WHO WILL CARE? 
Who will care ? 
When we lay beneath the daisies, 
Underneath the churchyard mold, 
And the long grans o'er our faces 
Lays Its Augers damp and cold; 
When we sleep from care and sorrow. 
And the ills of earthly life— 
Sleep, to know no sad to-morrow, 
With its bitterness of strife— 
Who will cure ? 
Who will care ? 
Who will come to weep above us. 
Lying, oh ! so white and still, 
Underneath the skies of sumnior. 
When all nature’s pulses thrill 
To a new life, glad and tender. 
Full of beauty, rich and sweet, 
And the world In clad In splendor 
That the years shall e’er repeat— 
Who will care? 
Who will care ? 
Who will think of white hands lying 
On a still and silent breast, 
Never moro to know of sighing, 
Evermore to know of rest? 
Who will care ? No one can tell us. 
But if rest and peace befall. 
Will It matter if they miss us. 
Or they miss u» not at all ? 
Not at all I 
r - 
■torus for llnrulists. 
TWO “ CLEVER ONES.” 
BY FANNY FIELDING. 
[Concluded from Puge 781 last No.] 
What Susy said to herself, walking away 
from the cherry lane, where, in spite of 
shawl and great eider-down hood, the mist 
and drifting clouds made it damper and 
chillier, was this,—hut I'll “ letter it with 
you; ” that is, give you what she wrote in¬ 
stead of what she said: 
“ Whether most moved to smile or frown on 
perusal of your late remarkable letter, (for you 
must admit tt was in its general aspect n re¬ 
markable one,) I can scarcely toll you, nor docs 
It much matter, «s nil that Is required of me is 
to answer your question. 
“There exists no reason that I mu aware of 
why you should not come to Ormsby, and ns 
little why you should not come ns my l'rieud. I 
have long since formed' the Idea that you are 
not vain, which, if Just, you wll) be in no wise 
hurt ut my saying (with something akin to your 
owu frankness) that I am not the least in love 
with you through your writings, while for many 
past oourtesles and some well - remembered 
kindnesses ] would not write myself less than 
your friend. You are no more In love with me, 
let rao tell you. You have more Immagination, 
I assume, thnu I, but such sentimentalisms as 
this Involved do not •permanently overtake us at 
the bulf-wny house between twenty and thirty', 
even, much less at the baiting place between the 
luttor and its succeeding half score. 
“ I make the affirmation out of my own knowl¬ 
edge by experience, the last from lessons learned 
Of close observation. 
“Probably I hold n sudden, Immediate ouro 
for your hallucination, admitting it bus not al- 
roady cured Itself, — which J more than half 
opine. Say I pipe pretty poetry, but theu does 
not the charm vanish if you think of the source 
ns connected with a woman of Chinese eyes, 
snub nose, big mouth and sorrel hair V—dumpy 
flaruro to boot? Ah, what’s the good of novel¬ 
ettes, of essays, with such associations attended t 
“ Let me add to all this I don’t talk as you 
have said you t hink I write,—well. I am not a 
Chatty and pleasant companion, but rather 
quick. I read the other day in the manuscript 
story of a friend, these words, or something liko 
them: 
“ 4 If u woman takes up writing as a vocation, 
be sure it’s because she has something not to toll/ 
Now, though I have no secret, (which the writer 
meant,) I have a great many thoughts that would 
never come to light of my saying, and so, not to 
be a dummy, 1 have assumed the pen, 
“ It seems your document, has inspired mo to 
moot Jest with Jest, whloh Is far from the tenor 
of my present inspirations; so now, relapsing 
into earnestness, come, for I would like to show 
you dear old Stouewall before 1 leavo it forever. 
“ An old Indy who was my mot her’s best friend 
spends with mo the two remaining months of 
my sojourn. She, with her pleasant, old-time 
love, and this antique homestead, with pielur- 
esque surroundings, will dispute with each other 
the palm of your prefcronco and chief pleasure 
here." 
Signed with the queer magazine name which 
has not been told. 
CHAPTER III. 
1 began this story, if you’ll be so kind as 
to recollect, with saying that. I did not know 
liow it all came about. For whatever virtue 
of elucidation the following facts may con¬ 
tain, if any, let it now he stated that one 
somber, late autumn afternoon, when night 
encroached on day, and day didn’t look in a 
good humor about it, hut contrariwise—like 
a cross, tearful child hurried to bed too soon, 
the genteel stranger who had stopped at 
Ormsby inn to a three o’clock solitaire din¬ 
ner. was ushered, by a mistake of the little 
serving maid, into Miss Susy’s snug dining¬ 
room, which, on every-day occasions, was 
her sitting-room, too, without any announce¬ 
ment whatever. 
Miss Selden, story-writer and poetess to 
the-periodical, wa9 at that moment on 
her knees before the sideboard, flanked by a 
phalanx of preserve jars, some filled, some 
being filled to the honor of absent friends, 
and to facilitate the operation, the already 
mentioned lady had the sleeves of her morn¬ 
ing dress pushed far up above the elbows of 
two neatly rounded, if not very plump arms. 
Her ripply hair, in a state of mazy un¬ 
fixedness, had gone quite back from forehead 
and temples in the way in which it seems to 
be tacitly conceded it makes household work 
go easier to have the hair. 
I doubt if 1 much connect cause and effect 
telling how Susy said “ Oh!” faintly, and 
blushed u little, and trembled a little,— 
neither of those I am empowered to aver, 
because of the usual reasons supposed by 
tale-writers to actuate young ladies meeting 
declared lovers for the first time. 
The poor child had grown nervous as a 
sensitive plant, that’s the truth, brooding 
over her great sorrow. She could never 
have another like it, unless out. of new alli¬ 
ances noL contemplated, not divined of now. 
If any thought foreign to that, absorbing 
one and its cognate thoughts came into her 
mind, while the stranger was introducing 
himself, and composedly and with a sup¬ 
pressed smile apologizing for his intrusion, 
it was a partially ludicrous one,—one grow¬ 
ing out of an implied misrepresentation of 
her own face and physique through the 
pages of a letter we have just read together. 
That letter had moreover said, it will be re¬ 
membered—“ J am not a chewy, pleasant 
companion, and do not talk as I write.” 
That was nearer the truth, or she knew it 
must seem so as the evening wore on. 
All day she had been, for conscience’s 
sake, trying to absorb herself into domestic 
employments at hand, studiously turning her 
head another way, passing to and fro by a 
window that looked upon the wet church¬ 
yard, where dun leaves drifted over some 
yellow sod, and this evening most of the con¬ 
versation was left to Mrs. Dolly Waters 
and the new comer. 
There was no lack of hospitality on the 
hostess’ quiet face, though, as she sat with 
them, all in triu: lamp and firelight, looking 
up from her work now and then to say a 
word or two. She was winding yarn for un¬ 
cle Harry’s stockings, uncle Harry the 
lame gardener, who, after Christinas, poor 
old negro! would be gardener there no more, 
Macpherson looked the serene subject of 
an enchantment,'—none of your transports 
you see, blit nn enchantment got up on prin¬ 
ciples of durability,—not of progress from 
height to height of ecstacy. lie scanned the 
picture before him, as if it opened up possi¬ 
bly a scries of domestic tableaux, each one 
an enchantment of itself,—“ each one worthy 
a separate representation,” as the panorama 
people say in tHeir bills. So you are to un¬ 
derstand, if you’ll be so kind, that though 
the hostess was somewhat taciturn, the 
visitors had no lack of entertainment. 
In the pauses of Mrs. Waters’ country 
legends Macpjterson’s handsome unclothed 
upper lip might have been seen to curl with 
amusement more than once during the in¬ 
terview, bis eve cursorily directed to where 
a thoroughly Grecian-shaped head bent over 
some work. 
Had Miss Selden meant that she was 
“dumpy” in figure? Here she was, rather 
tall, swaying, and “like a willow withe” 
(vide Macpuerson’s conjectures,) for move¬ 
ment. She had gray eyes, it is true,—not 
cat-eyes, though, as her description might 
have implied. 
Her nose was more aquiline than “ snub,” 
not strictly aquiline, either, and yet a well¬ 
looking nose, and regular, taken in conjunc¬ 
tion with other features, while the poor 
maligned mouth was a perfect store-house of 
good humor and all Imaginable prettiness. 
1 like descriptions, particularly of that be- 
storied genus young lady. 
When Mr. Macpuerson retired to his inn 
that night at, about nine o’clock it was with 
an understanding of Ids rc-appenranee in the 
forenoon of the succeeding day. 
“I have no compunctions in requesting 
it,” said Susy, “since we are your only ac¬ 
quaintances here, and. beside, I hope then 
not to be as much ‘under the weather* as 
you have found me to-day.” She had a 
great many questions to ask him, so she 
said, in which she kept her word, and I am 
sure I am safe in saj'ing be did little else in 
the way of talk on that first morning’s inter¬ 
view than answer questions. 
We provincials feel so much curiosity 
about literary people with big names in the 
big world—how they live and move and 
have their being. Literary is a relative term, 
you see, and then there was nobody our 
way whose right lo it materially interrupted 
the common current of every-day life, or 
made them, other things being equal, much 
different from what, their neighbors wore. 
A wave of suspicion prevailed, though, that 
elsewhere,—in the cities say,—another con¬ 
dition of the affair obtained, so this vague 
presumption and its varieties inspired the 
editor’s fair querist. 
There was a good deal to see, in a quiet 
way, about Ormsby; that is, the country 
was teeming with aboriginal tradition, if 
any liked to know. Mrs. Waters could 
tell bow at yonder point, the legends said, a 
mighty sachem of the red skins had made 
sacrifices to the war-god of his tribe. A 
thousand thousand victims taken In battle 
lmd been offered there at one fell carnival; 
and when at last the palsied frame of the 
white-haired chieftain proclaimed death 
near, he sought this sacrificial plain. Borne 
in the arms of his mightiest warriors, it is 
attested through their descendants that here 
the skies were seen to open, revealing vast 1 
pleasant hunting grounds, and that to a man j 
they witnessed tbo mighty spectacle — 
Oouachita’s chained captives, bowed and 
weeping, awaiting his kingly liberation of 
them. In this beatific vision the aged 
warrior departed, naming the place, with 
Jiis last breath, an urnvritcable Indian name, 
that signifies, “ The King is King for Time 
and Eternity.” 
On yonder sheet of water a little away 
used to be seen in aboriginal days a spirit 
bark and its spectral light, white-flitting 
garments and forms of seeming human out¬ 
line, but which were no interception to the 
light of moon and the view of shore beyond, 
and these were only a tit he of I lie materials 
which went to make a romantic reputation 
for that Ormsby locality. 
Old gray Stonewall and its gates gave 
egress every morning now to a trio bent on 
tour of inspection over the flats and shallows 
and sandy heights, and Stonewall fireside of 
afternoons and evenings entertained the 
same group with reading and talk. 
So time sped for near a fortnight. 
Ah, well for the morning when, it having 
rained over night, there was still some un¬ 
explored region by way of the fields, when, 
although there still remained an especial 
something to sec, Mrs. Dolly perversely had 
a cold! She thought it best to abstain from 
pedestrian excursions. 
Macpuerson could not gainsay it, but 
Susy thought her theory wrong, every whit. 
She said it. with unction. It would hardly 
look well to back out of the arrangement 
now, if Susy wished, it had been so long 
talked of, and why should she wish ? 
I cannot tell,—or whether she did. I can¬ 
not even tell, for certain, that, this pleasant 
walk—for it turned out a very pleasant one, 
had any immediate connection with what 
followed,—and what follows here. 
I know that, the governess scheme was all 
revolutionized through some interposing in¬ 
fluence, and I know that old Mr. Garnett 
the rector, was hnlf-tearfully, half smilingly, 
all-coufidetiiially informed, pretty soon, that 
he must please not get angry and think Susy 
fickle, but Unit it ought to be told him in 
time another governess would have to be 
looked out, to take charge of his little grand¬ 
children, than the one agreed upon a little 
while before. She was pardoned, it is useless 
to say. 
I have some dull sense that all grew in a 
fashion out of the letter that ignored a cause 
why the in age. z rae man should keep from 
Ormsby. 
But about the theory of opposites, a semi- 
ancient lady once cited here, entertained ap¬ 
parently some ideas slightly divergent from 
some herein expressed. She said, not long 
after the period of which the penultimate 
paragraph treats: 
“ Paul is well suited, I think, at last. He 
has a wife that’s more woman than intellec¬ 
tual-woman,—who has mind enough to ap¬ 
preciate and sympathize in his cleverest 
thoughts, but whose Intellect, not inferior to 
his, makes to itself quite another sphere, and 
doesn’t, conflict with it.” 
Ah, Paul would have been cleverer even 
than he is, to-day, if lie hadn’t lacked the in¬ 
spiration of home sympathy in bis married 
life. He likes the approval of the out-door 
world, true, but he’s a domestic man, and a 
cheer from bis own fireside helps such a one 
mightily. 
By contrast arose a vision of pale blue, 
lack-luster eyes that always wore a surprised 
look, (no other expression,) which perhaps 
they acquired in Paul’s maiden effort to talk 
literary and clever things before them. It 
didn’t suit, he found, and soon desisted. 
But “Grandma” hadn’t read the vision 
aloud, nor made the other reflections audibly. 
All were brought about by consideration of 
two clever ones who had stood before the 
altar together ere the Christmas greens were 
withered, in All-IIallows, the old colonial 
church at Ormsby. 
--- 
DUTIFULNESS REWARDED. 
“ Weston,” said Mr. Dayton to one of bis 
clerks, as they were alone in the spacious 
counting-room which was attached to the 
large store of which Mr. D. was proprietor, 
“ give me leave to say I do not think you 
dress sufficiently genteel to appear in a fash¬ 
ionable store." A deep flush sufl'used the 
face of the young man, and in spite of his 
endeavors to suppress it, a tear glistened in 
his full, black eye. "Did I not know that 
your salary was sufficient to procure better 
habiliments, I would increase it.” 
“ My salary is amply large, sir,” said Wes¬ 
ton, with a mortified air, but with that proud 
independence of feeling of which poverty had 
not been able to divest him. 
“Oblige me, then, by changing yonr ap¬ 
parel, and presenting a different appearance 
in the future. You are wanted in the store.” 
Weston turned and left his employer, who 
muttered to himself, as he took up his pa¬ 
per, “ How 1 do detest these parsimonious 
fellows.” 
Mr. Dayton was a man of immense wealth, 
lie was a widower and had but one child, a 
daughter, who was the pride of his declining 
years. She was as good as an angel, and as 
beautiful as she was good. She was simple 
in her taste and appearance. Such was 
Laura Dayton when Weston May first be¬ 
came an inmate of her father’s house, and 
what wonder that lie soon learned to love 
her with a very deep and ardent affection. 
Though their tongues never gave utterance 
to what their hearts felt, yet the language of 
their eyes was not to be mistaken. Weston 
was the soul of honor, and although he per¬ 
ceived with pleasure that, he was not dis¬ 
tasteful to her, still he felt that he must con¬ 
quer the passion that glowed in his heart. 
“ I must not win her heart,” he said, t o him¬ 
self; “ I am penniless, and her father would 
never consent, to our union.” Thus lie rea¬ 
soned, and thus lie manfully endeavored to 
subdue what he considered an ill-fated pas¬ 
sion. 
Laura had many suitors, and some of 
whom were worthy of her, but she refused 
them all with a gentle yet decisive firmness- 
Her father was in the decline of life, and 
wished to see her happily settled ere he de¬ 
parted from this world. It was not long be¬ 
fore lie surmised that, young Weston was the 
cause of her indifference to others. The 
pleasure which she took in hearing him, 
praised, the blush which mantled her face 
when their eyes met, served to convince the 
old gentleman that they took more than 
Common interest in each other. He forebore 
to make, any remark on the subject, and was 
not displeased 'at the thought, as Weston 
imagined lie would be. 
Weston May had now been three years in 
his employ. Air. Dayton knew nothing of 
his family; but bis strict integrity, good 
morals, and pleasing manners, conspired to 
make him esteemed. I Ie placed unbounded 
confidence in him, and was very proud of 
him. He wished him to dress as well as 
others, and wondered at the scant iness of his 
wardrobe; for, although Weston dressed 
with scrupulous regard to neatness, his 
clothes were almost threadbare, which Mr. 
Dayton thought proceeded from a niggardly 
disposition, and accordingly he addressed 
him upon the subject as before related. 
Soon after this conversation, Mr. Dayton 
left home on business. As ho was riding 
through a pretty village, he alighted at. the 
door of a neat cottage and requested a drink 
of water. The mistress, with an easy polite¬ 
ness which told that she had not. always 
been the humble cottager, invited him to 
enter. lie complied, and a scene of poverty 
and neatness met his gaze which he had 
never before witnessed. The furniture, con¬ 
sisting of nothing more than was necessary, 
was so clean and neat, that it cast an air of 
comfort all around. A venerable old man 
sat in the window with bis staff in his hand. 
His clothes were old and so patched, that 
they seemed a counterpart of Joseph’s coat 
of many colors. 
“ This is your father, I presume,” said he, 
addressing her. 
“ It is, sir.” 
“ He seems quite aged.” 
“ He is in his eighty-third year, and has 
survived all his children but myself.” 
“ Have you always resided here?” 
“No, sir; my husband was once wealthy, 
but endorsing ruined him, and we were re¬ 
duced to this state. He soon after died, and 
two of my children followed him.” 
“ Have you any children living?” 
“ One, sir, who is my only support My 
health is so feeble that I cannot do much, 
and father being blind and deaf, needs a 
great deal of attention. My son will not 
tell how much bis salary is, but I am sure he 
sends me nearly all of it.” 
“ Then he is not at home ?” 
“ No, sir ; lie is a clerk in New York.” 
“ Indeed! pray what is his name ?” 
“ Weston May.” 
“ Weston May! Is it possible ? Why, lie 
is my clerk. I left, him in charge of my store 
only two weeks ago.” 
Explanations followed, and Mr. Dayton 
left, promising to call some other time. 
“ Noble fellow.” said be mentally, as lie 
was riding slowly along and ruminating 
upon the call. “ Noble fellow ! I believe he 
loves my girl, and lie may have her and part 
of my money, too. Let me see ”—here lie 
fell into a thinking mood, and by the time 
lie had reached home he had formed a plan 
which he had determined to execute. How 
it terminated we shall see. Full of liis plan, 
he entered the breakfast room, where Laura 
was awaiting liis coming. 
“ So Weston is going to England,” said he. 
“ Sir !” said Laura, dropping her breakfast 
cup. “ Going to England J” 
“ To be sure. Wliat of it, child ?” 
“ Nothing, only I—we—shall be rather 
lonesome,” replied she, vainly endeavoring 
to repress her tears. 
“ Come, come, Laura, tell me, do you love 
Westop ? You never deceived me, and don’t 
do it now.” 
“ No, well—I do love him most sincerely.” 
“ I thought so,” said he, as he left the room. 
“ Weston,” said he, as he entered the store, 
“ you expect to go into the country shortly, 
do you not ?” 
“ Yes, sir, in about four weeks.” 
“ If it would not be inconvenient, 1 wish 
you would defer it a week longer,” said Mr. 
Dayton. 
“ I will, sir, with pleasure, if it will oblige 
you.” 
“ It will .oblige me greatly, for Laura is to 
be married in about six weeks, and I wish 
yon to attend the wedding.” 
“ Laura married!” said Weston, starting at 
if shot. “ Laura married ?" 
“ To be sure. What ails the boy ? 
“ Nothing, sir, only it was rather sudden— 
unexpected.” 
“It is rather sudden; but I am an old 
man, and wish to see her have a protector 
before I die. I am glad you can stay to the 
wedding.” 
“ Indeed, sir, I cannot stay!” said Weston, 
forgetting what he had just said. 
“ You cannot! why, you just now said you 
would.” 
“Yes, sir, but my business requires my 
presence, and I must go.” 
“ But you said you would with pleasure.” 
“ Command me in anything else, sir, but in 
this 1 cannot obey you.” 
“ Weston, tell me frankly, do you love my 
girl ?” 
^ “Sir?” Weston seemed like one waking 
from a dream. 
“ Do you love my girl ?” 
“ I do, sir.” 
“ Will you give me your mother for her?” 
Mr. Dayton spoke earnestly. 
“ My mother! what do you know of her ?” 
“ Mr. Dayton repeated the incident already 
related, and concluded as follows: 
“And now, my boy, I have written to your 
mother and offered myself, and she has ac¬ 
cepted. What have you to say?” 
“That I am the happiest fellow on earth, 
and proud to call you father,” replied the 
young man, with a joyful face. 
A few weeks after a double wedding took 
place at Mr. Dayton’s mansion, and soon 
after a sign went up over a certain store, bear¬ 
ing the inscription of Dayton & Co. 
Young men, you may learn from this that 
it is not fine clothes that will win for you the 
esteem of those around you. 
—-- 
A ROYA.L MEETING. 
When the allied armies occupied Paris in 
1815, the Emperor of Russia, who resided at 
Talleyrand’s palace, was in the habit of 
taking every morning, in the strictest incog¬ 
nito, a walk in the Tuileries, and from 
tlionee to the Palais Royal. One day he fi ll 
in there with his two allies, and the three 
sovereigns were going together to the Rue 
St. Florentine, when they were met by a 
man who, in all probability, bad arrived in 
Paris but a few days ago. 
“ Gentlemen,” said be to the allied princes, 
“can you tell me where I can find the Tuil¬ 
eries ?” 
“Yes,” replied Alexander, “follow us; 
we are just going there.” 
The stranger thanked him, and the con¬ 
versation was continued. A few minutes 
afterward they reached the palace, and, as 
their paths separated, they took leave of one 
another. 
“ Due word more,” added the stranger, 
who was an honest Gascon; “ I should like 
very much to learn the names of the gentle¬ 
men who have been so exceedingly kind 
to me.” 
“ 1 believe you have heard already of me,” 
replied Alexander. “ I am the Emperor of 
Russia." 
“ A capital joke,” exclaimed the Gascon ; 
“the Emperor of Russia! And you,” lie 
asked, of the second, “ who are you?" 
“ 1 suppose I am not entirely unknown to 
you either, as I am the King of Prussia.” 
“Better and better," replied the Gascon. 
“ And you ?” lie said, turning to the third. 
“ I am the Emperor of Austria.” 
The Gascon burst into a fit of laughter. 
Alexander then said to him : 
“I suppose you will tell us now likewise 
with whom we have the honor of speaking ?” 
“ Certainly,” replied the Gascon, drawing 
himself up to his full height and walking 
majestically; “ I am the Great Mogul.” 
The Emperor Alexander often related this 
amusing episode to his friends. 
-- 
CHILDHOOD’S QUESTIONINGS. 
An interrogation point symbolizes the life 
of childhood. “Why” and “What” are 
the keys with which it unlocks the treasury 
of the world. The boy’s numberless ques¬ 
tions often seem trivial, but the wise parent 
will never turn them off unanswered if he 
can help it. It is his rich opportunity of 
teaching. lie is met half way, and there is 
all the difference between, impressing truth on 
an eager mind and an uninterested one. The 
little fellow, helping you at your work and 
speering 3 r ou with endless questions, may 
learn as much in a half hour there as in a 
week when his body is a prisoner in a school¬ 
room and his thoughts are out of doors. 
