anything. She ceased to mention the name 
of PlKTItO. 
Friends from Savannah came to spend the 
summer in the house where Ao.pno.vsi lived, 
—a father and Ids daughter. Mr. Rupert 
was a kind, genial, elderly man, of the real 
Southern school of gallantry and hospitality. 
His daughter Florine was a belle, very 
beautiful and accomplished. Her voice in 
song was like a sunbeam in the dark. Blie 
sang Alphonbi hack to life, and the two be¬ 
came last friends. 
Ai.rirovsi wore a locket of curious work- 
manshi|> which Piktro had given her. A 
picture of him was on one side and a wave 
of his hair in the other. She had also the 
guitar which Panimi had brought with him 
from Home, and which he said was tulis- 
nmnic and his dearest treasure. It was finely 
wrought and fashioned. Fi.orink had a 
curiosity about both, and when she asked 
about them Alpiionsi said “A friend gave 
them to me.” But Florine noticed that her 
face paled. Again, one day, Ai.prroNsr asked 
Flokine if she had ever heard of one Pa.n- 
imi in Savannah. She had not, and the 
face paled again. Fcoruvc. stowed the two 
jailors away for future use. 
The two girls became such warm friends 
that when the time came for the return of 
the Ruperts, they importuned Alphonsi 
to accompany thfem and spend the winter in 
their home. They argued that her health 
needed the warmer, softer air of the South. 
Flotune was musical; her voice would take 
her into musical circles; might she not hear 
of Pietro in some way? That was the 
argument of Alphonsi’s heart, and it was 
not hard to persuade her to go. 
Her delicate health prevented her from 
mingling much in society, and a month 
elapsed with no tidings of Pietro. One 
night Florins returned from a musical 
soiree in a transport of ecstacy. 
“ Oh, Alpjiovsi ! Such a wonderful man ! 
He is more than human, lie is divine! Every 
instrument he touches is transformed into a 
soul! Such passion ! Such tenderness ! Oh, 
Ai.iuo.nht! A model for a prophet —a 
king! Llis name is some musical Italian 
one, I cannot recall it. but 1 adore him!” 
Alpjiovsi made no reply, only turned her 
head away wearily, well knowing she could 
well speak the words Floiune's lips failed 
to fashion. She resolved to attend the next 
soiree herself. 
The evening was very warm. Florine 
was to sing that night, and the Ruperts oc¬ 
cupied a scat near the stage. To Alpiionsi 
the atmosphere was whirred in rings, hut 
the music went on and ceased, and a 
towering form was making its way to the 
piano. There was a hush, a silence that, 
seemed listening to itself a moment; and 
then came a cry for air, a lady had fainted. 
There was no mistaking the long, yellow 
curls that were being carried out; and put¬ 
ting- liis hands over his eyes, as if to shut out 
some fearful sight, the pianist arose, and, 
heard you sing — for me; please sing “ Long, 
long ago.” 
“ Oh ! not that! ” she said quickly, when 
Pa vnii stepped forward and said lie would 
sing it for Mr. Rupert. 
Alpjiovsi turned at the sound of his voice, 
but the face was hard and unyielding. She 
felt herself losing self-command, and passed 
quietly to her room. She heard the music 
die away, and then the guests dispersed. The 
evening was over, and nothing hut disap¬ 
pointment. and bitterness left for Alphonse 
She felljntoan uneasy slumber and dreamed 
of being put in a coffin, and throwing her 
hands out for help, which were as often 
forced hack, and awoke with the feeling of 
being smothered under a coffin lid 
Flokine was too much infatuated with 
the Italian to allow her sense of right to pre¬ 
vail, and made no further effort to reconcile 
the two, neither exhibited any willingness or 
desire to decline Pietro's attentions. 
In the early spring, Alpiionsi returned 
North, and after the summer had passed re¬ 
turned to Savannah again tor the winter. 
She lived in a secluded manner, but her 
rooms fronted the principal street of the city, 
where she often sat and watched the puasors 
by. One day she saw Pammi passing, his 
eyes searching every face, as if he were look¬ 
ing for some one. \.ife seemed more inviting, 
after knowing lie was still in the same city 
with her. 
A bride from Mobile was stopping at the 
same hotel,—a beautiful and accomplished 
woman, whom Alpiionsi greatly admired. 
She often rode out with her, and one day 
when walking on the street, with her, they 
met Pammi, face to face. ITo drew his 
clothes about him, pressed himself against 
the wall, and acting as if 1m had met a viper 
passed on. Alpiionsi nearly fainted, and 
was mystified beyond expression. 
The bride left that hotel soon after and 
went with her husband to another. One 
day Ai.riiONsi saw her passing, and step¬ 
ping out on the balcony she called to her to 
come in and see her. But the lady gave no 
sign of recognition, and looking down the 
street, Alpiionsi saw the form of Pammi, 
while a lady in her room exclaimed, fran¬ 
tically : 
“ Alpiionsi, are you wild ? Who are you 
calling to ?” 
“ Why Mrs. Dav, my friend; I want to 
see her 1” 
“Your friend! Why that is the notori¬ 
ous Maggie-; ” and there was no need 
of further explanations. It all came over 
Alpiionsi at once. The bride and the fallen 
beauty looked so much alike that Alpiionsi 
had mistaken the one for the other, and Pan- 
imi had taken Alphonsi’s companion for the 
outcast, and of course believed Alpiionsi no 
longer pure. 
It was overwhelming, and illness was the 
result.. Her brain was growing more and 
more shattered, hut she was so quiet and sad 
that a stranger would not observe it. And 
reaching for a violin, made such a tempest There was nothing to Alpiionsi like music. 
of wrathful music, interlarded with moans 
of agonized suffering, and quick, gasping, 
severing strains, like a man’s heart breaking, 
that there was not a person in the house but 
suffered actual pain. The face of the per¬ 
former mirrored every expression of the 
music, ami ending the final strain in a slow, 
torturing, piteous moan, vanished from the 
stage. 
Alpiionsi was confined to the house a 
fortnight. The local papers preached ven¬ 
tilation, and used Alphonsi’s fainting as 
illustration. 
One day her friends thought a ride would 
do her good, and in the afternoon she went 
out with Florine. While stopping a mo¬ 
ment at a fruiterer’s, Pammi went by. He 
bowed graciously to Florine. That even¬ 
ing lie sent her flowers. She became greatly 
in love with him, and made no effort to con¬ 
ceal it. She talked of him, received the 
flowers he sent her with rapture, and dis¬ 
tracted Alpiionsi with her gifts and ac¬ 
counts of Pammi’s attentions to her at the 
musical soirees. 
One clay as Alpiionsi lay sleeping, Flor¬ 
ine cautiously opened the curious locket she 
always wore, looked in, and in her surprise 
and agitation exclaimed, “Pantmi!” Al- 
phonsi awoke j Florine comprehended the 
past and lied to her room. 
Explanations followed; Alpiionsi revealed 
her relations to Pammi —how their mar¬ 
riage was never consummated, and life was 
no longer worth living. Florine was con¬ 
scientious and generous. She had a vague 
idea of self-sacrifice, yielding Pammi to her 
friend, bringing about a reconciliation and 
constituting herself heroic. 
The Ruperts decided to give a party, in¬ 
vite Pammi and he and Alphonsi would be 
friends again. The evening came. Florine 
made herself attractive as possible, and was 
radiant. Alphonsi, sad and ill, wore black 
witli no ornaments but a bunch of pale “ for- 
get-me-uots ” and the flow of her yellow hair. 
Panimi came late, saluted Florine and 
she was' enchanted. She quite forgot Al¬ 
phonsi, until she saw her father importun¬ 
ing her to sing. 
“ 'Tis a long time, my child, since I have 
It gave her new life, new reason, and, for the 
brief time, made her herself again A German 
in the house played beautifully, and his room 
was so near A lpjionsi’b that she could hear 
him distinctly. She never appeared at table, 
or in the parlor; so she never saw him, but 
sent a servant nearly every day to ask him to 
play and sing. After a time Alpiionsi went 
in the parlor and became acquainted with 
the German. Tt was a case of love at first 
sight with him. The unknown lady he had 
so long sang for was his ideal personified. 
Ho went down on his knees to her and 
begged her to be his wife, else life would be 
unbearable. 
“1 neither see you, nor hear you,” she 
said; “ 1 see but one lace, and Hear hut one 
voice.” 
But he was not easily disposed of. lie 
followed her on the street, and watched her 
in the house. 
One day she met Panimi, and involun¬ 
tarily put out her hand, for she was half 
insane. His face was gentle, and the light 
in his eyes softened. 
“ I have been so true to you, Panimi,” she 
said, looking in his eyes. 
He looked long in her face, took her hand, 
drew it through his arm and walked rapidly 
away, with never a word. Stopping a mo¬ 
ment at the entrance of the Cathedral, he 
put Ills arm about her, and half carrying her 
up the steps, was soon at the altar. Al- 
piionsi had a vague idea of existence — first 
of Panimi ; then an altar, a priest; Pietro’s 
voice repeating some holy words; and then 
loud and defiant tones; the ceremony half 
finished; the marriage forbidden. There 
was her German lover in a frenzied state, 
saying, hotly: 
“ She was to be my wife! She is mine! 
She loves not you, Is false to all but me 1” 
The fiery strain of jealousy burnt in the 
veins of the Italian. He held her at arm’s 
length a moment, and flinging her from his 
hand like a stinging serpent, he rushed from 
the church. 
The gentle Alpiionsi was transformed 
into a demon. She rose to her feet and her 
crazed eyes glared revenge upon the Ger¬ 
man. He was frightened at the result and 
left her alone with the priest, who by dint 
of kindly questioning learned her place of 
residence and sent her home in a carriage. 
“ There’s not much more to tell, Oh ! what 
have 1 been tolling?” and the narrator 
pressed her hands over her eyes while her 
whole body quivered. 
“ Only a very intereatmg romance, Mrs. 
Gaskell,” we said, hoping it might quiet 
her. “ Do tell us the rest if you can.” 
Oh ! it is fearful — the remembrance of 
those days — those crazed, crazed days—for 
Alphonsi was crazed, it seemed beyond re¬ 
demption. Her body dwindled to a perfect 
skeleton; her fair hair hung about her 
shoulders in utter disorder. She had given 
up everything for him — for Pietro — life 
and heart and brain, and only ashes left. 
She never saw him again. The hearts of 
her friends softened at sight of her and they 
took her home. Time and gentle treatment 
partially restored her, but she was only a 
wreck of her former self. She prays to see 
him once again — to see “ Pietro, Pietro ! 
mine through time, mine through eternity,” 
and ending convulsively, she fell from her 
chair in a dead faint. 
We set about, restoring lipr, with few 
words — being silenced with wonder. “ The 
Spanish lady;' whispered Mrs, Mack, chafing 
I the limp hands. Wc could add only a nod 
of affirmation. She gradually recovered, 
and giving her a gentle anodyne, we saw 
her fust asleep in her own room. The next 
day she left the house suddenly and we 
never saw her afterwards. Three months 
later we read in one of the morning papers: 
“ The funeral services of Mrs. Ai.phonbtne 
Gaskell will take place at the residence of 
Carl Esculip, 42-street, at 12 M. to¬ 
day.” 
We hardly recognized in the wasted fea¬ 
tures that lay in the coffin, those of our late 
fellow-boarder. But whether it tv as merely 
fancy or indeed so, the dead face had a radi¬ 
ant, triumphant expression that made us 
wish to know something of her last hours. 
8o the following evening we called, and 
Madame Esculip resumed the narrative Mrs. 
Qaskei.i.’b death had finished. 
“ When she came here, she was in poor 
health, and continued t.o decline. The day 
upon which she died my son returned from 
Europe, bringing with him an Italian, named 
Panimi, whom he became so violently at¬ 
tached to years ago, that he went abroad to 
find him, as he said. He found him in an 
American’s studio at Paris, superintending 
the painting of a lady’s portrait — a beauti¬ 
ful face, which lie called Alpiionsi. 
“ He remained in Eurojic a year longer, and 
'finally persuaded the Italian to return to 
America, They reached here early in the 
morning, and after dinner they went into the 
parlor for music, my son playing the piano 
and his friend the violin. The music was 
exquisitely beautiful. I thought I had never 
heard better. 
“ Let us have that, old song, Panimi, you 
used to sing so sweetly ,” my son said; and 
Panimi began the sad song, “Long, long 
ago,” when, like a ghost, Mrs. Gaskell 
' glided slowly through the door, with her 
lips apart, her hands clasped tightly, and 
her whole expression so unnatural that I ran 
toward her. My motion attracted the atten¬ 
tion of Panimi, and following me with his 
eyes, he sprang from his seat, looked a lull 
minute at the ghostly creature, and then 
taking her in his anus with a piteous cry, he 
wept like a child. 
“ Alphonsi, Alphonsi 1” lie kept saying 
as if 1o himself. 
“ Piktro— at last" —and her head fell down 
on his breast in such a helpless way, that we 
begged him to lay her on the sola. Very 
gently he laid her down, hut over her face 
had passed the radiance of everlasting rest 
and happiness. 
It would have made the stoniest heart 
weep to see his agony, lie took her again 
in his aims, praying for pardon—telling her 
his love through all, as if the ears heard or 
the heart beat. Then he cursed himself, the 
demon jealousy that had killed her and his 
own happiness, and, laying her hack on the 
sofa, gave one heart-rending groan and went 
away. That was four days ago. and we have 
no tidings of him. He has doubt less returned 
to Europe to get away from the sad remind¬ 
ers that exist in New York—” 
The door was hastily opened and a young 
man entered, with the one intense ejacula¬ 
tion —“ Mother /” 
She took the paper he handed her and 
read: 
“ The body of an unknown man was found 
in the - River this morning, lie had 
evidently been dead some days. From pa¬ 
pers found upon his body, it is believed he 
was an Italian, and must have been a man 
of more than ordinary distinction, as his 
physique and attire would attest. There arc 
no signs of wounds on the body, and the sad 
affair is wrapped in mystery.” 
Two days later, there was another burial 
in Greenwood, and the simple stone at their 
graves tells much but reveals little: 
In life separated. 
In death united. 
“ No,—nothing in books, Sybil.” 
‘boicc Imscflkntjj. 
THE OLD OECHAED. 
BV ELIZA O. CROSBY. 
Brows and bare the trees are standing in the orch¬ 
ard wide and old, 
Brown and leafless, unprotected, through the win¬ 
ter's piercing ooid; 
And among the spreadinghranehes the wild winds in 
wrestling meet, 
And the snow on silent mission nestles closely round 
their feet. 
Rough old orchard, tossing up its arms against the 
cloudy sky, 
Many spring* have crowned it brightly, many winters 
drifted by— 
Glad new years been met with gladness long decades 
have risen and set, 
Since it tenderly was planted, and it lives in vigor 
yet. 
Brides have won their crown of blossoms, children 
come to manhood's strife ; 
Dear ones from the farmhouse yonder, passing out 
from love and life, 
Have been carried through their shadows to the 
graveyard on the hill. 
Dream lonely to lie and slumber, and the old trees 
nourish still. 
Every spring these blooming branches furnish pink 
and snowy WTcnth 
For the golden locks of children, playing on the grass 
beneath: 
And young lovers, walking slowly In the moonlight 
atid perfume. 
Fancy life is all sweet May-time, while Hope pictures 
fadeless bloom. 
Then the faded blossonm dropping, wither slowly on 
the glass. 
And the leaves make sweetest nutate as the summer 
breezes pass — 
Sweetest music round the bird-homes, nestled, cozy, 
here and there, 
Whence arise Goo’s purest praises for His all-pre¬ 
fect Ing care. 
But the autumn crown is richest—ripest red and 
purest gold, 
Green and russet, yielded largely, shapes and flavors 
manifold; 
And the children come with shouting, and the wagons 
laden go, 
Till the west in sunset splendor is agleam witli golden 
glow. 
Now the wind is moaning sadly and the drifting 
snow is cold, 
Buta youthful freshness lingers In the trees so rough 
and old; 
Some eyes will thelrboauty witness, where theirsum- 
mer greenness waves, 
But the sunshine warmly blessing them may kiss our 
grassy grave*. 
“CROWDED OUT.” 
BY LIZZIE M. BOYNTON. 
Many mourn with sweet Leslie Gold- 
TnwAiTE ” because of things that have been 
“ crowded out,” We have been mourners 
on this account ever since the days of that 
far-away past, when some “great giant, 
stranger-guest," crowded us from our place 
at the table,— crowded us out into the steam¬ 
ing kitchen, (I say “steaming,” because in 
those times guests always made a point of 
comingon washing days,) which we in turn 
crowded with pouts and kicks and—screams. 
We look down the rose-colored vista leading 
back to babyhood, and see Hitting through 
the corridors, or hiding in the niches, little 
white ghosts of the smiles, kindnesses and 
duties that were “ crowded out." 
However, w r e remember, “ look not mourn¬ 
fully into the Past” and obeying, will en¬ 
deavor to “ go forth to meet the future with¬ 
out fear.” If you, my reader, endeavored to 
crowd hi this morning the sleep crowded out 
last night, be entry for it; retire early to-night, 
and do not fail to present yourself in time 
to-morrow. So will you begin the day by 
crowding in a mother’s smile of approval 
and a father’s kiss, — meanwhile, my sleepy 
brothers and sisters, you have my sympathy ; 
breakfast is so much more easily 44 crowded 
out” than is the delicious morning nap! 
However, mother says morning naps crowd 
out so much comfort tVom the household 
that we will forego them, and thus crowd 
in thoughtfulness for others. 
Perhaps 1 address some thoughtless school¬ 
girl, or independent school-boy ? The skating 
is “perfectly splendid and you wish you were 
“ on the ice this very minute.” But, mother 
would like to have the furniture dusted be¬ 
fore you go, or, what is worse, the wood-box 
filled; and you crowd the chairs and wood 
into the wall, crowd a pain into your mother’s 
heart, and a regret into your own, which 
will perceptibly mar your day’s enjoyment. 
You may write yourself “ at home” as a 
young lady, and so many calls must be made, 
the city or village is so gay, the fashions 
change so rapidly, and you are so busy, that, 
you crowd out all assistance for your weary 
mother; all care for, or instruction to, your 
younger brothers and sisters,—crowd out 
time for a genuine romp with Charlie, — 
time for making that doll’s dress for little 
May, —time for getting father’s dressing- 
gown and slippers,—time for a smile and 
kind word for the weary washer-wonjan,— 
time for giving a penny to the little crossing 
sweeper—(G od pity the little, suffering wan¬ 
derers!) Ah! you thus crowd from your 
own life a beautiful harvest of love and bene¬ 
diction. Young ladies, wear your dainty 
robes, blit endeavor to weave smiles into the 
ruffles; broideryour garments with thought¬ 
ful love for humanity. So shall ye be queens 
and princesses of that most royal domain, 
the human heart. 
Possibly some successful business man 
yields me his attention, as he lingers over his 
coffee. You button your great-coat over 
your rounded form, and think with compla¬ 
cency of your lands, your stocks and bonds. 
Well, what have they cost you ? Do they 
whisper of lightened hearts ? Do they speak 
of charity and benevolence? If so, then are 
they treasures indeed. But. if, in order to 
secure these you have crowded out time for 
winning the hearts of your children — time 
for endearing to yourself the heart of your 
wife; time for serving your Heavenly Father, 
then indeed have you been duped and 
cheated, since you have paid more for your 
treasures than they are worth; more than 
you ever can secure in return. 
I It may be that I address some “ model 
house-keeper,” whose beds are ever the 
smoothest., table linen the whitest, silver so 
spotless and carpets so bright, We all enjoy 
a well-ordered house, provided the comforts 
and pleasures of the inmates are not sacri¬ 
ficed to the stern tyrant, neatness. Mothers, 
see to it that you do not crowd out the sun¬ 
shine ; that you do not crowd the trouble¬ 
some toys into the lower drawer, and from 
the hearts of your children the memory — 
the most beautiful of all memories,—that of 
a joyous, happy, Christian home. And let 
us all endeavor to crowd out prejudice, nar¬ 
rowness and selfishness, and crowd in charity 
and love,—love for our neighbors, for hu¬ 
manity and God. 
- 4 ♦ ♦- 
ABOUT PARROTS. 
There is in Brooklyn, New York, a par¬ 
rot that sings many of the popular airs cor¬ 
rectly, and with as much expression as many 
fashionable singers give to them. This bird 
is singularly social and affectionate, and has 
a horror of being alone. Tie will sometimes 
awake in the middle of the night, and arouse 
the household by crying : “ Oh dear! I am 
all alone! — alone! Somebody come to me!” 
There is another curious parrot in Phila¬ 
delphia, in a store kept by a maiden lady 
whose voice is so exceeding shrill and par¬ 
rot-like that it is difficult to toll when she 
leaves off talking and the parrot begins. 
One day, ns a customer was examining an 
article on the counter, Miss Polly called out: 
44 What are you doing with that? Put it 
down!—put it down!” The lady looked 
round very indignantly for the offender, say¬ 
ing:—" Well, ma’am, I must say you have 
a very impudent child.” 
Dear old Dr. Goldsmith, wlio§e Natural 
History is all out of fashion now, except 
with old folks, tells some amusing stories 
about parrots. Among these is an anecdote 
| of a famous follow, belonging to King Henry 
the Seventh, Queen Elizabeth’s grandfather. 
This bird, sitting on his perch in the palace 
yard at Westminster, used to hear the talk 
of gentlemen who came to the river tq take 
boats. And one day, while overlooking the 
busy traffic of the Thames, he fell from a 
tree into the water; and while there, floating 
helplessly, he cried;—“A boat! Twenty 
pounds for a boat!” A waterman rescued 
him, and took him to the king, demanding 
his twenty pounds. The king, who was not 
remarkably generous, hesitated about giving 
so large a sum; but finally agreed to leave 
the amount of reward to the parrot. Tliut 
ungrateful fellow, who sat. on Ilia perch, still 
shaking the water from his feathers, when 
appealed to, turned his head slyly on one 
side, and said:—“ Give the knave a groat.” 
—Grace Qreenwoodin the Independent. 
-- 
NEWSPAPERS IN AMERICA. 
There is something instructive as well as 
amusing in the following story, which is told 
by a correspondent of the Germs n Reform 
Messenger, of the impression made upon a 
European traveler by witnessing the eager¬ 
ness of Americans for newspapers: 
44 He hastily approached mo with eyes 
gleaming with admiration and delight. 
4 What a wonderful race the American peo¬ 
ple are,’ was his earnest outburst. 4 Every 
man with liis newspaper! Sec the drayman 
there sitting on his dray, eagerly reading his 
newspaper; and that haeKnan, mounted on 
his perch, with his whip on his knee, diving 
into his newspaper; and yonder that laborer, 
stopping on the corner to buy his newspaper; 
and see that paver, repairing the levee, with 
a newspaper just sticking out of his pocket, 
where he has just placed it for further read¬ 
ing as he has leisure. So I have seen it in 
every American town and city. There is 
nothing like it in Europe. No other people, 
through all its ranks, can be so versed in the 
current information of the country and the 
world. Wonderful people these American 
people,’ was his pointed summing up, as if 
to hint at the profound prophecy embodied 
in this popular phrase and fact. This ex¬ 
pression brings up to view the vast educa¬ 
tional value and effect of the newspaper, 
secular or religious, in American society, 
touching our social, civil, or individual in¬ 
terest— molding and fashioning national, 
social or political character.” 
-- 
Wealth comes not only with economy in 
money matters, but is as surely the result of 
economy of time in the disposition of labor. 
