teapot, in dread of Stuart's cavalry. Altogether, | bring heat and flavour into his life, too. There the war gives quite a zest to life up here. Then, were soft astral lamps, and a charred red fire, a in these low-hill valleys of the Alleghanies the warm, unstingy glow, wasting itself even in sun pours its hottest, most life-breeding glow, long streams of light through the cold windows. and even the wintry wind puts all its vigour There were bright bits of Turnerish pictures on into the blast, knowing that there are no the gray walls, a mass of gorgeous autumnlachrymose, whey-skinned city dyspeptics to leaves in the soft wool of the carpet, a dainty inhale it, but full-breasted, strong-muscled white-spread table in the middle of the room, women and men-with narrow brain, maybe, jars of flowers everywhere, flowers that had but big, healthy hearts, and physique to match. caught most passion and delight from the sunVery much the same type of animal and moral scarlet and purple fuchsias, heavy-breathed organization, as well as natural, you would have heliotrope. Yet Grey bent longest over her found before the war began, ran through the own flower, that every childlike soul loves bestvalley of Pennsylvania and Virginia. mignonette. She chose some of its sprigs to fasten in her hair, the fragrance was so clean and caressing. Paul Blecker, even at the other end of the field, and in the gathering twilight, caught a glimpse of his wife's face pressed against the pane. It was altered: the contour more emphatic, the skin paler, the hazel eyes darker, lighted from farther depths. No glow of colour, only in the meaning lips and the fine reddish hair. One farm, eight or ten miles from the village where the Gurneys lived, might be taken as a specimen of these old homesteads. It lay in a sort of meadow-cove, fenced in with low, rolling hills that were wooded with oaks on the summits, sheep-cots, barns, well-to-do plum and peach orchards creeping up the sides, a creek binding it in with a broad, flashing band. The water was frozen on this March evening. There was just enough cold crispiness in the air to-night to make the two fat cows move faster into the stable, with smoking breath-to bring out a crow of defiance from the chickens huddling together on the roost; it spread, too, a white rime over the windows, shining red in the sinking sun. When the sun was down, the nipping north-easter grew sharper, swept about the little valley, rattled the bare-limbed trees, blew boards off the corn-crib that Doctor Blecker had built only last week, tweaked his nose and made his eyes water as he came across the field, clapping his hands to make the blood move faster, and, in short, acted as if the whole of that nook in the hills belonged to it in perpetuity. But the house, square, brick, solid-seated, began to glow red and warm out of every window-not with the pale rose-glow of your anthracite, but fitful, flashing, hearty, holding out all its hands to you, like a Western farmer. That's the way our fires burn. The very smoke went out of no stove-pipe valve, but rushed from great mouths of chimneys, brown, hot, glowing, full of spicy hints of supper below. Down in the kitchen, by a great log-fire, where irons were heating, sat Oth, feebly knitting, and overseeing a red-armed Dutch girl cooking venison-steaks and buttermilk-biscuit on the coal-stove beside him. "Put jelly on de table, you, mind! Strangers here fur tea. Anyhow it ort to go down. Nuffin but de best ob currant Miss Grey 'ud use in her father's house. Lord save us!" (in an underbreath.) "But it's fur de honour ob de family" (in a mutter). "Miss Grey" waited within. Not patiently: sure pleasure was too new for her. She smoothed her crimson dress, pushed back the sleeves that the white dimpled arms might show, and then bustled about the room, to tidy it for the hundredth time. A bright winter's room: its owner had a Southern taste for hot, heartsome colours, you could be sure, and would Doctor Blecker stopped to help a stout little lady out of a buggy at the stile, then sent the boy to the stable with it: it was his own, with saddle-bags under the seat. But there was a better-paced horse in the shafts than suited a heavy country-practice. The lady looked at it with one eye shut. "A Morgan-Cottrell, eh? I know by the jaw"-jogging up the stubble-field beside him, her fat little satchel rattling as she walked. Doctor Blecker, a trifle graver and more assured than when we saw him last, sheltered her with his over-cape from the wind, taking it off for that purpose by the stile. You could see that this woman was one of the few for whom he had respect. Your wife understands horses, Doctor. And dogs. I did not expect it of Grey. No. There's more outcome in her than you give her credit for"-turning sharply on him. He smiled quietly, taking her satchel to carry. "When we came to Pittsburg, I said to Pratt, I'll follow you to New York in a day or two, but I'm going now to see Paul Blecker's little wife. She's sound, into the marrow.' And I'll tell you, too, what I said to Pratt. "That is a true marriage, heart and soul and ways of thinking. God fitted those two for one another.' Some matches, Doctor Blecker, put me in mind of my man, Kellar, making ready the axes for winter's work, little head on big heft, misjoined always: in consequence, thing breaks apart with no provocation whatever. There was a slight pause. "Where did you get that Cottrell, Doctor? From Faris? Pha! pha! Grey showed me the look in his face this morning, innocent, naïf, as all well-blooded horses' eyes are. Like her own, eh? I said to Pratt, long ago-twenty he was then- When you want a wife, find one who laughs out from her heart, and see if dogs and horses kinsfolk with her: that's your woman to marry, if they do." " No woman likes to be classed properly-no matter where she belongs. "I never interfere, Doctor Blecker; I may advise. But, as I was going to say, that father of Grey's seemed to me such a tadpole of a man, rooting after tracks of lizards that crept ages ago, while the country is going to mash, and his own children next door to starvation, I thought a little plain talk would try if it was blood or water in his veins. So I went over to spend the day there on purpose to give it to him." 66 "Yes. Well?" She shrugged her shoulders. 66 I see. Then you tried Joseph ?" "No, he is in able hands. That Loo is a thorough-pacer after my own heart.-Talking of your family, my dear," as Grey opened the door. "Loo will do better for them than you. Pardon me, but a lot of selfish men in a family need to be treated like Pen here, when his stomach is sour. Give them a little wholesome lkali: honey won't answer." Grey only laughed. Some day, she thought, when her father had completed his survey of the coal-formation, and Joseph had induced Congress to stop the war, people would appreciate them. So she took off Mrs. Sheppard's furs and bonnet, and smoothed the two black shiny puffs of hair, passing her husband with only a smile, as a stranger was there; but his dressinggown and slippers waited by the fire. "Paul may be at home before you," she said, nodding to them. The supper-always a solid meal in these houses-was brought in: Grey took her place with a blush and a little conscious smile, to which Mrs. Sheppard called Dr. Blecker's attention by a pursing of her lips, and then tucking her napkin under her chin, prepared to do justice to venison and biscuits. She sipped her coffee with an approving nod-dear to a young housekeeper's soul. "Good! Grey begins sound, at the foundations, in cooking, Doctor. No shams, child. Don't tolerate them in housekeeping. If not white sugar, then no cake. If not silver, then not albata. So you're coming with me to New York, my dear?" Grey's face flushed. "Paul says we will go.' "Sister there? Teaching, did you say?" Doctor Blecker's moustache worked nervously. Lizzy Gurney was not of his kind; now, more than ever, he would have cut every tie between her and Grey, if he could; but his wife looked up with a smile. "She is on the stage the operasinging-in choruses only, now; but it will be better soon." - Mrs. Sheppard let her bit of bread fall, then ate it with a gulp. Why, every drop of the Shelby blood was clean and respectable; it was not easy to have an emissary of — a tawdry actress, brought on the carpet before her, with even this mild flourish of trumpets. The silence grew painful. Grey glanced around, then her quick blood made her eyelids shake a little, and her lips shut. But she said, gently"My sister is not albata ware-that you hate, Mrs. Sheppard. She is no sham. When God said to her, 'Do this thing,' she did not ask the neighbours to measure it by their rule of right and wrong.' "Well, well, little Grey"-with a forbearing smile" she is your sister. You're a clannish body. Your heart's all right, my dear,”—patting the hard, nervous hand that lay on the table-" but you never studied theology, that's clear. "I don't know." Mrs. Blecker's face grew hot; but that might have been the steam of the coffee-urn. "We'll be just to Lizzy," said her husband, Grey had dropped easily through that inde- gravely. "She had a hurt lately. I don't think finable change between a young girl and a mar- she values her life for much now. It is a hungry ried woman; her step was firmer, her smile family, the Gurneys"-with a quizzical smile. freer, her head more quietly poised. Some" My wife, here, kept the wolf from the door other change, too, in her look, showed that her affections had grown truer and wider of range than before. Meaner women's hearts contract after marriage about their husband and children, like an India-rubber ball thrown into the fire. Hers would enter into his nature as a widening and strengthening power. Whatever deficiency there might be in her brain, she would infuse energy into his care for people about him—into sympathy for his patients; in a year or two you might be sure he would think less of Paul Blecker per se, and hate or love fewer men for their opinions than he did before. almost single-handed, though she don't understand theology. You are quite right about that. When I came home here two months ago she would not be my wife: there was no one to take her place, she said. So one day, when I was in my office alone, Lizzy came to me, looking like a dead body out of which the soul had been crushed. She had been hurt, I told you: she came to me with an open letter in her hand. It was from the manager of one of the secondrate opera troupes. The girl can sing, and has a curious dramatic talent-her only one. "It is all I am capable of doing,' she said. 'If I go Grey can marry. The family will have, a sure support.' "Then she folded the letter into odd shapes, with an idiotic look. "Do you want me to answer it?' I asked. "Yes, I do. Tell him I'll go. Grey can be happy then, and the others will have enough to eat. I never was of any use before.' "I knew that well enough. I sat down to write the letter. "You will be turned out of church for this,' I said. "She stood by the window, her finger tracing the rain-drops on the pane, for it was a rainy night. She said They won't understand. God knows.' "So I wrote on a bit, and then I said-for I felt sorry for the girl, though she was doing it for Grey-I said, "Lizzy, I'll be plain with you. There never was but one human being loved you, perhaps. When he was dying he said, "Tell my wife to be true and pure.' There is a bare possibility that you can be both as an opera-singer, but he never would believe it. If you met him in heaven, he would turn his back on you if you should do this thing.' "I could not see her face; her back was towards me, but the hand on the window-pane lay there for a long while motionless, the blood settling blue about the nails. I did not speak to her. There are some women with whom a physician, if he knows his business, will never meddle when they grow nervous: they come terribly close to God and the devil then, I think. I tell you, Mrs. Sheppard, now and then one of your sex has the vitality and pain and affection of a thousand souls in one. I hate such women!"-vehemently. dead now, but I think their souls looked at me out of those pictures and loved me.' "She came up, her head hardly reaching to the top of the chair I sat on, half smiling, those strange grey eyes of hers. "I thought they said, 'This is Lizzy: this is the little girl Daniel loves.' Every day I kneel down by that dead lady's chair, and pray to God to make me fit to be her son's wife. But he's dead now' (drawing suddenly back), ' and I am going to be-an opera-singer.' "Not unless by your own free will,' I said. "She did not hear me, I think, pulling at the fastening about her throat. "Daniel would say it was the devil's calling. Daniel was all I had. But he don't know. I know. God means it. I might have lived on here, keeping myself true to his notions of right: then, when I went yonder, he would have been kind to me, he would have loved me'-looking out through the rain, in a dazed way. "The truth is, Lizzy,' I said, 'you have a power within you, and you want to give it vent: it's like a hungry devil tearing you. So you give up your love-dream, and are going to be an opera-singer! That's the common-sense of the matter.' "I sealed the letter, and gave it to her. "You think that?' "That was all she answered: but I'm sorry I said it; I don't know whether it was true or not. There that is the whole story: I never told it to Grey before. You can judge for your selves." A clear, healthy April night--one of those "Men like you always do"-quietly. "But bright, mountain-winded nights of early spring, I am not one of them." "No, nor Grey, thank God!" "You forget your story, I think, Doctor Blecker.' The Doctor stopped to help her to jelly, with a serious face, and then went on. "She turned round at last: I did not look up at her, only said, 'I will not write the letter.' "Go on,' she-said. "I wrote it then; but when I went to give it to her my heart failed me. 'Lizzy,' I said, 'you shall not do this thing.' "She looked so childish and pitiful, standing there." "You think you are cutting yourself off from your chance of love through all time by it-just for Grey and the others.' Her eyes filled at that; she could not bear the kind word, you see. "Yes, I do, Doctor Blecker,' she said. 'Nobody ever loved me but Uncle Dan. Since he went away I have gone every day to his house, coming nearer to him that way, growing purer, more like other women. There's a picture of his mother there, and his sister. They are when the air is full of electric vigour-starlight, when the whole earth seems wakening slowly and grandly into a new life. Grey, going with her husband and Mrs. Sheppard down Broadway, from their hotel, had a fancy that the world was so cheerfully, heartily at work, that the night was no longer needed. Overhead, the wind from the yet frozen hills swept in such strong currents, the great city throbbed with such infinite kinds of motion, and down in the harbour yonder the rush of couriers came and went incessantly from the busy world without. Grey was a countrygirl in this throbbing centre of human life she felt suddenly lost, atom-like-drew her breath quickly, as she clung to Paul's arm. The world was so vast, was hurrying on so fast. took in the whole blue air and outgoing ocean, Mrs. Sheppard, as she plodded solidly along, and the city, with its white palaces and gleaming lights. "People look happy here," she said. "Even Grey laughs more, going down the streets. Nothing talks of the war here." Paul looked down into the brown depths of the eyes that were turned towards him. "It's a good, cheery world, ours, after all. More laughing than orying in it, when people | man's history is dumb. It came out vaguely, find out their right place, and get into it." Mrs. Sheppard said, "Umph!" Kentuckians don't like abstract propositions. They stopped before a wide-open door, in a by-street-not an opera-house; one of the haunts of the "legitimate drama." Yet the posters assured the public in every colour that La petite Elise, the beautiful débutante, &c. &c, would sing, &c., &c. Grey's hand tightened on her husband's arm. an inarticulate cry in the songs she sang. That very night, as she stood there, with her grey eyes sparkling and happy (they were dramatic eyes, and belonged to her brain), and her baby-hands crossed archly before her, her voice made those who listened quite forget her. La petite Elise took them up to the places where men's souls struggle with the evil one and conquer. A few, perhaps, understood that full meaning of her song: if there was one, it was well she was an actress and sang it. "This is the place-her face burning scarlet. A pretty little theatre; softly lighted, well "I'll be hanged," growled a fellow in the pit, and quietly filled--quietly toned, too, the dresses "if she ain't a good little thing!" when the of the women in the boxes; of that neutral, sub- song was ended. There was not a soul in the dued cast that showed they belonged to the house that did not think the same. Yet the grade above fashion. People of rank tastes did girl turned fiercely towards the side-scenes, not often go there. The little Kentuckian, with hearing it, and pitied herself at that-that she, her emphatic, sham-hating face, and Grey, a woman, should stand before the public for whose simple, calm outlook on the world made them to stand and chatter over her soul and her her last year's bonnet and cloak dwindle into history, and her very dress and shoes. But such irrelevant trifles, did not misbecome the that was gone in a moment, and Lizzy laughed place. Others might go there to fever out-naturally now. Why, they were real friends ennui, or with fouler fancies. Grey did not to her there. When they laughed and cried know. The play was a simple little thing: its with her she knew it. Many of their faces she meaning was pure as a child's song. There knew well that pale lady's in the third box, was a good deal of fun in it. Grey laughed who brought her boys so often, and gave them with everybody else: she would ask God to a bouquet to throw to Lizzy-always white flowbless her to-night none the worse for that. It ers-and the old grandfather yonder, with the had some touches of pathos in it, and she cried, pretty, chubby-faced girls. The girl's thought and saw some men about her doing the very now was earnest and healthful, as everybody's same-not just as she did, but glowering at the grows who succeeds in discovering his real footlights, and softly blowing their noses. Then work. They encored her song: when she the music came, and La petite Elise. Grey began, she looked up and stopped suddenly, her drew back where she could not see her. Blecker very neck turning crimson. She had seen peered through his glass at every line and mo- Doctor Blecker. "A tawdry actress!" She tion, as she came out from the eternal castle in could have torn her stage-dress in rags from her. the back scene. Any gnawing power or gift she Then her tone grew loud and clear. had had found vent certainly now. Every poise and inflection said, "Here I am what I amfully what Nature made me, at last no more, no less." Nature had made her an actress. La petite Elise had only a narrow and peculiar scope of power, suited to vaudevilles. She could not represent her own character-an actress's talent and heart being as widely separated, in general, as yours are. She could bring upon the stage in her body the presentment of a naïve, innocent, pathetic nature, and use the influence such nature might have on the people outside the orchestra-chairs there. It was not her own nature, we know. She dressed and looked it. A timid little thing in her fluttering white slip, her light hair cut close to her head, in short curls. So much for the actress and her power. She sang at last: she sang ballads generally (her voice wanting cultivation), such as agreed with her role. But it was Lizzy Gurney who sang, not la petite Elise. "Of course," a society-mother said to me one day, "I do not wish my Rosa should have a great sorrow, but how it would develop her voice!" The lady stumbled on a great truth. So with Lizzy life had taught her; and the one bitter truth of self-renunciation she had wrung out of it must tell itself somehow. No There was a young couple just facing her, with a little child, a dainty baby-thing, in cap and plume. Neither of them listened to Lizzy: the mother was tying the little fellow's shoe as he hoisted it on the seat, and the father was looking at her. "I missed my chance," said Lizzy Gurney, in her heart. "Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in Thy sight!" A tawdry actress! She might have stayed at home yonder, quiet and useless-that might have been. Then she thought of Grey, well beloved-of the other house, full of hungry mouths she was feeding. Looking more sharply at Doctor Blecker while she sang, she saw Grey beside him, drawn back behind a pillar. Presently she saw her take the glass from her husband and lean forward. There was a red heat under her eyes: she had been crying. They applauded Lizzy just then, and Grey looked around frightened, and then laughed nervously. "How beautiful she is! Do you see? Oh, Paul! Mrs. Sheppard, do you see?"-tearing her fan, and drawing heavy breaths, moving on her seat constantly. "She never loved me heartily before," thought Lizzy, as she sang. "I never deserved it. I was heartless; I-" People applauded again, the old grandfather this time nodding to the girls. There was something so cheery and healthy and triumphant in the low tones. Even the young mother looked up suddenly from her boy, listening, and glanced at her husband. It was like a Christmas song. Doctor Blecker looked at her, unsmiling, critical. She could see, too, a strange face beside him-a motherly, but a keen, harshjudging face. "Grey," said Mrs. Sheppard, "I wish we could go behind the scenes. Can we? I want to talk to Lizzy this minute." "To tell her she is at the devil's work, Mrs. Sheppard, eh?" Doctor Blecker pulled at his beard, angrily. "Suppose you and I let her alone! We don't understand her." "I think I do. God help her!" "We will go round when the song is over," said Grey, gently. Lizzy, scanning their faces, scanning every face in pit or boxes, discerned a good will and wish on each. Something wholesome and sound in her heart received it, half afraid. "I don't know," she thought. One of the windows was open, and out oeyond the gaslight and smells of the theatre she could see a glimpse of far space, with the eternal stars shining. There had been once a man who loved her: he, looking down, could see her now. If she had stayed at home, selfish and useless, there might have been a chance for her yonder. Her song was ended; as she drew back she glanced up again through the fresh air. They were curious words the soul of the girl cried out to God in that dumb moment: yet in that moment a new feeling came to the girl-a peace that never left her afterwards. An actress! but she holds her work bravely and healthily and well in her grasp, with her foot always on a grave, as one might say, and God very near above. And it may be, that, when her work is nearer done, and she comes closer to the land where all things are clearly seen at last in their real laws, she will know that the faces of those who loved her wait kindly for her, and of whatever happiness has been given to them they will not deem her quite unworthy. Perhaps they have turned Lizzy out of the church. I do not know: but her Friend, the world's Christ, they could not make dead to her by shutting him up in formula or church. He never was dead. From the girding sepulchre he passed to save the spirits long in prison; and from the visible church now he lives and works out from every soul that has learned, like Lizzy, the truths of life-to love, to succour, to renounce. LITTLE minds are tamed and subdued by misfortune, but great minds rise above it. "WAIT, AND HOPE." BY MRS. ABDY. Kind, earnest words, to every heart appealing! Not only to the strong and brave you speak : Yours is the nobler, better part of healing The wounded spirit of the sad and weak. How oft, when friends and fortune have departed, Vainly we strive those blessings to regain! Weak are the efforts of the weary-hearted; The cruel world delights to mock our pain. Where shall we seek for counsel and assistance? How shall we learn with crafty foes to cope? How shall we bear the burden of existence? These words supply the answer" Wait, and Hope." Wait-'tis no office servile, mean, and lowly : 'Tis to be ever checking and repelling The rebel thoughts that in the bosom lurk ; 'Tis with the meek and humble to be dwelling; 'Tis to "let Patience have her perfect work." Nor shall we want a guiding ray to cheer us, Nor soothing balm our sorrow to abate: A guardian spirit ever hovers near us, Since we are told to "hope," as well as "wait." How oft has Hope the heart's deep sorrow banished, She weaves a spell to form them all anew! Freely she showers her priceless gifts on all. Sad mourner, on thy staff in patience leaning, Droop not: ere long a scene of joy may ope Before thy wistful eyes. A world of meaning Lies in those words of comfort Hope!" "Wait, and U 2 |