20 
JK jci 
I1H. 13 
FAMILY SONG. 
BY WILLIAM BOSS WALLACE. 
Thou dear little bright-eyed, though mischievous pet, 
Ilere around thee in love's sacred circle we’ve met: 
Grandfather, grandmother, who joy that such flower 
Glittered np to glad life in their grand natal bower: 
11. 
And here are thy father and mother as prond 
As two birds who the firet time behold a branch bow’d 
By their young as he chirrups, while poising his wing, 
Ere he takes, through the air. his infantile spring. 
XU. 
And here are thine aunts and thy uncles, to whom 
There’s an Eden of joy in thy innocent bloom: 
Nor absent the uncles who list to thy tone 
As they list to dear woman’s sweet offspring alone. 
IV. 
Langh, crow, little cherub, thy hands clap in glee; 
Sure heaven is with ns when thus we’re with thee; 
On thy cheek there’s such beauty, such light's in thine 
eye, 
The angels themselves must be hovering nigh. 
Y. 
Fairest fortune shine on thee, dear, innocent one; 
May thy manhood he honest, strpng, bright as the sun; 
And another American prove to the world 
That our Washington's banner shall never he furled! 
8 fc» 
■Written Expressly for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
SUSIE CASTLANDT; 
OR, 
IDX3D SHE LOVE BOTH'? 
BY WILLIAM WIRT SIKES. 
[Continued from page 12, last number.] 
Chapter II.-The Bitter Test. 
“So I’m found out at last, Ben!” laughed 
Charley, without noticing the pallor of Man¬ 
ly’ 8 countenance. “ I did not mean you 
should know our secret till the happy day 
was named, so that I could give you a great 
surprise. You’re not going to be grouty about 
it, are you, old fellow ? You know il a the only 
secret 1 ever had front you in my life.” 
“Do yon mean to say,” spoke Manly, in a 
slow, half-suffocated voice, with his eyes fas¬ 
tened on the picture, “ that you have loved-her 
— all this time, and she you, and that you are 
going to — marry her?” 
“ That’s it exactly, Ben. I knew you didn’t 
like her the best” — 
“You knew 1 did not like her, Charley?” 
interrupted Manly, turning his troubled eyes 
for the liret. time on his friend. 
“That is,” hesitated the other, “I knew you 
didn’t fancy her especially at first, but I sup¬ 
posed you had got over it by this time, Ben ; for 
she seems to me the sweetest girl that ever 
stepped, and I never could quite account for 
your reserve toward her.” 
Manly closed the picture-case as tenderly as 
if it had been made of spuu glass, and drew 
Charley over to the window, where the light 
fell in a flood on his friend’s lace, while his own 
was in shade, hie hack being to the light. Then 
he said, very quietly It seemed —for he could 
hardly trust his voice, poor fellow —he said: 
Charley Dennison, you love Susie ? ” 
“ Better than life," said Charley, fervently. 
“ And she loves you as well ? ” 
“ Well enough, at least, to have consented to 
he my wife, Ben.” 
“When was that?” 
“The betrothal, you mean?” 
“Yes — the betrothal.” 
“More than a year ago,” answered Charley. 
“I asked Iter to keep it from you, and she 
consented to do so.” 
“She did?” 
“ Yes—though she hesitated at first. But when 
I pressed it, she consented, to please me, I did 
not tell her w hy, Ben, for I think it would have 
wounded lie.r gentle heart-because I know she 
likes you almost as well as J do myself Indeed, 
she has said so.” 
Ah, Charley Dennison, if you had but. 
observed the light that glowed iu your friend’s 
eyes as yon said that, you might have had a 
suspicion; but it passed in an instant. 
Ben took his friend’s hand in his, and spoke 
in a low, earnest tone: 
“ Charley, would you lay down your life for 
Susie Castlandt?” 
“I would,” said Charley, firmly. 
“If you should lose her, would you feel as if 
the beauty of life had gone forever? Would 
you feel your spirit sink within yon, and the 
world grow dark ? Would it almost hrealc 
your heart? Would you feel as if you could 
throw yourself prone upon the earth, and cry 
like a little child —not because she was dead, 
but because she loved another, P.nd could give 
herself to him ? Answer me out. of your heart, 
Charley, and answer me with only simple truth.” 
“Ben, you frighten me! Once for all, it 
would kill me — it would kill me! I could not 
live if she were another’s.” 
Manly dropped his friend's hand and turned 
to gaze out the window. A terrible struggle was 
going on in his heart.. He looked away toward 
the north—toward that corner of the sky that 
overhung Rose Harbor. “ To give her up for¬ 
ever,” he murmured inaudlbly; "Oh God, how 
could I?” He felt Charley’s hand laid upon his 
shoulder. 
“ Well, Ben ? ” said he, inqtiiringly. “ Do yon 
approve ?” 
“I approve,” said Manly; and turned about 
aud pressed his friend's hand firmly. Then he 
left the room. 
“Well, I’m glad it’s over,” said Dennison, as 
the door closed. “ I didn’t think he could take 
it so seriously. How can he dislike her so t It’s 
, one of the strangest things I ever knew. ’ 
Blind as Charles Dennison was to the truth- 
little as be had suspected that Ben Manly loved 
Susie Castlandt— he had not been more blind 
than Manly himselfhad been. He, also, had never 
thought of his friend as a suitor of Susie's. 
That they were excellent friends, he had of 
course seen, but in the egotism of his own pas- 
6 j on _for love is always supremely egotistical, 
even with the most unselfish natures- be had not 
thought that his friend also loved. For with Den¬ 
nison, the passion wus manifested in a far different 
way; he was more light-hearted and self-assured. 
As is the case with the most perfect friendships, 
these young men were iu character strong con¬ 
trasts to each other, as they were in personal 
appearance. Manly was tall and dark; Denni¬ 
son was short and fair. With one, love excited 
to buoyancy and gay spirits; with the other, to 
quiet musing and reticence. This being so, it 
is not strange that they had not suspected in each 
other that which each felt in himself; for the 
proofs of love being so different in each, each 
was blind to them iu the other. 
But now, Ben Manly saw all. Ab he walked 
down the College Hill, and lifted his hat to cool 
his fevered brow, he thought of a thousand little 
Incidents, which had possessed no significance 
before, hut which he now saw in their true light; 
and they told him the whole story. 
“All, how blind, how blind I have been! ” be 
cried in pain as he walked rapidly on. 
When be returned to their room, Manly’s 
face gave no trace of the struggle be had under¬ 
gone. He met Dennison with a frank and 
gentle smile, and said, 
"I do more than approve of your choice, 
Charley. I congratulate you with all my 
heart. Ybu have been mistaken in regard to 
my feelings regarding Miss Castlandt, I 
think she will make you a good and loving wife, 
and I believe, no less fervently than I hope, that 
yuu will be happy.” 
From that day onward, Dennison had no 
secrets with Manly regarding his love. Poor 
Ben was made the unwilling confidante of 
all his friend’s delights. Charley showed 
him the letters he received from Susie, let¬ 
ters full of endearing language; and he made 
him read, also, all his tender missives in 
reply to her. Ben often wondered if Char¬ 
ley really had no suspicion of his pain; but 
be need not have wondered. He tried very 
hard, noble and self-forgetting Ben, to crush the 
love that dwelt in Ills heart, aud cried out for 
pity; tried very hard, also, to crush that other 
bitter feeling, which rebelled against that man¬ 
date of Fate which gave his friend the bliss for 
which his own heart yearned in vain. Some¬ 
times, in spite of his will, he found this latter 
feeling moving him to say angry words to 
Cahrley, and to treat him unkindly, but he 
fought it hard, aud at last lie killed it. 
As for the love, he hid that better, but he 
could not kill it. It lived in spite of his will. 
He never killed it, for it was in its nature 
deathless. 
When they graduated, they returned to Rose 
Harbor. Ben Manly remained there but three 
days. He kept the house, busying himself In 
preparations for his departure for foreign lands. 
Charley would have had bis friend remain to 
the wedding, which was to take place some six 
months hence; but the foreign tour bad been a 
settled thing with Ben for over two years —in 
fact, it had .been decided on soon after the dis¬ 
covery that had been made through the agency 
of Susie’s portrait. So Charley thought noth¬ 
ing of it. 
What would have been his feelings, 1 wonder, 
had lie known the truth! Had be known 
that Ben Manly left, his native land because he 
could not trust himself to stay within reach oY 
/^•—because he could not sec them married! 
But he never knew—never in all his life. 
There was a great number of young people 
gathered on the long piazza of the Manly man¬ 
sion, on the morning of our friend’s departure, 
for he was universally beloved In Rose Harbor, 
and his leave-taking to go out into the old world, 
for no one knew bow many years, was quite an 
event in the little village. Susie Castlandt 
avus there, and for some reason she on tins occa¬ 
sion looked unusually pale, and was unusually 
quiet. No one knew the tumult iu her heart 
that hour. The carriage whirled away from the 
door amid the good-byes and God-speeds of the 
group, aud the waving ot handkerchiefs. Susie 
leaned her head against a pillar and pressed a 
hand on her heart. 
Charley Dennison rode to Broad Valley in 
the carriage with Ben, and bade him good-by 
with a long, lingering pressure of hands, at the 
railroad station. So Ben Manly went off alone 
with his brave, aching heart. Six months later, 
when he was in Paris, he heard of the wedding. 
Aud after reading Charley’s happy, joyous 
letter, he went whistling out into the Boulevards, 
and strolled away to the OperaComique, to med¬ 
icine his pain with music aud perfume and the 
glitter of le beau tnonde . 
“ Monsieur does not like LesNoces de Jeanette?" 
said a lively Frenchman who sat by his side and 
noted Manly’s sober face. 
“Oh, yes,” said our friend, arousing himself, 
“It is exceedingly good.” >| 
“Good?” echoed the Frenchman, with a 
sbmg Of his shoulders; “ah, Mon Dieu, e’est 
tres drole!” 
Immediately after his marriage, Charley 
Dennison opened a law office iu St. George 
street, across the way from the big hotel where 
there were no guests. For a tune, all went swim¬ 
mingly with him, and he was very happy with 
Ids little wife. They lived with Charlev’s parents 
in the handsome cottage next door to the Manly 
mansion. Susie’s father, Mr. Castlandt, about 
this time received an appointment to some clerk¬ 
ship iu Washington, and removed thither with 
his fretful lady wife. 
But soon after Mr. Dennison, Charley’s 
j father, who had long been out of health, died. 
He had not been a very provident man, and 
he died intestate. The administrators found 
that his property would not pay his debts, &o 
everything was taken, except the cottage, which 
some friendly creditors had bid in for a merely 
nominal sum and presented to the widow. 
Rose Harbor’s downhill journey had set well 
in, by this time, and young Dennison’s clients 
were few and far between. As a consequence, 
he could barely meet his ordinary household 
expenses; and at length he could not even do 
that, and began to go steadily into debt. In this 
state of affairs, it was natural that the widow 
Dennison should feel averse to remaining with 
her son, little as she increased his expenses. 
Accordingly, soon after the birth of the little 
1 sarel, (Charley’s second daughter,—the first, 
named Susie, after her mother, being now two 
years old,) the widow Dennison left Rose Har¬ 
bor, and took up her abode with her daughter 
Kate, the wife of a well-to-do farmer on the 
Broad Valley road., ... 
8o now the young couple were alone. Though 
there were two little ones to care for, onr friends 
felt unable to keep a servant of any kind, in 
their seriously straitened state. It sometimes 
made Charley’s heart ache to sec. Susie’s little 
hands doing the common drudgery of the house¬ 
hold ; but there was really no cause for commis¬ 
eration, for Susie’s home was a bower of content 
to her, and she was as happy as the days were 
long. Her pride was all in her husband and her 
little ones; and she went singing about the 
house as merrily as in her girlhood, or sat quite 
happy by the vine-clad window, busy with her 
needle. It was wonderful what a deft little body 
she was. The care of a household seemed to 
come quite nutuntlly to her, aud it is surprising 
what a small amount of labor can be made to 
answer the purposes of such a'woman. I sus¬ 
pect that the secret policy of such women is, 
that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of 
cure, and the best way to keep a house in order 
is to take all possible care that it shall never get 
seriously out of order. Dirt propagates itself as 
weeds do, if you only let it get a shirt. Susie’s 
home was always scrupulously neat, and her 
children the best dressed little ones in the 
Harbor. Their clothing was of inexpensive 
material, and seldom new; but a Parisian 
grisette could not produce more pleasing effects 
with a bit of ribbon than our Susie could. Her 
taste was exquisite. 
At the time the late rebellion broke out, young 
Dennison’s affairs had reached so deplorable a 
state that he had long been contemplating the 
leaving of his family, and goiug to some more 
prosperous regibn to endeavor to court success 
under more favorable auspices; for it was no lack 
of either ability or energy that made Charles 
Dennison’s business so poor. It was because 
his lot was cast in a community that had wofully 
little business for him to do. When the first 
call for soldiers was issued, Charley told his 
wife that he meant to enlist. 
Susie looked up with a startled air from her 
sewing, as she sat by her familiar window; but 
she said, 
“ Whatever you determine to do, Charles, I 
shall try to bear it cheerfully. It may be all for 
the best.” 
That evening, the old post-master tendered to 
the young lawyer a letter post-marked Paris, 
France, He opened it eagerly, and read: 
“ Dear Charley ; — You see I am hack in 
Paris again. The last letter 1 sent you was from 
Milan, I believe, The steamer at Havre to-day 
brought the news of the outbreak of a rebellion 
in America. If there is to be a war, Charley, 
I shall count one , under my country's flag. 
Unless better news comes by the next steamer 
you may expect me iu Rose Harbor very soon. 
I wonder il the old place Lias changed much 
in these four years that I have been roaming 
to the comers of the globe. It will be some¬ 
thing to see the old scenes again. It seems as if 
I had been gone a century I shall write but a 
word to-day; you will hear from me at more 
length, very soon, or, vou will see me at the 
Harbor, it will do my soul good to grasp your 
staunch right hand once more, old fellow. And 
1 want to see those dear little girls ot yours, 
too. Remember me kindly to your wife, and 
believe me Ever vonr true friend, 
Ben Manly.” 
Dennison hurried home with steps elate, 
hearing the letter in his hand, and entered his 
wife’s presence waviug the welcome missive 
over his head with almost boyish gaiety. 
“Susie,” he cried, “somebody is coming 
home?” 
“Who is coming?” Susie said, looking up 
from amid her curls. 
“Who should it be, darling, but noble old 
Ben Manly ; ” cried Dennison, enthusiastically; 
“the best fellow living. You haven’t forgotten 
him.” 
“Forgotten him?” said Susie, a warm flush 
spreading over her beautiful face. “No. I have 
not forgotten him. I am glad he is eoming.” 
“Read it,” said her husband, tossing the letter 
in her lap. “Of course he is sure to come, for 
the war news grows worse instead of better.” 
Yes, he was sure to come; and he did come. 
They sat at tea, one evening, some days after 
this. Dennison had just remarked that the 
stage from Broad Valley had come in, and no 
Ben yet; when the door-hell rang. 
“Ill go to the door,” said Charley; and he 
left Susie at the table while he went. 
Voices sounded iu the ball. Susie recognized 
the clear, musical tones oi the expected one; 
and then Charley* ushered into the room the 
tali, moustached traveler, who extended his 
hand to the little wife, as she arose, with a 
flushed face, from the table, to welcome the 
man who bad ouec held her image enshrined in 
the deepest recesses of his heart. [To be 
continued. 
A grave writer on education says:—“Anedu¬ 
cated man ought to kuow three things:” That’s 
so, and as much more as possible. The three 
things, however, we will say, are:—He should 
know all about the world he is in, where he is 
going, and w*hat he is going to do about it. 
With these three things acquired he is supposed 
to be pretty well charged. 
A SHORT LOVE STORY. 
Here is a story by one Morgan, a sea captain, 
concerning a husband at sea, which may aford a 
comfortable hint to young ladies: 
Single ladies cross the water under the special 
care of the captain of the ship, and if a love 
affair occurs among the passengers, the captain 
is usually a confidante of one or both parties. 
A very fascinating young lady bad been placed 
under Morgan’s care, and thrcC youDg gentle¬ 
men fell desperately in love with her. They were 
all equally agreeable, and the young lady was 
puzzled which to encourage. She asked the cap* 
taiu’s advice. “Come on deck,” he said, “the 
first day it is perfectly calm. The gentlemen 
will of course be near you. I shall have a boat 
lowered, and do you jump overboard, and see 
which of the gentlemen will jump after you. I 
will take care of you." 
A calm day soon came, the captain’s sugges¬ 
tions were followed, and two of the lovers 
jumped after the lady at an instant. But be¬ 
tween these two the lady could not decide, so 
exactly had been tbelr devotion. She had again 
consulted the captain. “Take the man that 
didn’t jump; he is the most sensible fellow, and 
will make you the best husband.— Chambers' 
Journal. .- 
Short Time. —Dr. Thomson took occasion to 
exhort his man David to abstain from excessive 
drinking, otherwise he would bring his gray hairs 
prematurely to the grave. “Take my advice, 
David.” said the minister, “ and never take more 
than one glass at a time." “ Neither I do, 6ir,” 
sayB David; neither I do; bnt I care little how 
short the time be atween the twa.” 
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