MARSH 9 
MOORE’S RURAL W1W-¥©RKER. 
Five miles from Rome we passed upon 
our right the stupendous ruins known as 
Roma Vccchta di Frascati, called by some 
the Scttc Basst, With the blue sky break¬ 
ing til rough their somber arches, the tall 
isolated towers netted with ivy, the broken 
walls opening Into dark corridors, and de¬ 
tached masses of ruins — brickwork and 
stone—spreading their desolation over an 
area of more than four thousand feet in cir¬ 
cumference, they formed a scene inexpres¬ 
sibly grand and interesting. In the days of 
the consuls this was the site of one of the 
Alban cities. In later times its whole sur- 
contrast to the sterile waste through which 
we had thus far bowled along, we wore met 
with luxuriant vineyards, and the soft, sil¬ 
very green of the olivo orchards. 
It was the season of the vintage, when 
October, crowned with vines, walks with 
ruddy feet through the sunny lands of Italy; 
and as we passed up the hill, patient little 
donkeys, laden with largo buckets of the 
luscious grapes, trotted past us ou their 
way to Frescati, whore the finest wine of 
the country is made; or others, with empty 
baskets and buckets, came jogging down to 
the music of little bells; while in the vine¬ 
yards, among the mottled vines, lads and 
lasses in gay peasant costume, were gather¬ 
ing the grapes from the trellised branches, 
Every moment enhanced the loveliness of 
the landscape, as we continued the ascent, 
not without several times stopping our ve- 
©ur ,§torn-®ctl(;r. 
BEFORE AND AFTER. 
A THRILLING ROMANCE OF THE 
WAR FOR THE UNION. 
Written Expressly for Moore's Kurnl New-Yorker, 
BY TWO WELL-KNOWN AUTHORS. 
[Continued from page 154.] 
IX.-In the Conflict. 
Four years of bloodshed and misery, 
during which awful period Margaret had 
assumed the whole responsibility of the 
family, comforting, as best she could, her 
peevish and unreasonable mother— attend- 
not joining the army, since In these terrible 
times a good excuse was necessary! But 
this, they all realized, had very lit tle to do 
with his lingering at the Heatherstone 
mansion. Mr. Brayton’s sympathies, 
st range as it may appear, were entirely with 
the North, and the idea of lighting for the 
preservation of an Institution ho despised, 
was of ail things most revolting. Eut the 
time came when apparent obedience must 
be rendered — and then were our friends 
indeed alone. 
“ I could bear all the rest, Susan,” ho 
said to the octoroon, as ho bado her good- 
by, “if l had only been able to accomplish 
your freedom; but to know that. I must 
leave you a slave is more than I can bear.” 
And the man’s cheeks were wet with tears. 
“ Do not grieve about that, dear master,” 
replied SUSAN, iu that strangely weird 
VIE W 11ST THE BOIS EE BOULOGNE, PARIS. 
face was covered by a suburban villa. Some 
antiquarians affirm it to have belonged to 
the Emperor Hadrian, others toCoinmodus, 
But it matters little now. They have but 
the owls and rocks to dispute their claim. 
We soon reached t he little OStrrhi, or Sim, 
marking half way to Frescali. Dogs and 
goats, with cackling fowls and strutting 
pigeons, crowded the doorway. At a little 
table outside sat two of i he Papal Zouaves, 
quaffing wine with a hunter in picturesque 
garb, whose game-bag and gun rested against 
the side of the house. Within the dark por¬ 
tals sat an old woman knitting. A pretty 
young contudina, in gay costume, stood co- 
quettiably within sight of tho gallant Zou¬ 
aves, while the mother of a troup of children, 
one in her arms, anrl the others at her heels, 
was apparently busy preparing the dinner 
for her guests. A large tortoise shell cat- 
lay basking iu I he sun, her nose suspiciously 
near the game-bag of the hunter. Tho inn 
stood a little upon one side of t he road, and 
then turning from it was a narrow shady 
lane, terminated by an arch, through which 
slicep and oxen were seen browsing in the 
fields beyond. It was a pleasant picture of 
rural life. 
Another mile brought us to a large planta¬ 
tion of umbrageous stone pines and dark cy¬ 
press trees, belonging to the Prince Bor- 
ghese. An old castellated farm-house stood 
on the edge of these thick woods, but there 
were no signs of inhabitants; on the con¬ 
trary, its blackened walls and tall, dismal 
towers were suggestive alone of those do¬ 
mains which romance loves to picture with 
ghosts, and to make “night hideous” with 
mysterious echoes. Passing a fine fountain 
whose large basin might water “the cattle 
upon a thousand hills,” the road commenc¬ 
ed gradually to ascend; and very soon, in 
Hide at certain points, to admire anew tho 
extended panorama. 
-- 
THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE. 
The fine view which wo give herewith, of 
a scene in the Bois de Boulogne, Paris, calls 
attention to that great wood and park of 
2,000 acres. Until 1852 it was a forest, when 
Napot.eon ill. determined to transform it 
into a park, like those ho had seen in Eng¬ 
land, or like the Central Park in New York. 
With the aid of the city of Paris, he dug out 
the lakes and made the waterfalls. Before 
the Prussian war, half tho park ivas wood, 
a quarter grass, one-eighth roads,and seven¬ 
ty acres of water. There are two pieces of 
or nam ental water in the park, with islands, 
cascades, rustic houses, etc. Our illustra¬ 
tion represents one of these. Very credita¬ 
ble pains has been taken to make t he vege¬ 
tation about the artificial water diversified 
in character, so that at one place you meet 
conifers, at another rock shrubs, in another 
magnolias, and so on, without an eternal 
repetition of common things. 
The islands, seen from tho margin of the 
lakes, are at all times beautiful, iu conse¬ 
quence of the presence of a varied collection 
of the finest shrubs and trees, tastefully dis¬ 
posed. They show at a glanoe tho immense 
superiority of permanent embellishment 
over fleeting annual display. The planting 
of these islands was expensive at first, and 
required a good knowledge of trees and 
shrubs, besides a large amount of taste in 
the designer; but it is so done that were 
the hand of man to bo removed from them 
for half a century, they would not suffer iu 
the least. 
-- 
The true traveler is always calm, observ¬ 
ing and “level-headed,” 
ing to all the details of I lie strangely altered 
domest ic economy — never once since the 
departure of her lover having outwardly 
given up to grief or gloom) forebodings. 
That st ruggle decided the I’ll I u re, anil she 
realized that to do her duty by those weak¬ 
er t han herself she must put aside her own 
heart-nick nous — in other words, lock the 
door of the inner sanctuary, and throw 
away the key. This Margaret literally 
accomplished, and the result was all that 
could be desired. The news of tho death of 
her brother George, killed in the battle of 
Gettysburg!), she seemed entirely prepared 
for. Not so Mrs. TTkathkhstonk. George 
was her pet, her idol, and tho house was 
tilled with her lamentations, day after day, 
and week after week. This was peculiarly 
trying, but Margaret stood up under it 
with the same patience and fortitude that 
had supported her in all previous trials. 
Slave after slave ran away and joined the 
Northern army, while others were forced 
into the Rebel service as servants. The 
field hands at the ILkatherstone planta¬ 
tion finally dwindled down to two or three, 
while Hannibal, Jake and 8 us an only re¬ 
mained as house servants. The beautiful 
land ran to waste and weeds, and Marga¬ 
ret realized that 11 hope of the future res¬ 
toration of her be oved homo must he given 
up. Mr. Brayton remained several months, 
assisting In the s ettlement of tho estate, 
and endeavoring to procure the freedom of 
Susan —but all to no purpose. The rebel¬ 
lion had so complicated affairs that it was 
next to impossible to dispose of anything 
legally, and this noble-hearted friend was 
finally compelled to leave for active service. 
This was a blow he did not expect, and 
came upon the little family with almost 
crushing force. The delicate state of Mr. 
Buayton’s health had been his excuse for 
and mellifluous monotone she always used 
when under strong excitement. “Those 
shackles will be removed by the law of the 
land before many months; but a slave 1 
shall always be, notwithstanding.” 
“ Why, child, what do you mean?” in¬ 
quired Brayton, with great earnestness. 
“ 1 can never be a free woman, my dear 
master. Do you not know the reason ? Be¬ 
cause 1 haven’t even the dignity of fine 
color to support me. f am neither black 
nor white. What comfort, can there be in 
the world for me. under such circumstances, 
I should like to know?” 
“This comfort,” replied Mr. Brayton, 
with groat feeling. " The comfort of know¬ 
ing, whatever your surroundings—whatever 
your color—that you are God’s child: a 
child, too, unusually endowed and excep¬ 
tionally loved.” 
“ Loved—loved ? ” whispered Susan. 
“Yes, loved," answered her companion. 
“ Loved by our Saviour, and by all those 
who know you. But I must go now. Good- 
by, and God bless you!" 
The strange man was gone, and poor 
Susan, conscious of having parted with tho 
dearest friend she possessed on earth, fled 
to the solitude of her room, and on her 
knees begged for strength and mercy. 
“And yet," she moaned, "I allowed him 
to depart without saying one word to him 
on the subject that worries me most. But 
why should it worry me? Even if estab¬ 
lished in the truth of my suspicions, what 
good will if do me? TTow will it avail any¬ 
thing? Suppose I could prove myardf Col. 
ILeathekstonk’s half-sister — what then? 
Would it make me a free woman ? Oh, if [ 
had only asked him; but now! see the end. 
W n shall all be refugees—poor wanderers on 
the face of the earth homeless, penniless, 
forsaken! What a fool I am. The avowal 
