter consequences; for, in the soul's silent reaches after beauty, the chains of selfishness, -- that have fettered it so firmly, must prevent, at last, the attainment of what it for ever asks in vain. 'I remained but a short time with aunt Edith, and then returned home. You can realize all that I suffered then, Esther, for you too, have mourned over an idol lost. Do not shrink because I refer to it now, as I never dared before, but remember, as one among the dead, I reach out to you the tender hand of pity, and beckon you from over the dark river to the peaceful shores of the better land. But you, Esther, in your trial, rested in hope, as a wanderer rests in the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.' And it was the strong arm of death that swept away your joy, while it was the evil in my own heart that made the bitterness of my anguish. "As the months passed on I became aware the conflict would not be long, for in the hectic flush upon my cheek I read the story that so many of my family had already learned, and quietly and steadfastly I strove to 'put my house in order,' before I should go hence. Diligently then, I endeavored to gather up one by one, the broken links in the chain of faith that was mine once. If love had left me, I would yet clasp hards with hope and trust, and in time, peace might place upon my lips its holy kiss, the seal of reconciliation, that my spirit needed. "There was one more drop to be added to my cup, and it came in the announcement of Elle y Vaughn's marriage. I had hoped it might be spared me the confirmation of the knowledge that I was wholly forgotten; but I had earned the bitterness and bowed humbly as I drained the cup. A year of trial and struggle passed, and then I felt that I had triumphed, that I had found the rest that my soul needed-the hope that clings only to the cross. With enlarged faith and broader views of divine love than I had ever known before, I sat down in peaceful rest, quietly waiting the approach of the whitewinged Azrael, whose summons I felt to be near at hand, even at my window, and ere you trace with tearful eyes, perchance, these pages, I shall be resting beside the River of Life, in the eternal world of glory." enough. And I took it prisoner-timid thing So coward white-and I locked it fast, To behold the war of the roses there, In waves of sunshine, bearing away Of maiden love, in her hazel eyes! Ah! Lina Walton, thy sun-bright soul Fetters of honor and gold, they kill! Singeth a psalm that is wise and good. I know no more of that charmed trance, Proud Lina Walton will tread with me, A LADY'S MAN BY J. KENRICK FISHER. One evening in a café in Venice, I sat admiring a remarkably handsome young gentleman, who was reading a newspaper, and brushing his glossy black hair with a small pocket br sh, when my friend recalled my attention to himself by asking if I was pursuing my artistic studies. I was forced to confess that I had fallen into that impropriety. He readily excused me on the ground that the young gentleman was not only an exquisite, but really beautiterest to the gossips about town. ful; and thereby hung a tale of much inHe was a Slavonian, and a sort of relative of a dashing countess; but what sort of a relative, was a question. While he was explaining, the young beauty put on his hat, got up, saw my friend, saluted him, walked up to him, and changed compliments. My friend looked inquiringly at me, as if he wished to know whether, after what he had insinuated, I would like to be acquainted with the questionable gentleman; I looked affirmatively, as if I cared more for amusement, and artistic interests, than for the graver interests which men at home must attend to; so he introduced us. To look at, he was the most interesting gentleman I ever saw; an artist could not resist him, without violence to taste. And on acquaintance he became interesting as a curiosity, and as a super-refined and rather helpless person;-altogether charmig, but as incapable of doing aught for himself, as a young lady of fortuue usually is. His father, an officer of high rank in the Russian army, had been killed in the campaign against the Turks, in 1823; and his mother had received a liberal pension for life, which she spent upon herself and her only darling, in the luxuries and amusements of the Russian capital, varied by occasional visits to the capitals of other countries. No child was more exquisitely dressed, more admired by his mother's friends, more cherished and caressed, more beautiful, gentle, amiable and idolized,— but not spoiled. Unlike most children, the more he was petted the better his dispositio grew. No youth was so much the pride and delight of his mother; and the theatres and opera houses echoed the sighs of other mothers, whose sons had not his inclination to be dutiful and devoted companions. Even at twenty-four he was as constantly as ever her companion; and none of the young nobles was more constant at the carriage drives. or more devoted to his wife, or even to his mistress, than was this good son to his happy mother. They lived together in the height of human enjoyment; loved each other as they loved themselves, never spoke an unkind word, nor parted morning or evening without a kiss. Among the friends of his mother w sa countess Riprenski, or some such name. She had no son, and had lost her daughter, and given away her parrots, poodles, and other objects of tenderness; how could I endure them, dear Pauloona, when I daily see your charming companion? Oh! had I such a son, I should be happy as you are,—and not mind the common-place attentions of my husband!" Count Riprenski died. His widow mourned some time. Her grief was gently restrained by her friend Pauloona, with whom her intimacy increased, after her bereavement. They and our Adonis had their drives together, and he was as much commended for respectful devotion to his mother's friend as he always had been for loving assiduity in anticipating the ants and caprices of his mother herself. Such reasoning, aided by time, had its wonted effect. But what was to be done? there was no money laid up; and the pension was only for the life of the mother. At this difficulty, the wealthy countess Riprenski laughed excessively, and completely overcame it by adopting him as her son. But he remained melancholy. To remedy this, and also to alleviate traces of her own affliction, she proposed travel. He aroused himself, and set about prepar ation, as he had done when about to trav el with his mother. The exertion made. him animated, and a grateful regard for the feelings of his benefactress, put away the unhappy mood that had settled upon him. The countess and her son politely restrained their private griefs, within the limits due to the memory of the illustrious count Riprenski; and cordially entered into the gaieties of the cities they visited; aud our Adonis was everywhere admired, as much as ever, for the devotion he paid his mother; and she was envied on his account, as his original mother had been, when she displayed him at the opera, at the public drive, and in the salons of her friends. But counterfeits, though they deceive the world, do not satisfy their authors, and the countess had a jealous disposition, not that she in the least doubted his perfect desire to be to her all that he had been to his own mother; but she feared, or surmised, or fancied, that he did not, perhaps could not love her as she desired. She was discontented and sometimes vexed, But, as all picas people know, this world is not made for happiness. Pauloona died. Her son was almost paralyzed--she could not see why; nevertheless smitten down with unutterable woe; the something was unsatisfactory; and she only companion of his whole life suddenly was naturally tempestuous. Although lost, he seemed only waiting to die, and their distinguished friends had no suspi utterly indifferent to all that life could cion of such discords, the gossips around offer. The countess, with the faithfulness the palace of the countess told of china of a mother's friend, and the kindness of a broken; and bruises were seen on the real mother, did all that was possible to handsome forehead of the young gentlereconcile him to the temporal bereave- man. In the words of my informant, "the ment and turn his thoughts to what must de'il was to pay; he was driven out o' the be the fond desire of his absent mother, house in his night clothes. And the furithat is, to his own happiness. She sol-ous old vixen led him sic a life that he was emnly adjured him to believe that the lov- unco' lucky to get out o' her clutches.". ing spirit of his mother watched over him, and would be unhappy if he did not strive to resign himself to the will of God, and to enjoy the blessings still left to him. In fact, he awakened my friend at midnight, and asked for shelter and clothing. All he would say was that the countess had been greatly afflicted, and her mind |