day and told mo I must many; moreover, I 
must marry a fortune; moreover, I must 
marry soon. “ For we are in a fair way to 
become destitute. We cannot much longer 
keep up appearances,” said my Aunt Louise. 
“ But whom, and whose fortune, and how 
Sfo.i should I marry?” 
" I have not chaperoned you thus long 
with my eyes shut," said madam, my aunt. 
“ The richest man of our circle cannot give 
you the establishment you ought to have. 
But we must do as we can, if wo cannot do 
as we would.” 
“ Old Esquire Perky, ” I cried, “ I will not 
marry him 1 " 
“ Well, ma petite, I wish you to be pleased. 
But this is an imperative matter.” 
“Aunt Louise,” said I, earnestly, “ J hate 
this. Let me work to support us. I can give 
music lessons — 1 can teach !” 
“ Bah!” cried Aunt Louise, with a little 
wave and shudder. She held me in displeas¬ 
ure for some time after. 
“1 could wish,” she said, with a loflv 
glance at mu, who had shown such evidence 
of adulterated blood, “that we might go 
back to France ” 
“ Perhaps my marquis is coming over 
now ?” I laughed. 
“ Perhaps he is, ma petite. At any rate, 
remember what 1 have said. You mutt 
marry, and many soon .” 
After this important council, whenever 1 
met my sturdy Cousin Cyril, I wondered if 
he could not see through my conscious face 
that 1 was up at auction. 
In midsummer of that year I met him at 
a picnic, llow ho came there puzzled me. 
But there he ivns, social and easy. T stared 
at the man and wondered if h« had not 
pressed ids way on that hateful claim of 
kinship to me. “ Our set” had a silly pride 
about exclusiveness. To my surprise ho 
gave me no attention till the day was nearly 
over. Then ho sauntered to where I sat for 
Hie moment alone. 
“ Good day, Cousin Susy.” 
I bowed iny forehead. lie sat down be¬ 
side me and talkod. I do not know what 
he said, hut in a few minutes all the mean, 
haughty feelings were gone out of my heart; 
I felt human aud tender toward everybody, 
as if my little girdle bad belted in the world. 
If he had been in bis working Buit I know I 
should have looked on him just as kindly, so 
effectually had lie exorcised my evil spirit. 
We talked a long time, and I found my arti¬ 
san cousin had a sharp side to his character 
How he gashed to the quick of my Indolent 
disposition! 
“Thu, sun will soon be down, and T am 
glad. It lias been meltingly warm all day.” 
“ What did your professors teach you con¬ 
cerning the sun ?” asked Cyrii.. 
“ O, I don’t know,” I answered pettishly. 
“ I don't trouble myself with their rubbish 
now. But T do know that the sun is ninety- 
live millions of miles from us, and is the 
center of our system, and is dreadfully hot, 
sometimes. There, that is worthy of a reci¬ 
tation room I” 
“ I think,” said Cyril, “ that the sun’s heat 
is chemical. It is a solid body like our earth, 
but is surrounded by an atmosphere evolving 
heat and light.” 
“ Alas for the inhabitants of Sol I” laughed 
I, incensed that this mechanic should apply 
himself to the instruction of a young lady 
with a diploma. 
“But we know a body does not become 
warmer the nearer it approaches the sun. 
For, according to that, the mountain peaks 
would be most verdant. Sunshine does not 
beat tho medium through which it passes. 
It may fall through a window upon plants 
and warm them, while the glass remains 
cold as before.” 
“ I never have observed these things,” said 
I insolently, “ having never made sash and 
fitted panes; 1 consequently take little in¬ 
terest in them.” This was intended for an ex¬ 
tinguisher on my carpenter cousin's wisdom. 
He laughed. He looked at his large hands 
and then at my helpless digits. 
“ What haw. you made ?” lie asked. 
“ I ha ve made conquests of men’s hearts,” 
I boasted, angrily, “ and can count them on 
these white fingers you are laughing at. 
There t” My face (lamed up. 
Cousin Cyril looked at me queerly. Then 
he lifted his eyebrows. (It always makes mo 
furious for any one to lift liis eyebrows upon 
me.) 
There followed a silence which was very 
awkward to me. He did not look shocked 
and offer profuse advice, as I had supposed 
he would; lie let me stand in the position I 
had chosen to take, until 1 was ready to cry 
with shame ami vexation. There was no use 
asking pardon of that smooth-browed man ; 
he plainly pitied me already. A mechanic, 
and proud of it, a man, and conscious of 
that, he could well afford to show condescen¬ 
sion to a useless little chit who had addition- , 
ally degraded herself. For the first time : 
since becoming an inhabitant of earth I felt ; 
myself contemptible, i 
Glad was I to see Aunt Loose coming. 
Her black frown seemed grateful; the tlnin- i 
der-cloud which should interpose between ; 
mo and tho man wlioso clear shining eyes 
rebuked me. 
She brought a gentleman. From tbo first 
moment uiy glance encountered his dapper, 
assured presence I detested that man. 
“ Subette, nut chero , allow me to present 
a countryman of ours, Monsieur De Seville, 
who but lately Jell France. Monsieur, my 
nlocc, Mademoiselle Jour." 
All this was in French, which Madam 
threw around her speech as a delicate cloak 
from the vulgar perception of my luto com¬ 
panion. 
Monsieur’s bov^p were profound. lie at 
once offered mo his disengaged arm. I 
looked around for Cousin Cyril; lie was 
pulling down the maple boughs, with an 
casv, careless air. Aunt Louise took no 
notice of him She gave me an electric 
message, which read: “ Your Marquis has 
come 1 ” 
I don’t like to recall the last hour of that 
day; it makes mo yawn. 
When I sat. combing my liair for the 
night, Annt Louise came in to give me a 
long account of Monsieur De Seville's 
family and credentials; his appearance of 
wealth aud his eligibility. 
“ It is all I could have wished for you. 
And he is evidently enamored, ma chore? 
continued tho excited lady. “ He tells me 
he likes the American breeding. He disap¬ 
proves, and justly, I think, of many things 
in the French custom of training gilds.” 
“ 1 don’t like him ! ” snapped Aunt 
Louise’s niece. 
“ At your first interview ? Of course not. 
That would bo improper. But recall our 
conversation of some months ago, my 8 u- 
SKTTE, and lie expeditious.” 
Tossing my hair back, I cried out in dis¬ 
gust: “0 Aunt Louise, J hate falsehood; 
I’d rather bo the true wife of a true laboring- 
man than tho smiling wretch beside any 
masculine sliam 1 ” 
“ Mark my words, mademoiselle,” pro¬ 
nounced madam, my aunt, impressively, 
"you encourage the attentions of no low 
person. No, nor even stoop to speak to 
such, though ho should force his unwelcome 
devoirs." 
“ I shall speak to my cousin, Cyril Flint, 
Aunt Louise, and any attentions lio may 
show me will be gratefully received! ” 
1 tossed my head defiantly, and then be¬ 
gan to cry. I oould not bear to hear him con¬ 
temptuously spoken of, yet felt conscious my 
defense of him was very unfilial. Aunt 
Louise had always been very fond of mo; 
and l, spite of petulance, loved the precise 
lit tle body very dearly. She laid a firm, elec¬ 
tric pulnvon the saucy head. 
“ Susettk, you will he, ns you have ever 
been, obedient to my advice. 1 pardon this 
display of a disposition much regretted. 
But 1 may not forgive so easily a third out¬ 
break. It is the way of the world, and it is 
to your interest, as well as mine, that we im¬ 
prove tho opportunity presented. I have 
taken you into confidence—a tiling which 
parents or guardians seldom cl© in my own 
land”— A nut Louise would not divide 
France with me after my confession of pre¬ 
dilections—“ because 1 thought you possess¬ 
ed of discretion.” 
Iiow Monsieur De Seville tormented me 
after this I need not relate. 1 must play, 
sing, talk for monsieur. 1 must let him drive 
mo out; I must devote lqy powers to him. 
Often I disregarded madam’s decree, and 
avoided the man, I was unhappy; I knew 
I had a continued lease on Cyril’s pity. 
Once I saw Cousin Cyril on a building. 
He was directing the workmen, and I saw 
him then take up tools aud work with them 
—so occupied that he did not see me flutter¬ 
ing pinkly beneath him in my dreadful 
dragon’s turn-out. O how I despised the 
useless man beside me, only seeing what 
helpful, worthy work the man on the build¬ 
ing could perform I lie removed Ids hat to 
loss back heated hair aud wipe his face. 
His handkerchief was as white as mine. 
There was nothing disgusting about the 
man, as if labor soiled and degraded him. 
It woold have been the same had he been a 
blacksmith, 1 believe. One reason why me¬ 
chanics are often treated contemptuously by 
then- would-be lords is the revolt of human 
nature against uncluanliness. If my hero 
became soiled, such soiling did not seem a 
part and parcel of himself, and necessary to 
his personal identity. 
Monsieur De Seville and my aunt called 
me one evening to the parlor. (Here begins 
the climax of my story.) I listened wearily 
to his approved proposals, haying before de¬ 
cided that 1 could not violate my nature by 
accepting them. The man had received re¬ 
buffs that would have made a less persistent 
suitor cease his persecution. Ho persisted 
still. Aunt Louise stood ready to seal my 
death warrant. 
I broke away, and ran out to thu front 
gate, feverishly excited. A man passed. lie ; 
had on liis working dress, but Iknewthrough 
any disguise my kingly Cousin Cyril. I ] 
clasped my hands involuntarily and appealed : 
to him with one mute glance. That meeting 1 
of eyes was as the confluence of two rivers; : 
it shaped us together; our beings must go ] 
i on from thence one being. I gavo myself to 
him and received his spirit back, so infilling 
and changing me that I became, as it were, 
, auother self. 
Let no young girl who reads this imagine 
I stared boldly into the eyes of Cyril Flint. 
Our communion was a flash. My lids fell 
ovor a glance that instinct rebuked, and the 
(lice under them flamed deep with shame. 
Yet I knew it was the deed of all my happi¬ 
ness. Alas for the woman who hangs her 
naked soul under her lashos in the profane 
eyes of a man who loves her not! 
Ho came to me and asked, “ What is it, 
Susy ?” But no shaping of my pen can give 
tho flexible tenderness his lips imparted to 
that name. 
“Monsieur De Seville," I panted, trem¬ 
bling between two excitements, “ is in the 
parlor; Aunt Louise —O I can’t marry that 
man 1 ” 
lie entered the gate, and drew my hand 
over his blouse-sleeve. Lace and jewels 
wedded to homespun I We walked toward 
flie house. How calm 1 grew. My hand 
should rest there always; yea, it was to rest 
nearer him; to smooth his cheek and cool 
his forehead, and push through liis hair, 
even to bo pressed to his lips when it had 
done praiseworthy deeds. Everything looked 
changed. It was as if I had entered a “wide 
country" whore gladness and goodness must 
increase in eternal progression. The sunset 
had banners of triumph in t he western sky. 
The grass on the little lawn, the border 
flowers, lived with a spirit of beauty they 
had never shown before. Such a high arch 
did liis protection put over hr*. 
We entered tho parlor. “ I have taken 
tho liberty, madam,” said Cyril, kindly, “to 
interfere for Miss Susy. She declines this 
gentleman’s proposals utterly. You will 
certainly lot her follow her owu incli¬ 
nations ? ” 
“ Leavo my house! ” bristled Aunt Louise. 
And Monsieur De Seville, running his 
passionate eyes like scalpels over my face, 
exoluiuiod, “ Mademoiselle make family mut¬ 
ters a court of justice, aud call in de artizun, 
de sago charp/ntier, for to plead her cause? ” 
It reminded mo when / bad spoken inso¬ 
lently of my lord’s calling, and 1 dropped 
my head penitently. Without noticing tho 
Frenchman, he replied to Auut Louise. 
“ No, madam. 1 beg your pardon, hut 
not until this matter is nettled. I am, though 
remotely, her kinsman, you know," added 
ray Boa.SE. 
“ Then perhaps you will take her under 
your protection entirely ? She has her choice: 
to obey me, bRucccpting tbe proposals of 
this genllemaufwhom I approve, or to leave 
my roof and care forever. She is penniless, 
as she knows.” Poor angry auntie wiped 
her lips, and glared at me from her usually 
mild little eyes. 
Tho Frenchman was startled through all 
his rage by the facts he had stated. We 
learned all about liis imposture afterward. 
He had a clever hand and brain, as hiu cer¬ 
tificates and letters of introduction showed. 
TIis* lands south of the Pyrenees, which had 
engrossed so much of liis conversation, 
wore truly “ chateaux on Etpagne." Indeed, 
he himself was a fabrication, lmilt on tho 
basis of a Now Y#rk gambler. Auntie’s 
supposed income had been his object. O 
dear 1 it makes me tremble now. But Cyril 
does not seem to rembember that such a man 
ever touched my hands, or tormented mo 
with hateful notice. 
How the French jet of my heart leaped 
out and fell backward, and seemed to vanish 
away, leaving nothing hut tbs burning 
Yankee current forever after, at the next 
words lie littered. 
“Ah, Mademoiselle has de Americain ed¬ 
ucation, but de modestio Is left out all de 
same. I decline to accept de hand of Made¬ 
moiselle. I see I vas mishtake." 
And how that Yankee current swelled 
when my half kinsman, Cyril Flint, took 
my half countryman, Monsieur De Seville, 
by the collar and shook him like a cur. 
Then we went out of the house. Cyril 
cheeked me at the gate. It was growing 
dusk ; the evening star was up. 
“ Do you know what you are doing, Susy ? 
Had you not better go back ?” 
1 put both hands on his arm. 
“ Will you then east your lot with the 
craft ?" 
“ I love you? was my simple reply. 
We w T andered forth under the starlight. 
“ I will take you to my mother’s,” he de¬ 
cided. “ To-morrow my wife shall enter her 
own home.” 
So it came to pass. I am happy. Aunt 
Louise was happy, too, after her auger and 
disappointment had died out and she was 
convinced of her countryman’s fraud. 
My story has been unskillfully told. Ah, 
if I could only sfioxc you the life that is lived 
with mine. I am proud of my husband’s 
prosperity, proud that political honors seek 
him. Dentatus lifting his hand from tho 
plow to take the state-helm is n«t, in my 
mind a better type of the dignity of labor 
than my hero, marching on through the 
steps of laborer, master, architect and law¬ 
maker. 
Iratultr. 
ON THE WAY. 
Ellsworth, Kansas. 
We are five hundred miles West of the 
Mississippi. At Lawrence I parted with the 
last familiar face except that of Xelis. The 
Kansas Pacific Railroad follows the Kansas 
River, cutting short tho bends. It is a nar¬ 
row' guage, but iu most excellent order, and 
remarkably smooth and straight. The further 
West we came the broader and mere expan¬ 
sive became the country. The air, clear and 
dry, allowed great range of vision, and dis¬ 
tances of twenty miles on either side of tho 
track hardly seemed five. The entire country 
presented a thoroughly civilize 1 appearance. 
There was no look of newness about it. 
The great stretch of prairie, with the high, 
luxuriant grass, looked like immense mead¬ 
ow's ; the forest trees were large, and, follow¬ 
ing the bed of thu river chiefly, seemed 
grouped as if planted to ornament a great 
lawn; the terrace-shaped sides of the few 
bluffs seemed to have been the work of man, 
and behind the trees one could easily fancy 
great mansions, or farm-houses. Everything 
appeared of tropical luxuriance. Weeds 
grow to a gigantic stature. Corn stood up 
like emerald giants. Wheat Shocks stood 
fairly crow ded iu the harvested fields. Cat¬ 
tle were fat and sleek in the grass lands in 
herds of a hundred, looking like a huge 
bouquet of live stock, being of every color 
that Texan cattle can claim. 
Kansas people had told us such stories in 
the East, but we didn’t believe them. Ono 
finds it difficult to swallow a barn at one 
gulp. But the half had never been told. If 
this county was not tbo paradise of fanners, 
what was paradise to be ? 
Xelis kept up a continual masculine gab¬ 
ble, ami was pointing hither and thither as 
some new beauty was discovered. When 
my vision is overwhelmed or astonished, I 
don’t like to talk. Words are such weak, 
meaningless things. A lady back of us leaned 
forward with: 
“ Arc you going West ?” 
The ice thus broken wc became acquainted 
at once. Her pronunciation betrayed her 
origin. Site was a Massachusetts woman, 
and had been living for the pust few years in 
Kansas. 
“I know I shall like Kansas; I’ve made 
up my mind to that,” I said, assuredly. 
“But you won’t,” she said, decidedly. 
“ But why not ?” 
“I don’t know an Eastern woman who 
does. I can’t tell you exactly why. Wc 
miss the cultivation and society of the East, 
and our friends arc there. When I found I 
had to remain hero I cried for days. It 
seemed to me I could not endure it. My 
husband is doing very much better hero than 
he ever could East. We shall get rich soon, 
and go hack to Massachusetts to live. Wo 
live at'Manhattan, and ns for society ono 
could desire no better. The Slate Agricul¬ 
tural College is there, and tho people are 
very intelligent.” 
“ Ami yet you are not contented ? ” 
“ No, and never shall be,” she said, firmly. 
“ I suppose Lawrence is the finest town to 
live iu in the whole State?” «aid Xelts. 
“ Lawrence is the lmtefullest town in tho 
State,” she exclaimed. “ We lived there a 
year. The men are all radical and the 
w omen strong- m huled. ” 
“ And you a Massachusetts woman and 
talk like this!” 
“ Yes. Two or tlirea hundred of the 
smartest women iu Massachusetts signed a 
petition asking tlio Legislature to withhold 
suffrage from women. I don’t see whal they 
want to vote for. In the Methodist church 
the women voted, and see what work they 
made of it Not half of them knew what 
t hey were voting for ! ” 
“ If you measure them by that test, about 
half of the men would be excluded oil the 
same ground. But we won’t argue this 
point. I don’t mind a tilt with a man, as 
there iu some chanee of converting him; but 
a woman, never. I am glad you spoke to 
me. Western people are not so conventional 
as Eastern ones, I hope, and women never 
learn half as much iu traveling as men do, 
because they are so unsocial with each other.” 
“ True, and American women are charac¬ 
teristically conventional. I remember falling- 
in with a pretty little French woman in 
Montreal, who said she was fairly dying to 
have some one to talk to; she never saw 
such women ns we American ones, travel¬ 
ing day after day and never speaking to each 
other unless we have been introduced. But 
that is half in our training. We look upon 
a man who offers to assist us, or speaks to 
us, as a villain or rascal. IIow miserably 
distrustful Ave are, and how much we lose 
by it. That frame bouse we are just passing 
is where the richest man in the county lives. 
He Is the chief of the Pottowattomies.” 
“ Tho Indians are quite civilized, are they 
not ?—and do 3 011 like them f ’ 
“ I hate them. If I see one coming, I drop 
the curtains and lock the doors, for I should 
have to give them everything they asked for, 
I am so afraid of them. Yes, they are quite 
civilized. At St. Mary’s, below here, the 
Catholics have long had a school, and teach 
the Indian boys and girls.” At St. Mary’s 
we saw manj' Indians gathered—squaws in 
brilliant costumes, with their pappooses iu 
strait gOAvns. It was pay-day, and a holi¬ 
day with them. 
“ You’ll see everything to interest you 
here,” continued the lad}', “ and so much 
that is new and strange. You’ll he aston¬ 
ished at the flora. There is no botany for 
this country Avest of the Mississippi. Verbe¬ 
nas and petunias grow everywhere Avild. 
Vegetables are so sweet. Prairie chickens 
aro seventy-five cents a dozen hero, and two 
dollars a pair in Boston. Beloiv here you 
Avill see plenty of buffalo, and will have a 
buffalo steak for your breakfast, no doubt. 
Do you stop over tho Sabbath ?” 
“ Ye 3 , at Ellsworth.” 
She laughed. “ You will have an experi¬ 
ence there," she said, “if all accounts lie 
true. You had better sleep in tho cars. At 
the hotels the sleeping rooms are like stalls, 
and they sleep with from four to ten in a 
room. The bed-posts stand iu kerosene 
pans, but the bugs drop down on you 
from the rafters. Shooting affrays are fre¬ 
quent. A mau was shot there onl} r a few 
nights ago, and raids from Indians are very 
common. But perhaps, in traveling about, 
you have accustomed yourself to such slight 
inconveniences.” 
I can’t tell Jioav I looked, but I knoAV bow 
I felt. Xelis burst out with laughter. 
“ That is rich,” I 10 exclaimed exullingly. 
“Four to ten in your sleeping room, when 
it. makes } r ou blush liko a beet to lio down 
with all your clothes on in a sleeping car, 
and I'vo no doubt hut there Avill be some of 
those sftA'ago looking Mexicans ami Texans 
bunking in the same room. Better sleep on 
your revolver.” 
I had nothing to say, although 1 did not 
quilo believe all I had board. Heretofore, 
sleeping in a car berth had been the purga¬ 
tory of all endurance. It made 111 c Avisli I 
was a»}'wbere else and anybody else. To 
turn into a little brown lien would be tho 
height of desire, as alien could sit up straight 
and sleep without ruffling her feathers. 
At Manhattan the Massachusetts lady left 
11 s. She was a large, substantial, intelligent 
type of woman, with her face brown as a 
nut, but possessing the pearliest teeth desir¬ 
able. It was a genuine delight to look at 
her and liaA'e her near us, despite her horri¬ 
ble accounts. She read all tho magazines, 
corresponded with. Gail Hamilton, knew 
T. IV. ITigo inbox personally, and told us 
how kind he was to all womankind, and 
that she had a sister in Lawrence who wrote 
a book ten ) r ears ago which Avas lost in the 
rubbish in Horace Greeley’s office, but 
had been found the past } r ear, and is now in 
the hands of a publisher. 
Snwlug Stone, 
At Junction Cil}' wo »aw a stono factor}'. 
In looking over the county there is no indi¬ 
cation of stone. All is smooth, liko a rolled 
meadow. But nevertheless Kansas contains 
the best building stone of any State in the 
Union. In tho neighborhood of Lawrence 
this stone exists lii great quantities, but tbe 
quality is not good. At Topeka the quality 
is better. At Manhattan it is extremely 
beautiful, of a delicate stone color, and so 
easily quarried and Avorked as to bo cheaper 
than either brick or wood. It is harder here 
than at Fort Riley or Junction City, and 
although easily worked with the hammer 
tuid chisel is not saAved like timber as at 
those places. At Junction Cit} T it is a sort 
of cream color, and a man there has a house 
built of it, and be did the work with a plane 
and a jack-knife. Fact. About this toivn a 
solid stratum of this rock extends, in some 
places, over six feet thick, aud so soft as to 
be cut from the quarry tvith an ax, and it is 
sawed with toothed saws liko timber. After 
exposure to the atmosphere it becomes as 
hard and indestructible os marble. A $40,000 
company was organized two years ago, and 
they suav this stono in all shapes for every 
purpose, tiles and slabs included. Was not 
that a clever stripe in nature? 
Tho Kansas River is called the Kaw, and 
the country about, the Kaw Valley. At or 
near Junction City the road follows the fork 
called tho “ Smoky Hill." After leaving 
Balina, the vast stretches of country became 
almost interminable. There were no more 
trees to be seen, save as Ave caught glimpses 
of the bed of the river. The tall grass gave 
Avay to the short buffalo grass. There 
were no fences and no houses iu view. Near¬ 
ly all the passengers had left. 
For the first time in my life, I began 
to feel a sense of home-sickness, and the train 
was thundering straight on towards Ells- 
Avortli, the horrible. A strong breeze was 
blowing over the monotonous widths of 
land—the sun had gone down in glory. I 
put my hand on Xelis* arm—I could have 
hugged a dog in lieu of something human to 
touch,—“ for Heaven’s sake, say something!” 
I cried—the tram w'histled, and the con¬ 
ductor shouted “Ellsworth!” The train, 
too, stopped for the night. Mint WOOD. ( 
