THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
343 
MISS MOONSHINE. 
Miss Moonshine's years are twenty-two. 
Her ashen hair’s austerely braided; 
Her eyes are large and Cambridge blue, 
With hueless lashes scautly shaded, 
Her lips are pint, her tints are frail, 
Her nose is long and sentimental; 
She never laughs. Her smile is pale, 
Mysterious, nervous, rather dental. 
Her waist is straight, her figure flat. 
Her limhs are long and slight, and stately; 
She wouldn’t for the world be fat. 
She bears her hands and feet sedately. 
Her gowns are narrow, limp and plain— 
They seldom please the brutal critic; 
She wears a little look of pain— 
In fact, she's quite pre-Eaphaelitic. 
She doesn't care for life in town; 
She loves the sea, the brook that babbles. 
The autumn woods, the windy down. 
So in aesthetics deep she dabbles. 
The sunflower round her sprawls and stares; 
She gleams with quaiut nnd curious ouches; 
She sits in mediaeval chairs, 
And dreams on oncdiinval couches. 
The simpler moods of art and song 
She values merely as historic;. 
Her school'* the subtle, splendid, strong— 
The Phabo-Nmiro-Allegoric. 
The cult of it haa filled her brains 
With " Yea’s’’ and " Lo’s,” and “ Pcradventures,” 
With “ ruined roses," and " rerfect pains,” 
" Shadows of sound" and " sharp indentures." 
She raves of Leonard, and is keen 
For Botticelli’s budding glories. 
She sympathizes with Faustina, 
She thitike »lie understands Dolores. 
She knows Gudrun and Pharamond, 
Their poppies and their daffodillies. 
And with the Damozel is fond 
Of shining forth In stars and lilies. 
She plays because she likes to pose 
Her virgin self as Saint Cecilia. 
She longs to elotne in sounds the woes 
Of Robert Browning and Pompilia. 
And while her Wngner’a all divine, 
Rossini's but a thing of ballets, 
And EsBipeffand Rubinstein 
Are worth a wilderness of Halle’s. 
She flirts with science ,|u-t enough 
To make her mildly atheistic; 
Sho deems the Bible splendid stuff, 
But Home thing dull and euphuistic. 
She’s ail too prone to muse and sigh. 
To wish the ways of time very struighter; 
To weep that glad and sad mnst die, 
To quote the works of Walter Pater. 
. Her song of life's bh high in key 
As those Of Astruflammante. 
Her aim ia good, she burns to be 
The Beatrice of a later Dante. 
Perhaps the Fairy Prince may lay 
Her talent out at better usance; 
Meanwhile she fritters it away— 
A harmless, necessary' nuisance. 
f London Magazine. 
(Tbr ,^tor»-®fUfr, 
IN THE MUNIMENT CHEST. 
A TALE. 
I was tbree-and-twenty years of age, and I had 
not long been articled to my father, an old-estab¬ 
lished family solicitor i n that eoinrortable markets 
town of Orplngdean, Sussex, when 1 fell In love 
with Barbara Alnslelgh at our race-ball. Wo had 
a race-meeting and a race-ball at orplngdean, 
and we put on our gayest aspect at that ripe me¬ 
ridian of the year, when the corn-fields were 
growing tawny under the July sunshine. 
Miss Alnslelgh was the representative heiress 
and beauty of Orplngdean, Just as my father was 
the representative family solicitor or that pros¬ 
perous settlement. Site lived with her father In 
a noble red-brick house of the queen- A une period, 
shut In from the high-road by tall Iron gates of 
ponderous scrollwork, and surrounded on three 
bides by a garden—a real old-fashioned garden, In 
the Italian style, with stone terraces and marble 
balustrades, on which I lie peacocks used to strut 
and scream lu the quiet summer evenings; and 
our summer evenings were uncommonly quiet in 
the roads and lanes about Orplngdean. 
Mr. Alnslelgh was an elderly widower, and Bar¬ 
bara his only child. It is scarcely necessary to 
add that lie adored her, and that her path from 
Infancy to womanhood had been liberally be¬ 
strewn with those metaphorical roses which the 
hand of affection, when aided by the puree of 
wealth, cau scatter before the footsteps of a 
household idol. We have no longer our niche for 
the Penates; but Is there not lu every home-circle 
a god or goddess before whom the rest bow the 
knee in love, or fear? Miss Alnslelgh had the 
worship or lore, and she deserved it. 
I can scarcely trust myself to describe her. It 
Is so difficult to avoid hyperbole when one writes 
of one’s first love. I wi.ll only say that she was a 
noble English beauty—a dark-eyed, dark-hatred 
Juno, with the freshness of ilebo, and the In¬ 
stinctive grace of Diana. 
Mr. Alnslelgh had been for the last twenty 
years of his life a bibliomaniac; and dearly as he 
loved his only child, there were some who would 
have been at a loss to say whether his books and 
the binding of his books did not usurp the larger 
share of his divided affections. Never till I knew 
Barbara’s father did 1 know how much there may 
be In the outside of a book. The first day I ever 
spent In Mr. Atuslclgh's house was a revelation 
forme In the art of bookbinding. In the little 
world of Orplngdean It used to be said that if Mr. 
Alnslelgh had not been a very rteb man, he would 
have been ruined by his blhtlomanla. But, alas, 
Orplngdean folks bad the vaguest Idea of what 
sums can be squandered on rare old books and 
exquisite bindings. We knew that Mr. Vlnslelgh’s 
uncle bad lea him n handsome fortune, but we 
did not know that, it needs the millions of a Hutu 
or a Van do Weyer to support that expensive 
hobby-horse ou which the book-collector prances. 
Mr. Alnslelgh was faithful to his hobby ns ever 
husband to the partner of his choice. 
After the race-ball I saw a good deal of Miss 
Alnslelgh. My father, and his father and grand¬ 
father before him, had been received and liked by 
the Best people in and about Orpuigaeoo. We 
lived in the town, much to the disgust of my two 
sisters, who had been “ finished " at an expensive 
Parisian school, and who felt a sense or lutonso 
degradation in the near neighborhood of a coal¬ 
yard and a wine-merchant. But In this old house 
In the High Street, there were oaken wainscots 
and Bpacloua rooms, a square, paved hall, and a 
staircase with such ponderous carved banisters 
ftsarc rarely soon In modern dwellings; and my 
father refused to exchange the house in which 
he had been born for the finest and whitest of 
I hose new Italian villas, whose campanile towers 
twinkled In thcsuushlne ou the hills beyond Or- 
plngdcan. My sisters protested that the old tiotlso 
smelt of pema and Ink, and marveled that any body 
should bo so civil as to visit us In such an odious 
locality. 
People did visit ns, however. In spite of the 
coal-yard, which was exactly opposite our draw¬ 
ing-room windows; and in spite or the wluiMner- 
chant, our next-door neighbor, who seemed to 
make his arrangements with a foreknowledge of 
the days on which vve were to have dinner-par¬ 
ties, so surely did he receive wagon-loads of pon¬ 
derous coses and bumping hogsheads on that very 
day and on that very hour In which our guests 
assembled. My sisters decla red that this was Ills 
scheme of vengeance against, us for not, visiting 
him. " 1 daresay ho will contrive to drop a case 
ot Moot and Chaudon some day just as old Lady 
llctherslde Is stepping out, of that dilapidated 
brougham of hers,” said my sistrr Arabella; “ and 
then sho will go about saying that she almost 
met her death upon our do r-step, and no one 
will ever dare to come and see us again.” 
Miss Alnslelgh came to us very often, undis¬ 
mayed by the grimness of I he coal-yard, or the 
bumping of casks and champagne-cases on the 
pavement before our neighbor's storehouses. She 
had been pleased to take a fancy, as It Is called, 
to my Bisters, and they were delighted with her 
beauty and vivacity. I counted for less than 
nothing in the affair; hut I felt, nevertheless, 
that It was a very nice thing to have sisters; and 
there was no attraction In Orplngdean strong 
enough to tempt me away from our spacious, 
shabby, comfortable old drawing-room, when I 
knew that Barbara was coming i.o spend the 
evening with our girls. 
She came very often during the winter and 
early spring and summer ami autumn that sue- 
corded the race-ball, where she renewed her ac¬ 
quaintance with iny slsrers after their return 
from the Parisian seminary. Miss Alnslelgh had 
uever been to school. Was she not too precious 
a creat ure to be Intrusted to the care of strangers? 
She had been educated under her father’s roof, 
by an expensive governess, and by masters in¬ 
numerable, and the process had made her a vory 
accomplished young person; though rather 
superficial, according lu the dleturn of my sisters, 
who had learned Latin, and moral philosophy, 
and natural science, and a good many “ ologlsa," 
which Miss Alnslelgh had not been troubled 
with. 
One of the chief bonds of union between this 
young lady and my sisters was music. Barbara 
had a noble mezzo-soprano voice. My sister 
Arabella had a accent soprano, my sister Louisa 
an endurable contralto, while i had been en¬ 
dowed with that deep abdominal growl which 
may be considered either a lino bass or an In¬ 
sufferable nuisance, according to the taste or the 
listener. It was the fashion at orplngdean to ac¬ 
cept mo as a kind or amateur Labiache, and of 
the execrations that may have bccu heaped 
upon mo In secret I would rather not think. 1 
was very grateful to Providence tor my ability to 
growl when Miss Alnslelgh came, to its; for I was 
thus enabled to partake In those exercises of the 
voice which constit uted our musical evenings. Oh, 
what duets and trios and quartettes wo sang In 
the long winter evenings, while my father 
nodded behind his newspaper, and my mother 
nodded over her knitting! What gentle gales we 
blew, what merry men we uproused, what foxes 
we assisted in jumping over tamers’ gates, what 
cool grots wu inhabited, with what happy 
laughter we greeted each other's mistakes, and 
how like to the melody of the spheres Barbara’s 
fresh young voice sounded in the ears of one 
adoring listener I 
Y es, my doom was sealed. From that love at 
first sight with which I was stricken at the race- 
ball I might possibly have recovered. Is It not a 
faculty or youth to be stricken with such sudden 
fevers, and to recover from them, to lay down Us 
votive wreath at the feet o: one divinity to-day, 
and to pick up the poor trail blossoms, not so 
very much the worse ror wear, and carry them to 
another shrine to-morrow? This boyish rancy 
for a beaming smile, and dark tresses crowned 
with llowers, might have been Heeling as other 
fancies; but Horn the love thut grew upon me In 
the quiet, progress or our family Intercourse, there 
was no such tldog as recovery. We had a garden 
behind the old house hi the IIlgh-sLreet, a long 
grass-plot, very excellent for croquet, and a 
hazel-walk which seemed to have been made lor 
lovers, We heard the bumping of the casks and 
cases In a long covered yard next door, and on 
warm summer evenings, a faint odor or port or 
sherry was wont to pervade the atmosphere. 
But. we played croquet lndefatlgably, neverthe¬ 
less, In the summer afternoons and evenings, nor 
did Miss Alnslelgh acorn to join us In t.batdc- 
UgUtful sport, once, aud sometimes twice a week 
fill through the croquet season ; which, as 1 take 
It, extends from the first tolerably fine day In 
March to the last dry afternoon tn October. Wc 
walked In the hazel-walk sometimes, Barbara and 
I, while my slaters aud Mr. Doddorly, one of our 
curates, or Mr. Midvale, his brother In the 
Church, prepared the croquet ground, or collected 
the balls and mallets when (,lie sport w,is over. 
The faint stars used to twinkle sometimes In the 
summer sky above the hazel-trees, and It seemed 
to mo altogether very sweet and very poetical, 
despite the casks and cases bumping and rolling 
close at, hand, and the odor or fine-crusted port 
that mingled with the perfume of our roses and 
clematis. 
Nothing could have been more trivial and 
commonplace than our conversation on these 
occasions. It seemed as If wc were trivial aud 
commonplace by choice, for whenever we touched 
perchance upon any serious subject,—our hopes, 
our dreams, the things we loved, the plans wo 
had formed for the future,—we both shrank from 
the topic as if affrighted, and hastened with 
nervous precipitancy to return to some frivolous 
discussion about our lust discovery In the science 
of croquet, the new glee wo were learning, the 
curate's sermon of the previous Sunday, or the 
popular volume of travels or poems lately roeelved 
from the book-club. 
Wc loved each other. Barbara must have been 
dullest among women If she had failed to discover 
how fondly she was adored; and, without being 
a coxcomb, I could not choose but assure myseir, 
with unutterable delight, that 1 was something 
more than on ordinary acquaintance In the eyes 
of Miss Alnslelgh. And so summer and autumn 
went, by, and lio week passed In which Barbara 
and i did not meet— sometimes at my father’s 
house, somet imes at our quiet little Orplngdean 
dinner and tea parties; sometimes at, the old 
queen-Anno mansion outside the town, where 
Mr. Aluslclgh received us whe.never we liked to 
visit him, and where there was a croquet-lawn 
that had once been a Dutch bowling-green. 
Barbara’s father was very well pleased that Ills 
darling should have found pleasant friends In the 
immediate neighborhood, with whom sho could 
beguile the weariness of a country lire. lie paid 
us a ceremonial visit one morning In company 
with Ills daughter, and expressed to uiy mother 
and sisters his satisfaction upon the BUbject, In a 
gallant and stately speech. After this he invited 
our household to a ceremonial dinner, at which 
’.V\ met some of the county magnates, such a 
dinner as Mr. Alnslelgh only gave about twice a 
year. He wag a man who look very little pleas¬ 
ure In what is called society. The books which 
lined the walls of every room he lived in were Ills 
mends and companions. Ho existed for them, 
and lie loved them with a complete affection that 
left no room In his mind for any frivolous attach¬ 
ments. lie regarded his daughter with extreme 
tenderness, and he Indulged her every wish with 
unquestioning alacrity; but whether this beauti¬ 
ful, beaming creature, with the dark hair and 
blooming Checks, was quite as dear to him as Ills 
Boccaccio on largo paper, or his original edition 
of I'rquhart's Rabelais, is a question I should 
scarcely llko to decide. He loved her, and ho 
allowed her to do exactly as she liked. I have 
sometimes thought that he might have been a 
little less Indulgent to this charming daughter If 
his library had not held the first place la hls es¬ 
teem. 
Arid In all these pleasant meetings, In our cro¬ 
quet-parties aud musical evenings, our blow I ng of 
gentle gales, and uprouslng oi merry men, how 
did the future appear to me, Frederick Wilmot, 
ODly eon and heir t.o Andrew YVtlrnol, solicitor of 
High-street, Orplngdean? Could 1 for a moment 
consider myself a fitting pretender to the hand of 
Barbara Alnslelgh, beauty and heiress, future 
possessor of the grand old rcd-brlck mansion, and 
of the wide-spread Lug land appertaining thereto, 
to say nothing of that funded estate which Mr. 
Alnslelgh was said to have Inherited from his 
undo aud adopted father, Lucas Alnslelgh? 
Alas, I was fain to confess that my hopes were of 
the faintest order. 
i knew that my father had begun life with an 
ample fortune, and that ho must have added con¬ 
siderably to that fortune during the many years 
of a i rosperous professional career. I knew that 
he would admit me Into partnership whenever I 
proved m/sclf worthy of that honor. But what 
of that? Was It. to be supposed that Mr.AIns- 
lelgh would submit to BeehlB daughter the wife 
of a solicitor in a country town ? Would I submit 
to such a sacrifice, were I the father of such a 
daughter ? I asked myself that question, and re¬ 
plied boldly In the negative. Aud then I ordered 
iny young hopes-those fair children of the mind 
—off to execution, and felt myseir another Brutus. 
Yes; m the future loomed the black shadow of 
despair. I knew this, and yet wits happy. It Is 
so difficult to be unhappy when one Js four-and- 
twenty years of age, and In almost dally compan¬ 
ionship with the dear girl ono loves. My Barba¬ 
ra’s image filled my mlad by day and night; but 
I worked at my dryasduat labors In the office with 
a plodding Industry that delighted my business¬ 
like father. Ah, those simple, middle-aged peo¬ 
ple, how little they know of the dramas that are 
being enacted under their very noses! O, how 
Barbara’s bright image danced between the llucs 
of leases and covenants, deeds of assignments 
and bills of sale 1 and how her sweet lace peered 
out at me from the elaborate curves and nourish¬ 
es of Initial letters, like saint or siren In mediae¬ 
val manuscript [ 
Well, It was a sweet dream while It lasted. I 
was awakened by a crash; terrific as the cannon¬ 
ade that roared without the w ills of Brescia when 
Gaston do Folx mounted barefoot to the. breach; 
or as the simultaneous tumbling of fire-Irons that 
sometimes startled my father from his after-din¬ 
ner nap. 
Christmas was close at hand, and I was looking 
forward to several parties at which Barbara and 
T were to meet.. The shadow looming In the re¬ 
mote future seemed more than usually remote at 
tills period. My sisters made merry with mo on 
the subject of my devotion to Miss Alnslelgh; for 
It is the property ol Bisters to bo disagreeably 
acute upon these occasions. I endured their badi¬ 
nage with good humor; for though they asked 
me If It was likely that, a country town solicitor 
COUld aspire to the hand ot a beaut s arn^ heiress, 
their tone seemed to mo to Imply that they did 
not think my case utterly hopeless, and I took 
comfort rrom their Idle discourse. 
Miss Alnslelgh made her appearance unexpect¬ 
edly at our nine o'clock tea one evening In De¬ 
cember, when my father and mother were en¬ 
gaged at an old-fashioned dlnnerand whist, party. 
My sisters wore chattering by the fire, nnd I was 
sitting apart pretending to read, and thinking of 
Barbara, when I heard a carriage stop In the 
street below. I hurried to the window, scarcely 
daring to hope that, I should see Miss A Insleigh’s 
smart Utile brougham. 
I did see that admired vehicle, and throe min¬ 
utes afterwards Barbara was In the room, shawled 
and furred, and looking unusually pair; In the 
light of our wax-candles. My father cherished an 
antipathy to gas, which I have since learned to 
respect. 
"Why, Barbara, this Is quite a delightful sur¬ 
prise!” cried my slater Louisa. “Come to my 
room, dear, and lake off your things. Of eourso 
you have sent, the brougham hack ?” 
“No, dear," MIbs Alnslelgh faltered, In tones 
very different from those wc hail been used to 
hear from her lips. “1 can’t, stay l^r to-night,. 
Papa has a friend with him. See, 1 have come 
out, In my dinner-dress, I made an excuse for 
papa and his friend to take coffee alone; and no 
one but Emma and Phillis Trotter know that 1 
have come out. 1—T only enme to say a few words 
to you, Louisa, about, something that has happen¬ 
ed—at home.” 
She seemed on the pointer bursting Into tears, 
and her grief smote mo to the quick. I was has¬ 
tening to console the object, of my adoration, 
when Louisa bustled her out, of the room, and- 
Arabella followed, both girls pleased wll h the ex¬ 
citement of tho situation, and utterly indifferent 
to iny agonies. For hair an hour r paced the 
drawing-room tn anguish unspeakable; but at 
the cud of that time tho three girls returned; 
and Louisa, who was not such u very obnoxious 
creature as sisters go. told me that she had ob¬ 
tained Miss Alnsloigh's permission to tell me the 
trouble that oppressed her. 
“You ought to know almost, as much about the 
law as papa hy this time,” said Louisa, “ and you 
can most likely explain poor Barbara’s position.” 
“It Is net myself T tbiikaof,” exclaimed Barba¬ 
ra, half crying. “Poverty would not seem so 
hard to me; but papa—he la so refined; Ills tastes 
are so expensive—a sudden reverse would kill 
him. And he will lose all—even his books, per¬ 
haps—If that dreadful paper Is what It seems to 
be.’’ 
“Sudden reverse dreadful paper!” I Implored 
tho young lady to be more coherent. 
“I—T have found a will, of my great-uncle Lu¬ 
cas Alnslelgh's, that, makes papa a pauper,” she 
said; and thereupon produced a yellow-looking 
document on a couple of sheets ot Bath post. 
I was well acquainted with the circumstances 
of Miss Alnsdelgh's family. William Alnslelgh, 
her father, had Inherited the estate, which was 
not entailed, from his unci©, by virtue or a win, 
dated some years berore that gentleman’s death, 
and Immediately after his quarrel with Ills only 
child, a daughter, who had married a certain 
James Dashwood, a landscape painter of some 
talent hut ot no position, against, her father's 
wish. The young lady and her husband disap¬ 
peared almost, Immediately after the marrtago. It 
was supposed they had gone to America, where 
the painter had friends. Lucas Alnslelgh felt the 
blow keenly, but, preserved an obstinate silence 
upon the subject of his grief. He publicly an¬ 
nounced his Intention to leave all he possessed to 
his eldest nephew, William Alnslelgh, and he ex¬ 
ecuted a will to that elfeuL, which document was 
drawn up by my father, and remained In Ills pos¬ 
session till Lucas Alnslelgh's death. 
Thu will Barbara showed me was dated a week 
before the testator’s death, the date of which 
event i perfectly remembered, it was witnessed 
by a certain Rachel Coles and Andrew Hardwlok, 
both of which names were strange to rne. The 
will seemed a good one. The body and signature 
were In the same hand, it left the bulk of the 
testator’s fortune to Margafet Dashwood, late 
Alnslelgh—at that time supposed to bo living 
somewhere lu the i nlted States—most probably 
New York—and to Barbara's rather only five hun¬ 
dred u year froth funded property. 
The testator entreated his nephew to pardon 
this sudden e,hange ot resolution. He felt the 
hour of death approaching; and as that hour 
drew nearer, bla stubborn heart softened more 
and more to his poor child, and he felt himself 
bound to make her all possible reparation for Ills 
un kindness. 
This was the tenor of the document. I read It 
hurriedly at first, In my excitement, and then 
caretully, but l could see no legal flaw. 
rP 
3 
