lie was about the only one who pretended 
f'riomlliiU'rH without the basest of motives. 
Or there may have been something so pleas¬ 
antly attractive in the man himself,—for he 
eould he very companionable,—that, it had 
its effect on whatof heart she possessed until 
she took a kind of pleasure in his society, 
albeit because of many things she detested 
him. lie may have been drawn toward her 
by her beauty of face and flgurj; by her 
dashing, nonchalant air; by her wayward 
ness,—for some men do like a certain degree 
of waywardness in some women, it adds 
piquancy; or he may have seen, with his 
keen, lawyerlike insight, that she eould in 
certain contingencies prove useful to him. I 
suspect the latter. 
As I have said, there was some strange, 
mutual fascination. It matters not much in 
what it consisted. To know the fact will 
serve our purpose. There was a marked 
fascinating influence for each, yet in each it 
seemed to take advantage of its strength to 
annoy and tantalize the other. Am I por¬ 
traying contradictions? J admit it. But 
because one of these two, at least, w as a most 
consummately contradictory character, does 
that impeach the fact of her existence? 
Such human contradictions are not abun¬ 
dant,—for which we ought to be truly 
thankful; but they do exist, and they make 
existence an unrest for themselves and an 
unhappiness for others. 
Mr. Makepeace Laavmore found his cli¬ 
ent. He found her one day in midsummer,— 
found her among those who eared not whith¬ 
er she went <ft when she came. In such 
words as a smart pettifogger could readily 
employ, lie pictured the fortune within her 
grasp, and pointed out the step necessary to 
acquire it. If she would act the part of law- 
fif heir he would engage to procure one-half 
fte splendid property ’Squire Lanowkll 
J eft, for her, and the other half for himself. 
That was the substance of all lie said. 
1 suppose it would not be true to say she 
received this proposition without surprise, 
or thought of accepting it without some 
feminine hesitancy. It was a bold thing to 
do,—to declare herself imblushingly what 
she was not,—to enter into a league with a 
man so unscrupulous us to propose it, herself 
an impostor and the party to a positive, in¬ 
excusable fraud. Inexcusable? Was it so, 
though? she reasoned. She was poor. She 
had her ambitions. There were certain tastes 
she wanted to gratify. So long as she re¬ 
mained poor she was only a menial, herding 
with those she secretly despised, — despised 
in turn by those whose notice and admira¬ 
tion she coveted. Rich, slio could shine as 
she secretly felt she was born to. Coupled 
with money, her beauty would be a power; 
without, it was but an alluring danger. 
Here was what would gratify her every de¬ 
sire, held by a young man who would seal t er 
it to the four winds in a short lime in his 
recklessness, and to no profit. lie would be 
left penniless in a few years, any way; why 
should she not reap the benefit of that which 
he was rapidly dissipating? 
Sho accepted the proposition, finally, all 
her hesitancy gone, her ambitions fanned 
to a brighter flame. 8hc would play the 
false part given her with the best skill sho 
could command. 8he even fejt that single- 
handed slie could easily cope w ith the weak- 
willed youth who now held what site wanted 
and would have. She had implicit faith 
that her shrewdness, combined with that of 
the lawyer, would carry her through in 
triumph, and place her in such a position 
before the world as should satisfy the deep¬ 
est longings of her nature, bring her worship 
and adoration without limit, and enable her 
to walk among women a very queen. How¬ 
ever much a woman like her maybe pleased 
with the admiration of men, she is beyond 
the telling more pleased with the envy of 
other women, and to secure this she will put 
forth her proudest endeavor at all times and 
under all circumstances. 
Mr. 'Makepeace Lawmore busied himself 
several days in securing certain affidavits 
and the like, in the way of probable evi¬ 
dence, — all false, of course, but readily pro¬ 
cured for a consideration. And when he 
had arranged sufficient evidence to prove 
his client to be the true heir, ke ret urned to 
The Corners, leaving her to follow in a few 
days. A week later saw her duly installed 
as a boarder nt the widow Graver’s, and 
within twenty-four hours all The Corners 
knew there was a claimant for the Lang- 
welr property in their midst. 
CHAPTER! VI. 
As I am not a lawyer, and this story is not 
written for lawyers, I shall not attempt to 
sketch the legal measures that were at 
once taken and for a long time very ingeni¬ 
ously prosecuted. They were interesting 
chiefly in their results. TYliat, these were 
will be shown in due season. 
Of cou? se the community wa9 first startled, 
then delighted. Half the people forming it 
suddenly remembered whispers they had 
heard, at one time and another, that Joseph 
Langwell was not the ’Squire’s son. Of 
course all knew of the ’Squire’s first mar¬ 
riage, and not a few recollected that some- 
i body had told them somebody had heard the 
; ’Squire declare liis belief that his first wife’s 
child was yet living. And some others, not 
j to be behind these in their general knowl- 
i edge of affairs, recalled the fact that fiomc- 
| body had told them ’Squire Lanowkll had 
often said in the presence of a friend of 
theirs that he knew said child was alive ; and 
they believed it was owing to bis second 
wife, who feared her own offspring would 
not get all the property, that he had fore- 
borne to make recognition of her. 
Thus the story grew. Between hearsay, 
imagination, remarkable recollection and 
sheer invention, it received almost daily some 
new addition. The ’Squire had always been 
respected ;| but what signified this respect in 
the estimation of some who had envied him, 
and under whose longue gossip and even 
slander was rolled as a sweet morsel ? That 
charity wlilclt thinketh no ill of others is 
not one of the commonest Christian graces. 
So it came about that Emily Lanowkll, 
as she now called herself, had much sympa¬ 
thy. A considerable portion of public opin¬ 
ion run high in her favor. She had been 
deeply wronged, and that, too, at the hands 
of u man who should have been the last to 
wrong any human being, according to pre¬ 
vious faith in him. Reparation was coming 
late, but it was due; and in this ease, as in 
many others, “ better late than never.” In 
all which manipulating of popular belief 
Mr. Makepeace Lawmore was a skillful, 
quiet agent, and bis client an admirable pic¬ 
ture of injured deserving. 
Completely astounded, Joseph Lanqwkll 
was utterly nt a loss what to think or say, or 
do. No lisp touching iris paternity had ever 
before reached his ears, lie had mourned 
’Squire Lanowkll and wife as parents. All 
Ins life they had been to him loving and de¬ 
voted, manifesting their parental tenderness 
in hundreds of ways that now came freshly 
to his mind. Could it. be possible they were 
not his real parents, after all? Could such 
regard as they gave him spring from hearts 
in no wise linked to his by the ties of nature ? 
It was a sheer absurdity. 
Indignantly scoffing at the whole claim, 
he engaged the best counsel to defend it, 
and went on in his usual manner of life. 
Why should he lie troubled ? he asked him¬ 
self. They could bring nothing which would 
dispossess him of his inheritance and ease. 
The story of this young woman might or 
might not be true; but even were sho duly 
identified as the 'Squire’s child by a former 
marriage, lift would still be the ’6qu ire’s 
child also, and she could only share equally 
with him. Thero was enough for both, so 
what, mattered it? And so reasoning, this 
easy young man paid little outward heed to 
what was exciting uni vernal interest, around 
him. 
For a time, indeed, he visited The Corners 
less frequently, and t he almost nightly hilar¬ 
ities nt IvtLLtTM’u were given over. The 
neighbors thought the new developments 
had sobered him. 1 shall always believe 
Faitii Works’ words were the reforming 
influence. Whatever it was, it did not last 
long. Mr. Makepeace Lawmore met him 
one night, intent on evil. 
“ Don’t think I’m your enemy, now, my 
boy,” he said, laying his hand affectionately 
on Joe’s shoulder and speaking in his blan¬ 
dest tones,“ because I’m pushing this matter 
of heirship. It’s nil in the M ay of the pro¬ 
fession, you know. I’m really sorry to do it, 
because I’m your friend, and ahvuys shall 
be. But some one will do it; Miss Lanq- 
well’s claim is so clearly shown in the 
evidence sho has that she can’t help win¬ 
ning, you see; and 1 might as well get the 
fees as any one, mightn't I ?” 
Joe couldn’t withstand this seductive ap¬ 
peal, so he supposed Lawmore was right. 
“ Now you talk like the good fellow you 
are,” the legal gentleman went on to say. 
“Let’s go over to Killum’s and drink to 
good feeling.” 
And as Joe could not resist, they repaired 
to that famous place and inaugurated a long 
evening of revelry, sinking all cktims, as 
Lawmore jokingly expressed it after a glass 
or two, in liquidation. 
After that the old habit was stronger than 
ever, and Joe was the easier tempted. He 
seldom went down to The Cornel’s without 
mingling with the few who idled there, and 
spending time' and money harmfully. 1 He 
would go by the school-house on his way to 
the post-office, and at thought of tlie conver¬ 
sation in there would firmly resolve to get 
his mail and return home without visiting 
Killum's at all. All his better nature would 
be roused, as memory repeated Miss Works’ 
words to him. “ Your strength can come 
from the same source all strength comes 
from.” He would never forget the words. 
And in so fur as a wish is a prayer would he 
pray that strength might be his. But arrived 
at the post-office, laugh and jest would drive 
such thoughts away, or even with them in 
his mind would he yield weakly to some 
stronger will, and take yet another step 
downward. 
Meeting Miss Works, one Saturday after¬ 
noon as she was going out botanizing in 
company with Bub Graver, he would have 
passed her without a word, so severely did 
his heart condemn him* but for her kindly 
salutation. Stopping for a moment, with a 
flush on his face, a bright idea suggested 
itself to the lad looking on. Joe LaxgwElt. 
should go with them, “ cause Miss Works 
' ll talk to him as ’ll do him good,” Bra 
whispered. Joe was lifting his hat to pass 
on as the boy snug out,— 
“'Can’t' Joe go with us, Miss Works? I 
want him to help me box a woodchuck I 
sped I’ve trapped over by the big woods. 
We’ll come right along there, most likely, 
on our way home. Come now, .Toe!” 
Modest, as woman ought ever to be, Faitii 
Works was in no whit prudish, and, though 
she would not seek such companionship, she 
held too near a sympathy with humanity to 
shun the society of nny erring person when 
she felt llmt by accepting it she might work 
them a benefit. She believed in woman’s 
mission, I think. Hers, as she saw it, was 
to do good and give pleasure. It is a mission 
requiring more sacriflee than that of advocat¬ 
ing a reform, or proclaiming a new political 
gospel. U requires more unselfishness tliau 
most, people are inclined to practice. 
In this instance the young lady could give 
pleasure to one person, at least., by assenting 
to his invitation. Looking into Joe Lang- 
well’s face, as ho stood in doubtful waiting, 
she saw the pleasure would be sliarcd by 
another. If, looking into her own heart she 
saw that even herself would be pleased, wo 
may not know it, and will therefore credit 
her with naught of selfish ness. 
“ If Mr. Lang well cares to make our 
long ramble,” was her reply, with a frank 
smile which was more welcoming than her 
words, “ I am sure he will be very welcome. 
But it seems to me your invitation is rather 
selfishly given." 
Unselfish herself, she yet could not see 
through the little unselfish subterfuge this 
boy was making use of. 
“ Since it affords me happiness to accept 
Bub’s invitation, I certainly care little what 
prompts it," the young man quickly respond¬ 
ed, as ho offered to carry Miss Works’ 
herbarium. 
“Now that’s what I call ongencrous, Joe 
Lanowkll,” said Bun, moving on just 
ahead. “ But I’ll forgive ye, ’cause ye don’t 
mean it. I’m remarkable at forgivin’.” 
It was a long July afternoon, but it fled 
very quickly to two of the trio. Bub occu¬ 
pied himself much of the time a little apart, 
either in searching for rare specimens, or in 
lounging lazily under some tree not far away 
while they searched. Joseph Lanowkll 
was feelkjg a svi—(^influence that seemed to 
uplift and purify him. Ho forgot his old 
self, lus old life, for a season. All through 
this beautiful midsummer afternoon did he 
breathe a new atmosphere, and it was vital 
with a nmv life. Out amid the purity of 
the flowers, and touched by the purity of 
thoughts pure as those of the angels, he got 
nearer God and Ilis goodm’ss than before 
since his mother died. 
And Faith Works saw in him not the 
wild, reckless fellow whom the reckless ones 
at Killtjm’s knew, but a sensitive, fine-tonecl 
man, loving - all beautiful things, tenderly 
appreciative, seeing a hidden meaning to 
every outwardness they chanced upou, catch¬ 
ing suggestive hints in all lhc9e which so 
many miss, and holding for all her kind a 
reverential respect Avhieh bespoke his innate 
refinement. Wlvat wonder that seeing him 
thus she remembered his weakness, and 
thought how nearly it was coining to work 
out his ruin; and that all her most tender 
sympathies were touched until she was ready 
to use every means in her power to accom¬ 
plish his salvation ? 
1 have known a woman to marry the man 
she loved, to save him,—and this is generally 
a vain recourse; but here was a woman, not 
loving at all, mayliap, or not knowing 
whether she loved, and deciding to try every 
maidenly means in a young man’s behalf, 
that his existence might be a blessing. I 
think slie was brave. Bear in mind that it 
was not. quite the proper thing, commonly 
considered, for Iter to do,—to be his friend in 
the best sense of the word, to counsel him, 
to show him wherein he was falling, to take 
him by the hand, as it were, and lead him 
up out of the downtvard way. Loving him, 
another woman might have married him, 
hoping to save him thus, mid I should have 
called her rash. Faitii Works, with only 
friendship between them, and knowing what 
lookers-on might say, resolved that she 
would he his savior, God helping her, and— 
I repeat it—I think she was brave. 
Ah! there might be more such saviors! 
There is great need. I see young men, 
every day, of noble hearts and promptings 
naturally, going to swift destruction because 
no sister's hand ever touches theirs in tender¬ 
ness, because no sweet womanly influence 
sanctifies their lives. In all their acquaint¬ 
ance there is not one woman who dare act a 
woman’s part. Society has its regulations, 
and no young lady must step beyond them, 
else she encourages gossip and perhaps 
worse. And so the young ladies simper and 
smile, and repress their true womanliness, 
and the youDg men believe them heartless 
and fickle, and go on in their downgoing 
path uncaring because apparently uncared 
for. Metliinks if Woman ever re-echoes, as 
she sometimes may in reply to such moral¬ 
izing as this, that old question of Cain’s,— 
“ Am I my brother’s keeper?”—she must re¬ 
ceive a fearfully emphatic affirmative. For 
all observation goes to show that she n 
Man’s keeper, God s own loved agent to 
protect him by her gentle guardianship, to 
keep him near to respect, and love, and 
truth. And when she betrays the trust she 
sins wickedly, and all good angels weep! 
I am not sure that Miss Works’ herbarium 
received many notable additions during the 
extended ramble they had. Perhaps botani¬ 
cal research was not greatly enriched. Y*et 
as the afternoon drew to a close, and our 
three friends returned slowly across the 
fields, all were satisfied, though Bra’s wood- 
chuok was forgotten entire])’. He remem¬ 
bered it just as they arrived at his mother’s 
gate. 
“ There, by jingo !” he exclaimed then. 
“I’m blamed if 1 didn’t forgit all about that 
animal o’ mine! It’s too bad, I declare if 
’taint! Wlio’d thought I’d disreeollect it in 
that way, now ?” 
“It, is too bad, Bun, that’s a fact,” said 1 
Joe, at once thoroughly interested. “ But 
never mind, I’ll go with you after it, after 
you’ve been to supper. I’ll stop for you 
then.” 
He was about to take Ills departure when 
Bub answered,— 
“ That’s kind in ye, Joe; but why not stay 
and cat here, ’n then ye’ll be already 
stopped ?" 
Good Mrs. Graver, standing in the open, 
door, seconded the invitation, Miss Works 
gave it emphasis with one of her wonderful 
smiles, and the young man went into the 
plain yet neat dwelling, to supper, and to 
meet Miss Emii.v Lanowkll, whom he had 
not before seen.—[To he continued. 
terial (fcrpics. 
CLEAN LINEN. 
BY M. QUINBY. 
Says a writer in a late number of the 
Rural:—“ As to shirts, I never could see 
why farmers ought to content themselves 
with changing once, or at most twice, a 
week, when men in the city, w ith no soiling 
work to do, must have from three to a dozen 
a week. Farming don’t pay when a man 
can’t afford to wear a decent clean shirt all 
the time.” 
The spirit of this remark is certainly com¬ 
mendable.. It looks to eleanlinoss and neat¬ 
ness, and nothing external more strongly 
marks tlio difference between what we 
should bo and what we should not. You 
may know the civilization of a nation by 
the amount of soap it uses, and something 
so of a man. There is a luxniy, too, as 
well as a virtue, in clean linen. But there is 
a limit even to ibis, and that limit, in most 
farmers' homes, coincides with the limit of 
woman’s endurance. Suppose there are 
washing machines, they don’t iron shirts. 
If more are soiled, more must be ironed, at 
least, and Lreblc the usual number, on a iiot 
summer’s day, is certainly something on a list 
of duties running over without it. 
For my part, I could never seo why nap¬ 
kins and table cloths should not be changed 
three times a day, or a towel ever used a 
second time, or any of a thousand other 
things that might be named, except this: 
there is too much else to do. 
I am tired of seeing pale-faced, -over¬ 
worked, broken-down American women— 
especially in the country. It is not so 
strange in Ihc city. Plants grown in a hot¬ 
house are slender and pale. But where in 
the wide world should we find ‘Woman at 
forty, elastic with health, and trite queen of 
her realm, if not in the homes vieited by the 
Rural? Yet this is not always so, nor in¬ 
deed very often, I fear; and hence a reason 
why a farmer should sometimes ask himself 
the question, which is worth the most to 
him, a dean napkin at every meal, a clean 
shirt everj r day, or a fresh rose every morn¬ 
ing on the cheek of the woman he loves? 
Perhaps fanning thnt “pays” •would sup¬ 
port a special laundress. But this is not the 
fanning that is done—especially by young 
people, at that critical time ay lien boundless 
ambition has yet to he sobered by experi¬ 
ence. This, with much else that shall help 
to realize the ideal farmer's life, is seen at a 
distance up the slope along which they toil. 
Happy Avill they be, if, when the summit 
has been reached, they shall have so hus¬ 
banded the lamp of life that its light will 
shine as brightly as ever. 
•- 4 -*-*- 
Through life I have observed that there 
is no superfluous civility that, brings more 
dissatisfaction to its donor than a party. 
Those that are not invited become his ene¬ 
mies ; and those that are receive the intend¬ 
ed compliment as their due, and depart 
ridiculing the inadequacy of his efforts. 
THE SUNSHINE. 
Eatcuy body should live on the sunny side 
of their houses as much ns possible, and al¬ 
low the sun’s genial rays to penetrate the 
rooms. Darkened parlors are fashionable 
evils. True, it is gloomy enough to be 
ushered into a tomb-lilce apartment, where 
one can scarcely gropo his way to a scat; 
and to discover, when liis eyes become ac¬ 
customed to the dim light, that every chair 
and sofa has on its “ duster,” apparently 
equipped for traveling to some unknown 
land. But ladies must have their carpets 
kept bright and fresh, even if their checks 
arc the paler lbr It! And so the shutters are 
tightly closed, anil the heavy curtains drawn. 
But, for the sake of health and beauty, ladies, 
let. this be done only jn the “ best parlor,” if 
it must be done at all. Let the rooms where 
the family live be cheerful and sunny. No 
lady would expect her house-plants to send 
out full, brilliant blossoms unless she placed 
them at a window where the sunshine would 
invigorate them. No more should she ex¬ 
pect her children to show fresh, rosy com¬ 
plexions, or to develop genial dispositions, 
unless they live in light, sunny, airy rooms. 
BUY A HOME. 
Evert laboring poor man should buy him¬ 
self a town lot, get that paid for, and then 
work to make the necessary improvements. 
A little here and a little there will in due time 
produce you a home of your oath, and place 
you out of the landlord’s grasp; remember 
that fifty dollars a year saved in rent, will in 
a very few years pay for your home, and the 
money it costs you to move ami shift about, 
without any loss Of furniture and time, pay 
the interest on a fi\-e hundred dollar judg¬ 
ment against your property, until you can 
gradually reduce it to nothing. Y r ou can all 
buy that Avay—why do you not risk it ? If 
you fail you are no Avorse off—if you succeed, 
as any careful man is sure to do, you have 
made a home and established a baiss equal 
to many another’s, which will start you in 
business. 
-- 
THE LAST TIME. 
There is ever something solemnizing in 
the thought that it is the last time. The 
last gleam of tiie day—the last word before 
parting—the last look of life. All these ac¬ 
quire an importance and interest vastly be¬ 
yond any which they would possess in and 
of themselves. The sun shone bright before 
he approached his setting; and the farewell 
word spoken was some ordinary oue, of r.o 
real weight * the parting look was one which 
we would willingly otherwise have forgotten. 
But no noonday splendor was so cherished 
in memory as that slanting beam that disap¬ 
peared in a spark of gold over the western 
hills; and no otic tone in all our converse 
dwelt on the ear so long and so clear, as that 
one word “ good-byno look has been so 
ofton recalled as that smile of recognition of 
the pallid face from whence life was taking 
its flight. 
-- • 
REFINED WIT. 
A contemporary declares that a certain 
eminent man used to be funny in an elegant 
way, and cite9 the fun so evoked as some¬ 
thing exceptional. All gentlemen, when 
funny, purvey flm elegantly. They will 
cover the coarsest joke avIUi the sugar of re¬ 
finement. It is only the boor who tells a 
comical story in its broad and literal aspect. 
Some of the cleverest men in the Avorld have 
been famous for telling stories most, elegantly 
and acceptably that, by the narration of the 
vulgar, would be made repulsive, W ebster, 
Olay, and other statesmen of their time, 
made elegant the coarsest narratives; and 
Fitz Greene Hajlleck could absolutely 
convert the slangy tface the of the streets into 
language scarcely less than poetry —and 
keep the point of the thing prominent in its 
funniest shape at that. 
Let a young man at twenty years of age 
put twenty dollars at interest, instead of ex¬ 
pending it for tobacco. Then, at the begin¬ 
ning of the next year repeat it, and include 
also the principal and interest of the pre¬ 
ceding year, and thus continue to do from 
year to year, until he shall liaye reached the 
age of seventy; the amount lie would realize 
would exceed thirty thousand dollars. 
■—- ---- 
It has been said that an Irishman is at 
peace only when he is in a quarrel; a Scotch¬ 
man at home only when he is abroad; an 
Englishman contented only when finding 
fault with something or somebody; and a 
busy, blustering, impetuous American is at 
tbe height of felicity only while he is in all 
these tumultuous conditions at the same time. 
A nursery maid A\ T as leading a little child 
up and down a garden. “ Is’t it a laddie oi a 
lassie ?” asked the gardener. “ A laddie, 
said the maid. “ Weelsaid he, “ I’m glad 
o’ that, for there’s ower many women in the 
world.” “ Hech, man,” said Jess, “ did you 
no ken there’s maist sawn o’ the best crap?” 
—Dean Ramsay. 
