sr 
/ 834 
tally. “ Poor fellow, he’s dreadfully in love, 
and 1 wish Valentiu and Frank wouldn’t 
tease him so.” 
And she went down to Rather honey¬ 
suckles for the parlor vases, and muse on 
her brother’s manifold grievances. 
“It’s too had, so it is!” she murmured, 
winking back the bright drops that would 
6u(T ii se her hazel-brown orbs. “ I shall talk 
seriously to Valentiu about it this very 
evening.” 
Meanwhile, Mordaunt stalked sulkily up 
stairs, into his sister’s pretty little sitting- 
room, where the muslin curtains were flut¬ 
tering to and fro iti the delicious night 
wind, and the sofa was drawn into a little 
recess beside a table all littered with books 
and magazines, needle cases and thimbles, 
and the indescribable debris which two 
girls invariably collect around themselves 
in the course of a June afternoon. 
He threw himself recklessly down on the 
sofa and drew the soft fold of Kute’s cash- 
mere shawl over him, as if jealous lest the 
soft eyes of the watching stars, that were 
just beginning to gem the heavens, should 
witness the struggle that convulsed the 
strong roan's heart. 
Not that his grief wrought itself into uny 
external sighs. No, there was neither 
groan nor motion more than there had been 
when he was wounded at Spottsylvanin, and 
rode cm at the head of bis regiment as brave¬ 
ly as though the red blood had not been 
dripping from hiH arm with slow and 
deadly drain. One might, almost have fan¬ 
cied him asleep as he lay there white and 
silent, with the curtain sweeping down 
around his motionless head. 
“ Katy! ” 
Like the tremulous coo of the wood 
pigeon. Vulenl in's voice murmured the 
(wo soft syllables with the coaxing accent 
of a child. And in the same instant, she 
knelt down beside (lie sola, her white dress 
sweeping over (lie crimson carpet in tides 
of translucent pearl, and one arm thrown 
carelessly over the folds of the deceitful 
cashmere shawl. Mordauut’s first impulse 
was to spring up and declare His individu¬ 
ality— his seoond to lie still and let fate 
manage the matter to suit her capricious 
self. So ho lay still accordingly, experi¬ 
encing a very singular and not at all dis¬ 
agreeable sensation from the contact of the 
caressing arm. 
No doubt, he was a treacherous, hypocriti¬ 
cal wretch — but, fair lady, or chivalrous 
gentleman, don’t judge the poor fellow too 
harshly, until you have been in precisely 
the same circumstances yourself. It is just 
possible—only possible, you know— that you 
might do the same thing, 
"Now you are angry with me, Kate!” 
pleaded the soft, voice, “because 1 threw 
those (lowers away? And you won't speak 
to me; and 1 know 1 deserve it, darling.” 
There was a moment’s silence, us if Miss 
Valentin had expected some sort of it re¬ 
sponse to her pretty penitence. But, she 
didn't get any; so, after a brief pause, she 
went on; 
“Indeed, Kate, I did not mean to grieve 
you—and I won't, do it again. 1 am sorry 
for my ridiculous freak. Do you suppose 
ho was very angry, Kate? Do yon think 1 
ought to ask his pardon? But then you 
know he didn’t see mo steal around the 
lawn, when that odious Aldrich was gone, 
and pick up the roses again." 
There was strong symptoms of coming 
tears—a sort of quivering sob in the voice. 
“ You won’t forgive me, Kate? Not if I 
tell you that I really do love your tall, stem 
brother? Only, Kuty, I was silly enough 
to want, to tease him a little, and test my 
power over his noble heart. I love him, 
Kate, I may tell you of it, dear, without 
being bold, or unwomanly, because you 
know we have often talked about his liking 
me a little—and—oh, Kate, answer mo !— 
don’t be so cold aud cruel! Surely you 
can’t be asleep! " 
“Where are your lips, cher amid" she 
ooaxed, playfully. “ I shall soon break the 
magic spell of silenoe that binds them. You 
know you never could keep vexed with me 
more than five minutes at a time. Why, 
where's your hair? Where—” 
She sprang suddenly to her feet with a 
piercing scream—her wandering hand had 
touched the dark, heavy mustache on 
which Colonel Mordaunt prided himself so 
specially. 
He strove to catch the baud—to detain 
tbe frightened beauty long enough to plead 
his cause in earnest, impassioned words, 
but in vain. Fear seemed literally to lend 
her wings. Away, like a frightened white 
dove she flew, uttering wild, hysteric 
screams, and fairly falling into the arms of 
the astonished Katy Mordaunt, who was 
just coming in from the star-lighted garden 
MOOBE’S BUBAL WEW-YOBMEB, MAY 48 
with both hands full of dewy branches of 
boney-suckles. 
“Valentin,” she exclaimed, dropping the 
spicy blossoms, “ why, what is the mat¬ 
ter ? What can have startled you so dread¬ 
fully?" 
“Oh, Katy! Katy!” sobbed Valentin, 
clinging to her friend’s shoulder with a ner¬ 
vous vehemence, “ there is a mail in your 
room—a robber, hiding under y T our cash- 
mere shawl on tho sofa. Oh, I am nearly 
frightened to death 1" 
K.aty’s serene, brown eyes dilated a little 
—then brightened into a smiling archness. 
“A robber! ” she repeated with provoking 
calmness. Nonsense, Valentin, you arc 
mistaken. It was only Jack. I saw him go 
in there not half an hour ago. The Idea of 
taking our Jack for a robber.” Katy’s 
laughter rippled merrily at tho mere fancy. 
Only.Jack? In the midst of her terror, 
tho possibility had never once occurred to 
Valentin Bruce’s mind. Only Jack! The 
forty thieves themselves would have faded 
into nothingness before the more idea of 
Colonel Mordaunt having heard all these 
soft pleading and unconscious admissions. 
One moment Valentin felt as if every vein 
throughout her whole frame were filled 
with molten (Ire—then she grew white and 
cold as a marble Btatue. Life aud strength 
seemed ebbing away from her, and for the 
first time in her life Valentin Bruce fainted 
away. 
Katy Mordaunt quietly sprinkled scented 
water on the pallid forehead, and began to 
unlace tho white muslin dress. As she did 
so, a faded bunch of flowers fell from Val¬ 
entin's bosom, and Katy smiled to liorsclf 
as she recognized the moss buds that had 
been so haughtily thrown out on the lawn 
that very evening. 
“ I’ll keep t hem for Jack,” she said. “ Ah, 
Valentin, you'll bo my sister-in-law yet.” 
IIow shyly t he blue-eyed damsel stole into 
the breakfast room tho next morning. She 
would cheerfully have fasted all day long, 
sooner than enter Into the presence of the 
tall Colonel; but what was the use? The 
dreaded first interview must be got over, 
sooner or later, so here she was, with down¬ 
cast, lashes, and cheeks dyed as deep pink as 
the rose-colored wrapper she had on. No 
more haughty airs and graces; no more cool 
composure. She was at Mordauut’sni, 
and she knew it. Now, would ho take a 
cruel advantage of her helplessness. Or 
would he— 
But just there her cogitations always 
stopped. 
lie was standing at the window, looking 
out upon the morning eunshino that bathed 
the short, velvety grass before the piazza. 
But ho turned quickly as she entered, with 
a bright, welcoming smile. 
“ Valentin,” he said gently, “ was I dream¬ 
ing last night, or did 1 hear you say that, 
you loved me? Oh, my darling, tell me 
that it was no baseless dream! ” 
She came slyly to his arms, and nestled 
there like a fluttering fawn, voiceless, yet 
happy. Still ho was not contented. 
“ l want to hear it from your own lips yet 
again, Valent iu. Nay, dearest, don’t shrink 
away so pleadingly, but answer me.” 
“ What shall 1 say ? ” she murmured, tim¬ 
idly raising her soft eyes to his face. 
"Tell me that you love me.” 
Sweeter than tho fall of musical cascades 
through groves of tropic bloom, softer than 
the thrill of nightingales in Persian valleys, 
the three charmed words t ouched on bis ear, 
and ho knew that she was his—his forever. 
Tbe courtship is drawing toa termination 
now—the white satin dress is finished, aud 
the wedding-cake iced to perfection, and 
the white roses arc in bloom that shall soon 
be woven iuto bridal bouquets; but Valen¬ 
tin is still extremely sensitive on the sub¬ 
ject of Cashmere shawls and twilight confi¬ 
dences. And Katy Mordauat—saucy little 
elf that she is—declares that Miss Valentin 
Bruce took advantage of its being leap-year 
to confide her sentiments to the dark-haired 
lover whom she delighted to torment.— Se¬ 
lected. 
- 4 ~»~*- 
A CEYLONESE STORY. 
Long ago, a king—or, as some say, a very 
wealthy man, but it does not matter which, 
though a king souuds better—had an ouly 
child, a daughter, the heiress of all his 
wealth, who could not or would not speak. 
He tried all means to Cure her, but in vain. 
At last he sent forth a proclamation that 
whoever, being of fitting degree, could re¬ 
store speech to hie daughter could marry 
her and eventually be lord of all her father’s 
wealth. Many tried, but all failed. At last 
a prince who had a magical gift—that of caus¬ 
ing things inanimate to t alk with him—cume 
forward, and was admitted to the hall where 
the princess was. He spoke to her, and tried 
to induce her to speak, but answer he got 
none. 
Now a lamp was hanging in the hall, and 
to it the prince good-humoredly addressed 
himself. “ Lamp,” said he, “ I w'ill tell you 
a story.” 
“Say on,” replied the lamp. 
“Well,” went on the prince, “four trav¬ 
elers—a carpenter, a painter, a cloth-mer¬ 
chant, and a jeweler—set out on a journey. 
By-and-by they came to a rest-house, halted 
there and prepared their food. The keeper 
of the rest-house had laid down on the floor 
a log of wood very suitable for carving. The 
carpenter, seeing this, pulled out his carv¬ 
ing-gear, and carved the log into the shape 
of a woman, life-size and exquisitely beau¬ 
tiful. The painter next took his brushes and 
colored and or ted the figure till it shone 
as brilliantly iair as a goddess. Thou the 
cloth-merchant opened his packages, chose 
the finest silks and embroidered robes, and 
dressed tho figure in his choicest drapery. 
The jeweler took gemB, car-rings, necklaces 
and spangles, and all such things, and be¬ 
decked the figure with them. Last of all, 
the figure was endowed with life. I do not 
take on me to explain how that came about, 
but it was the fact!” 
“No more do I,” said the lamp; “but, 
pray, go on. J bate digressions 1" 
“ When,” continued the prince, “that ex¬ 
quisitely beautiful being burst into life, all 
the four fell violently in love with her, and 
eaeii wished to make her his wife. 
“ * Why, I shaped that matchless figure,’ 
said the carpenter. 
“ ‘And I bestowed on her that blooming 
complexion,’ retorted tho painter. 
“ ‘And 1 robed her,’ exclaimed the mer¬ 
chant. 
“ ‘But what are your choicest robes to tho 
costly gems which were my gift? A woman 
is of little account without jewels,’ cried tho 
jeweler. 
“Thus they went on clamoring and dis¬ 
puting. Now, Olamp! who was to be de¬ 
clared the rightful owner?” 
First the lamp said one and then another, 
giving reasons—and whatever the lamp said, 
the prince contradicted. The dispute wax¬ 
ed hot and furious, but seemed never to 
come nearer to an end. 
Tim princess heard all the dispute, ami 
held her peace. At last she could hear to 
keep silent, no longer. So she cried, “ You 
aro both silly! The true owner was none of 
the four, but the keeper of tho rest-houso, 
for to him the wood she was made of belong¬ 
ed! 
“Ah! yes,” said the prince, “you aro in 
the right, my princess! And now that you 
have spoken, let me claim my reward and 
take you for my wife!” So they went be¬ 
fore the king, who was enchanted with the 
cure, and they were married straightway 
and lived happy ever aft erward—at least it 
is said that 1 he princess never gave her hus¬ 
band any cause after marriage to reproach 
her for too persistently holding her peace. 
-♦♦♦- 
THE LITTLE ROMANCE. 
M. De Fontanille had quitted Gascony, 
to lead at Pai*is t he joyous life of a bachelor. 
Loving all the pretty t hings of this world, 
he kept his adorat ion for pretty little feet, 
so he busied himself in making a collect ion 
of all t he darling slippers which had merited 
his enthusiasm, and he wore always over his 
heart the gay satin shoe of his most receut 
love. Business called him to Strasbourg. 
There ho encountered, in a drawing-room, 
set up ou t he gilt Sphinx of au enormous 
Gothic andiron, a living foot, —smart, 
charming,—of admirable purity of form, and 
not larger or thicker than a biscuit a lacil- 
tcre . Astonished and ravished at the same 
time, M. de Fontauiile procured an intro¬ 
duction to the mother of the damsel with 
that delicious little foot. He saw it every 
day, and became impassioned with it, till 
discovering that a provincial shoemaker, 
called in to make a new shrine for his idol, 
was waiting below for orders, be took fright 
lest the craftsman should bruise, wound, or, 
most dreadful of all, dishonor it by giving it 
a corn. His disquietude was fearful, insup¬ 
portable ; and in order to save that little 
Chef-d’oeuvre of which ho wished to become 
lord aud master, while making it his god, he 
offered up to it his mime, his heart, and his 
hand! He was accepted, and after his mar¬ 
riage M. do Fontauiile went nearly every 
year to Paris in order to have made, under 
his own inspection, new shoes for his wife. 
—Memoirs of Madame Lafarge. 
- +-*■■*- - 
A man cannot possess anything that is 
better than a good woman, nor anything 
worse than a had one. 
-- 
The world cannot make up for the loss of 
a happy conscience. 
LONGINGS. 
I uono for strength, O I.ORD— 
For strength to rise to Thee; 
I long for right. O Lord— 
For sight thy face to see. 
1 long for life, O Lord— 
For life that Thou dost give: 
I long for grace, O Lord— 
For grace that life to live. 
I long for peace, O Lord— 
For pence that knows no end: 
I long for love, O Lord— 
For love that Thou dost send. 
I long for hope. O Lord— 
For hope In Thy groat love: 
I long for faith, O Lord— 
For faith to rise above. 
I long for real. O Loud— 
For /mil In Thy great cause : 
I long for light, O Lord— 
For light to lean) Thy laws. 
I long for Christ, o lord— 
For Cnttner who died for me: 
I long for rest, O Lord— 
For rest eternally. 
I long for Thee, O Lord— 
For Thee, for Thee X long! 
When shall I find In Thee 
The burden of my song ? 
Nova Scotia, April, 1873. Violet. 
-- 
MR. COLLYER’S LAST SERMON BEFORE 
THE GREAT FIRE. 
The organ was of sweet tone, and was 
very well played; something almost weird 
in the voluntary started the tears in Rachel’s 
eyes. Then the preacher rose in the pulpit. 
A large, strongly-built man, with full, cheer¬ 
ful face, iron-gray hair, and sympathetic, 
though piercing eyes, read the opening 
hymn, with a home-like earnestness, that, 
in an Instant, made them forget hint, While 
they were lost in the emotion of the lines. 
This direct simplicity controlled them even 
more when lie read the Scripture. The pas¬ 
sage was that in Luke, describing the un¬ 
fruitful fig-tree, aud the allusion to tho 
eighteen men who were killed by the tower 
in Siloam. The young people f<*lt. almost as 
if the eighteen were t heir own friends, and 
wondered why they lmd never before cared 
for their destruction. After prayer, the 
congregation sat silent, while a few plain¬ 
tive chords from the organ seemed to take 
up (he eager and intensely personal petition, 
it was really a relief that no one said a word 
for ttyoRH ovor-cbarflfcd minutes. And when 
the preacher did rise, with the hymn-book, 
and read the first verse of the hymn, with 
intense feeling, no one was surprised that he 
laid down the hook, and sat down, as if lie 
could read no more. 
“ I want a principle within, 
Of jealous, godly fear ; 
A sensibility to sin ; 
A puin to feel It near." 
After the hymn was sung, ho gave out his 
text. 
“Or those eighteen, upon whom the tow¬ 
er in Siloam fell and slew them; think yo 
that they were sinners above all men that 
dwelt 111 Jerusalem ?” 
Our young friends had never heard such a 
sermon. They' w r ero magnetized by the 
speaker’s personal power; they were led 
along in perfect sympathy by his simplicity; 
they were moved to intense feeling by his 
undisguised emotion. In t he beginning, this 
or that quaint illustration or suggestion, 
thrown in without any reserve in his curi¬ 
ous Yorkshire dialect, made them turn to 
each other sometimes with a sympathetic 
smile. But, before he was done, sympathy 
expressed itself rather by' pressure of hand 
with hand, or stillness even more rapt than 
over. For he was speaking now of the mu¬ 
tual and common life of men. How impos¬ 
sible for any one of us to live for himself, or 
to die for himself! Wo must not say nor 
think, that those are publicans, and we aro 
purer than they; do they sin. is it not be¬ 
cause tho atmosphere of their lives has been 
so tainted? and who is responsible for that 
atmosphere, if not we, among the rest ? Ho 
just alluded to the horrible frauds detected 
just then in tho Neiv York Bing, but it 
was without invective. From that allusion 
he passed <m to speah with int ense feeling 
of that average conscience of the nation, in 
which the conception or execution of such 
frauds could be possible; and he held man, 
woman and child to the duty of purifying 
that conscience and quickening the com¬ 
mon life. 
As our friends began their walk home, 
Nettie found herself walking with Mark 
Hinsdale. “If I lived within twenty miles 
of that malt,” she said, “ I would hear no 
other preacher. T would come here if I 
came barefoot. O Mark! what lives we 
lead. TIow can one fling away life as one 
does?" 
It seemed to Mark that ho had never seen 
tbe real side of Nettie beneath her merry 
play, before. 
June and Rachel were together. Horace 
with them. “I was never in a Unitarian 
church before,” said Rachel. “Aro they 
always so grave and silent as they leave 
church, and as they go home?” 
“I doubt if they always hear such ser¬ 
mons," said Horace. “These people seem 
to me to feel as I do; as if 1 never knew be¬ 
fore my duty to the world, or as if” and 
lie paused and shuddered—“as if we were 
all on the edge of a common calamity. 
“ Old and New ” for May. 
