DEC. 10 
Citcrxinj. 
THORNS AND EOSES. 
(Continued from page 818.) 
CHAPTER XII. 
Since the evening on which I had spoken to 
Nevil of the fancied change I had not seen 
him; but this did not alarm me, as I thought 
he would be staying with his mother rather 
more after having lately devoted so much 
time to me. 
I resolved without further delay to see Bran¬ 
don, and be put at rest for ever; as I had no 
opportunity of speaking to him in aunt 
Dorothy’s presence, I would seek him at his 
home, there being nothing unusual in my 
wandering through the forest, and possibly’ I 
would meet him. 
So this sunny afternoon rode out. Dia¬ 
mond, after his long rest, enjoyed the fresh 
air, speeding through the lane and over the 
cimmou in a wild gallop; and my spirits re¬ 
vived as I felt the wind against my cheek, 
and saw the beauty of Hummer. 
But when we neared our destination my 
heart sank again; though it was better to be 
straightforward with Brandon, and I could 
have no i since until 1 had spoken to him. I felt 
afraid. Why should I? Hu would clear him¬ 
self, and I should feel ashamed of having let 
the word of a stranger influence me against 
him. I left Diamond in charge of the lodge- 
keeper, and went towards the forest on foot. 
I remember as I walked slowly on how I 
had met Brandom first; after my return, how 
happy I had been, how little I had known of 
sorrow. To what was I going now? To hear 
him tell me of his father in his own kind way, 
or what? As 1 thought of him, his face with 
its look of sadness rose before me, and the 
horror of the bygone Spring days returned. 
The sorrow seemed to pass away as the 
outer world melted from my gaze, and the 
old mossy trees arched over me “ voiced with 
the voice of centuries.” I loved the forest; 
its stillness, its peace ai d freedom, were dear 
to me ; it was good to be hero alone in the 
holy of holies of earth’s temple. I leaned 
against the ivied trunk of a tree, and a wan¬ 
dering breeze swept over my head like the 
passing touch of a light, cool hand. I stood 
silent when Brandon appeared. 
“ So you are the trespasser, Kate ?” 
“ Trespasser ! I have a right of way through 
these woods from time immemorial.” 
“True ! Why didn’t you call at the house ?” 
“ I think I came here for peace ; the forest 
lias some soothing influence for me as it ever 
had.” 
“You loved it as a child,” he said, sup¬ 
porting himself against a gnarled trunk. “ Is 
aunt Dorothy well ? Any letters from Edith!” 
“ None ; she is not going to write again, I 
think.” 
“ And Nevil—how is he ?” 
“Very well. Are you wondering why I 
came ?” 
“Not I; you are so often here, and so fond 
of the woods. I was thinking of you when I 
heard Nero's bark ; but perhaps you want me 
for something.” 
“ Only to talk, Brandon.” 
“ Only to talk I” he repeated. “ What won¬ 
derful ‘ talks’ we two have had I No more 
shadows, I hope ? Talk of Nevil, or old days.” 
“ In old days I often came here, Brandon.” 
“Didn’t we pretend to be outlaws, and 
Robin Hoods, and Ivanhoes ? All pleasant 
memories belong to you, sister of my youth, 
and you alone can wake them. It is good to 
look back on bright hours.” 
“ Our early days were bright, brother. 
Even now you stand apart from all others to 
me. Like me, you love the past; like me, 
you recall its joys ; like me, you are an 
orphan !” 
He looked at me quickly, but I did not 
meet bis eyes. 
“ Oh, yes, Brandon ! And I love the past; 
1 love to trace, stop by step, my life and 
yours, for they were as one. You know all 
mine ; I know all yours save one part, which 
is ever veiled.” 
“ And what part is that ?” 
“You know all mine, and of all who came 
in it; I can speak to you of those dear to me 
whom I have lost—my father, my mother. 
You have spoken of your mother, but not of 
him. I cau remember seeing him before I 
went to school, and have often wondered 
why you never spoke of him. Was there 
something painful about bis death, dear, of 
•which you would not tell me ?” 
“Good Heaven !" 
Shall lever forget the instantaneous change 
—the look of fear, horror, and dismay, all blen 
ded in bis eyes ? Every vestige of color had 
left liis face, and for one moment he looked 
thus at me ; then, turning away, clasped his 
hands over his eyes with a sob of agony. 
What had I done ?—what had I said ? Trees 
and flowers melted into an indistinct mass ; 
the pain at my heart was so intense that I 
could hardly breathe ; fear and terror swept 
over me like a torrent. 
“ Brandon !” I cried, in a voice that startled 
myself, “ speak to me for mercy’s sake 1 Dear 
Brandon, only say a word ! ” 
He held out bis hand as though to bid me be 
silent ; but I could not obey him. 
“ Brandon, do speak I I did not know 
%vhat I was doing ! Only say you forgive 
me I” 
I looked at him with streaming eyes, but he 
turned now, still white, yet calmer : 
“ Forgive me, Kate. I should not have 
frightened you so, but I could hot help it ; I 
was—I-” 
“ Oh, don’t ? Only say you forgive me !” 
“ You did not know that you were touching 
a wound still bleeding, dear ; and I was wrong 
to let you see it. You did not mean to pain 
me.” 
Humbled and sorrowful I stood before him, 
the quiet words hurting me more than would 
have the bitterest reproaches. 
“ There was something about my father’s 
death of which I cannot tell you ; I cannot 
bear to speak of it. It is one of my secrets. 
Sister you will not ask more ; you will not 
speak of it again. You cannot know the 
feelings it wakens in my heart—shame, dread, 
remorse-” 
“ I wish I had died before I spoke of it, 
Brandon. I never wounded you until now.” 
“ Never mind,” he said, clasping my cold 
hand ; it is over, and we will say no more.” 
“You know I would not ask you from mere 
curiosity, or-” 
“ I know you asked me in your sisterly love 
and sympathy; but say no more. I shall never 
forgive myself for having frightened you so.” 
I leaned against the tree, and closed my 
eyes; never before had I seen Brandon so af¬ 
fected, and my hand had struck him, my 
words had so pained him—mine, whose life 
was made beautiful by his love ! How should 
we meet after this? With embarrassment, 
coldness, and restraint ? lie would look on 
me with something akin to dislike. Why had 
the hateful words escaped my lips ? Sisterly 
love and sympathy! My face burned with 
shame. 
“ I must go. Would you walk with me, 
Brandon ?’ 
For an answer he gave me his arm, and si¬ 
lently and sadly we passed through the forest. 
I did not speak until we reached the garden, 
and a brighter light shone upon us. 
“ Brandon, do not be angry 1 Oh, my 
brother, I had no thought, no intention ! Try 
to think so !” * 
He laid his hand on my shoulder, and bend¬ 
ing, he kissed my forehead for the first tune 
in his life. 
“ I need not try, my child. But you are 
making too much of this; it has passed for¬ 
ever, and shall be forgotten To bo angry 
with you is impossible. Nearly all have a bu¬ 
ried sorrow, and you unconsciously walked 
over the grave of mine, that is all. Not an¬ 
other word. I shall be at homo to-morrow or 
the day after.” 
I gave him my hand, and with the old kind 
words we parted. 
I had come to him in search of peace ; but I 
bore away another burden—another shade 
was added to my darkness ! T might huve 
known that he would keep nothing from me 
unless he had a strong motive for doing so ; 
and when he had shrunk from all mention of 
his father, in kindness I might too have been 
silent. How could I ever seek him again ? 
How speak again of the dear old days ? 
On arriving home I hastened to my room to 
efface the tear-stains, I threw off my habit, 
and thought, as I was thus occupied, over that 
scene. When the very mention of his father’s 
death had so completely shaken him, I could 
not have continued, and told him what I had 
heard. But—was this another proof of his 
guilt ? When my thoughts came thus far I 
stopped myself. From this hour I would ban¬ 
ish that story and all connected with it. I 
had made this resolution before, and hail 
broken it ; this time 1 would keep it, though 
my struggle were life-long. 
I went down stairs to aunt's parlor, to find 
Nevil alone, pulling the leaves from a yellow 
rose ; and overjoyed to see him, I hastened in 
“You’re dreadfully pale,” he said,; “and 
after a ride you shouldn’t be. I came to 
tell you something. I am going away.” 
“Going away, Nevil ? Will you be away 
very long ? You’ll write ?” 
“ Yes, but it is pressing business to which I 
must attend.” 
“Your mother will be lonely, but I shall go 
to see her; and your letters, dear, will be so 
precious.” 
“ Yes ; I must say good-bye to day, because 
I shau’t have time to call to-morrow.” 
Once again we had a “ twilight tea,” aun 
talking to Nevil, I watching the birds flying 
home across the sky; once again I walked with 
him down the long avenue, the scented wind 
ruffling my hair, and I pulled a deep red rose 
as we passed the fragrant bushes. When he 
said “ Good-night” I gave it him; he fastened 
it in his coat, and before leaving the garden 
looked back, waving his hand as I stood in the 
shadows. 
So we parted—our first separation—and I 
saw not our meeting ; it lay hidden in the 
mist of the future, and what it would be I did 
not know. 
To be Continued. 
for IPornox. 
CONDUCTED 15Y MISS KAY CLARK. 
MY TRUNDLE BED. 
As I rummaged through the attic, listening to the 
falling rain 
As it pattered on the shingles and against the win¬ 
dow pane, 
Peeping o'er the chests and boxes, which with dust 
was thickly spread. 
Saw I in the farthest corner what was once my trun¬ 
dle bed. 
So I drew It from the recess, where It had remained 
so long. 
Hearing all the while the music of my mother's voice 
In song, 
As she sang in sweetest accents what I since have of¬ 
ten read, 
" Hush, my dear lie still and slumber, holy angels 
guard thy bed.” 
As I listened, recollections that I thought had been 
forgot, 
Came with all the gush of memory rushing throng 
lng to tile spot; 
And I wandered back to childhood, to those merry 
flays of yore, 
When I knelt beside my mother, by this bed upon the 
floor. 
Then It was, with hands so gently placed upon my 
Infant head, 
That Bhe taught my llpa to utter carefully the words 
she said. 
Never have they been forgotten, deep are they In 
mem’ry riven, 
" Hallowed he thy name, oh ! Father, Thou who art 
In heaven.” 
This she taught me, then she told me of Its lmpor 
great and deep, 
After whleh I seemed to utter " Now I lay me down 
to sleep.” 
Then It was with hands uplifted and in accents soft 
and mild, 
Then my mother asked our Father, " Father, do Thou 
bless my child." 
Years have passed, and that dear mother long has 
mouldered 'neath the sod, 
And I trust her sainted spirit revels In the home of 
God. 
But that scene at Summer twilight, never has from 
meni’ry fled, 
And It comes In all its freshness when 1 see my trun¬ 
dle bed 
THE PRESENT MAN. 
A correspondent says: “ We fan put up 
with a good deal of simpering nonsense from a 
pretty girl.” You can, hey ? and how does 
that redound to the glory of man. What in 
the mental calibre of one who entertains such 
ideas ! Could a gentleman of intellect enjoy 
the society of a girl who hat nothing but her 
pretty face ? Can he feel that he has been 
paid for exerting himself to entertain one 
upon whom it is all lost. Cares he for no re¬ 
sponse, save perhaps a simpering “ why ain’t 
you awful, or “ you horrid nmu !” (for these 
words are heard in what is considered fash¬ 
ionably society,) and an empty hollow gig¬ 
gle, from between the beautifully outlined 
lips, which reminds one of cupid’s bow. We 
have met with those who so thoroughly enjoy 
thvmsel ves that no need ever arises for help 
from an outside source. To such, a com¬ 
panion like the one described would be a rich 
Vift- 
Our correspondent goes on to say that “ a 
pretty woman knows that she is so,” and asks 
is it not strange that she never knows when 
she is the other?'" and affirms that “ a homely 
damsel must deport herself with straight-laced 
decorum, or she makes herself ridiculous.” 
What a statement! How many of those who 
have adorned the literary worl d were hand¬ 
some? The sweet spirited and pure minded 
Cary sisters were far from possessing hand¬ 
some faces, but who can deny their being ra¬ 
diantly beautiful when lighted up by the soul- 
life that dwelt within and was always visible 
to one who looked into their eyes, so gentle 
and kind; no one would think of applying the 
word “ ridiculous ” to them. These do not 
stand alone ; we could mention such almost 
ad infinitum. 
But is it a fact that men prefer a pretty 
face and are ready to “put up”—for a lifetime 
remember!—with that which has only the 
one thing, beauty ; to one that is plainer, 
though crowned with an intellectual fore¬ 
head, has a bright soul-lit eye. and from whoso 
lips come words indicative of thought and 
culture, and whose mind is a storehouse of 
beautiful things. 
No ! no ! we are glad to believe that the day 
has not yet come when the masculine heart 
and mind can be satisfied to bestow itself 
where it cannot grow and receive nourish¬ 
ment. Take courage, homely damsel, you will 
be loved by the strong and noble, only see to 
it that you_have as much to give in return. 
DESCRIPTION OF CUTS. 
Figs. 552 and558 — Back and Front View 
of Girl’s Dress.—W e give cut of a dress 
for a girl from five to ten years of age, and 
Fig. 552, 
take pleasure in so doing, because we know 
how difficult it is for mothers to get the right 
kind of pattern, one that an old dress can 
be remodeled by, and made to look as good ns 
new. A princess dress can be converted into 
such an one as the cut describes, by a little 
ingenuity. When made from now material, we 
would suggest navy blue cashmere, and satin 
the same shade, using this for the puffed 
piece that forms the back anil front ; also, for 
pipings around the overdress or polonaise. 
Fig. 553. 
Another, somewhat more dressy, can be 
made of dark maroon, or wine color, with sat 
in same shade, using pink satin for pipings, all 
around, and a box pleating about one-half 
inch wide, when finished, around the bottom 
edge of skirt. 
Domestic (Bcotionuj 
CONDUCTED BY EMILY MAPLE. 
ECHOES FROM EVERY-DAY HOUSE. 
ANNIE L. JACK. 
Christmas Gifts. 
We have just been to the city and brought 
back some ideas regarding little gifts that 
everyone wants at the time of “good-will” 
near at hand. 
In one house where we made a call, the 
lady was very busy making up tidies as a 
present to a young housekeeper. The ©enters 
were of blue satin with wild rosebuds painted 
by hand. Next came an insertion of lace ; 
then a quilling of ribbon of the same shade 
as the satin, and a deep lace edging. The 
latter and the insertion can tie either hand¬ 
made or bought. A author friend was cover¬ 
ing a small table as a gift. The cover was 
crimson velvet, the border worked in crewels 
was white azaleas with tassels in white and 
crimson chenille. This wus an elaborate 
piece of work. A little girl was working 
very quietly at a satchel of velvet, for wear 
ing at the side, lined with satin, the only cost 
of the satchel being the cord ami clasp, as she 
had the velvet in her piece bag. She was 
also making a fichu of lace and velvet for a 
kind aunt. A young lady who hud charge of 
a library was using her spare moments work¬ 
ing in fleecy zephyr a white hood for her first 
neice, and a pair of tiny mittens to match. 
Whisk-holders are plentiful in the decora¬ 
tive art rooms, and easily made. If one has 
