THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
I 
sion. “ I am already despicable enough; do not 
render me more so.” 
She wrenched her hands from him with a sud¬ 
den, violent effort, and then, swiftly and lightly 
as a startled fawn, she fled up the little garden- 
path, and he was alono. 
Lord Almane rose from his kneeling posture 
with mingled feelings. He had never cared for 
Cora as much as when, in her wounded pride and 
love, she had turned upon him with bitter re¬ 
proach, and had upbraided him for ills betrayal 
of her trust. lie know now that no woman had 
ever touched his heart as this girl had done, and 
that he desired to retain her love with a flerce de¬ 
sire he bad never felt before. His career as a 
lady-killer had been a very successful one ; he 
could look back on many a heart lightly won and 
lightly lost; on many a high-born, dainty lady¬ 
love whose smiles he had basked in for a time, 
until he wearied of the petty game and turned to 
fresher sport. The last ten years were hardly 
pleasant ones to look upon. 
He had entered upon life the possessor of a no¬ 
ble unsullied name and a great fortune, the lat¬ 
ter of which was seriously impaired; to the for¬ 
mer, if he had not disgraced it he had added no 
luster. Fora moment he almost wished he could 
recall the past, with Its faults and follies, and win 
bick the years of reckless expenditure which had 
rendered his marriage with a rich wife impel a- 
tlvely necessary for the preservation of the estate 
which had .descended to him clear and free from 
debt. 
The story he had told Cora with such pathetic 
earnestness was but a partly true one. George 
Leeson’s words were more correct; he had 
“ wooed and won his cousin, and she was one of 
the richest heiresses of the day." But she was 
as he had said, fair and gentle, and had loved 
him, poor child, with a tenacity and ardor 
which would have perhaps wounded her to death, 
had she not deemed her love requited. 
As he went slowly back towards the house up 
the narrow path over which Cora’s little feet had 
fled so rapidly, he thought over all these things, 
and the retrospect was hardly a satisfactory 
one. 
A light touch on bis arm made him start from 
his reverie, and looking up hastily, he perceived 
a dark figure at his side, which the semi-darkness 
prevented him for a moment from recognizing. 
—To be continued. 
-- 
MY POSTER'S DAUGHTER. 
" Bon Jour, madam?; any letters for mo to¬ 
day V” asked my friend Jules of the porter's wife, 
as we descended from the three rooms and kitch¬ 
en we occupied, and were wont to call our ap- 
parlments. It is true they were au stxieme, but 
n’ import? ; they were light aud airy, and from 
the windows a beautiful vista of house-tops and 
chimney-pots, with the Pantheon and the pa¬ 
vilions of the Louvre, met our gaze. 44 Any let¬ 
ters?" repeated Jules, as Madame Jacques, the 
portress, replied to his salutitlon. 
The good dame smoothed down her apron, ad¬ 
justed hereap, and having assumed an air of pro¬ 
found woe and commiseration, produced a letter, 
deeply edged with black. 
“ Ah, 1 fear monsieur will have bad news," said 
the little woman, “ for I am sure such letters al¬ 
ways te)l of some one’s death.” 
Jules took the letter, and was soon deeply en¬ 
gaged in reading its contents. 
“ Read it, man ami, and tell me shall I laugh or 
weep,” said he, having read the latter, and hand- 
lnglt to m°. 
"My deer aunt,” he resumed, " peace be with 
her, whom I have not seen ror ten years, has died, 
therefore should I weep; but she has left me ten 
thousand francs a year. Therefore I shall nei¬ 
ther weep nor laugh; so wo will dine at the 
* Trois Freres and drink to my good aunt’s rest 
In their famed Burgundy, for It was her favorite 
wine, and--" 
“ Good mornlDg, mamma ; how delighted I am 
to see you,” cried a sweet voice at the door of the 
lodge, aud lu another minute the speaker was in 
the armi of Madame Jacques. 
My dear child is it you ?” exclaimed madame; 
" well, well, who would have thought of seeing 
you back so soon ! It is my little Marie, mes¬ 
sieurs,” said the portress, her little eyes twink¬ 
ling with pleasure in answer to our mute in¬ 
quiries. 
Marie turned, and, bestowing on us a roguish 
glance, made us a profound bow. 
“ Come, come, Jules,” Raid I, grasping his arm, 
for he stood rooted to the spot, gazing at the 
blushing Marie, 44 come, man ami, I long to taste 
the Burgundy,” said 1, fairly pulling him to the 
door. 44 Good morning, ladles,” I added, and we 
were on our way down the street. 
" I verily believe you have fallen lu love,” I con¬ 
tinued. “ Come, old fellow, It won’t do for Jules 
de Quenllle, with ten thousand francs a year, to 
fall In love wltn a porter’s daughter. But Marie 
Is handsome. Hid you notice the bewitching eyes 
she had ?—and such teeth I and as for her hands, 
they were as small and white as those of a duch¬ 
ess. I am sure she has a flue foot and ankle, 
for her figure la perfect. But I forgot to congrat¬ 
ulate you on your good fortune, Jules. Why, what 
Is the matter ? You are In the clouds, mon chcr” 
“No, no, not In the clouds,” said Jules. “ I 
“ I was thinking, that Is—yes—I was thinking of 
my poor aunt. But Mademoiselle Marie Is bead 
tlful; you are right; It la a pity she is a portei a 
daughter." 
Having honored the memory of the deceased 
aunt In a glass of Burgundy, we drank to Marie, 
and we spoke of Marie, and Marls )t was Tor the 
whole evening. Even the petit von with our cafe 
was emptied In Marie’s honor. 
Alas, my poor friend! I saw he was badly off 
when, for the twentieth time, the next morning 
he descended the six etages to see If there were 
any letters; but Marie was not there, and mad¬ 
ame wju* out, so Monsieur Jacques kept house, 
and Jules' pride would not permit him to ask tho 
old porter concerning her. He was proud, was 
my friend Jules; of a good family in the provin¬ 
ces, he had been brought up to regard good birth 
as oue of the essentials which a wife must pos¬ 
sess. It Is thus with all Frenchmen; notwith¬ 
standing the many democratic principles they 
possess, pride or family Is with them os striking 
as it was under Louis XVI. Though in the ordi¬ 
nary intercourse of life they forget or lose sight 
of these principles, yet when the question oi mar¬ 
riage Is discussed they revive In all their pristine 
force. 
“Yes, num ami,” said Jules, laying aside his 
pipe, and smoothing his luxuriant moustache 
and beard, “ now that I am a rich man I feel it a 
duty I owe my family to marry. But my wife 
must be of good family; aud Marie is not. I 
know what you would say; you Americans, when 
you fall In love, forget all social distinction, but 
we French have more firmness, and can conquer 
our feelings. We marry for our family, and we 
grow old and feel happy that we have done a good 
action; this is true greatness. You Americans 
cannot comprehend it.” 
“ Then you’ll forget Marie,” said I, “ and won’t 
see her any more ?” 
“But l will see her again,” he replied, “and 
only to speak to her, that I may forget my un¬ 
fortunate penchant; for you know an Illiterate 
woman disgusts me. aud I am sure she Is without 
education.” 
An hour afterwards as I passed the porter’s 
lodge on my way to the post-office I saw my 
friend engaged in an animated conversation wlih 
Marie. 
“Are you disgusted with her, Jules?” I asked 
on my return that evening. 
“I am more In love than ever,” he replied; 
“she is as well-informed and accomplished as she 
Is beautiful; hut. what would my father say ?—she 
Is but a porter’s daughter.” 
“ An,” thought I,” he thinks of what his father 
would say; assuredly she has gained one point: 
she has conquered Ms own pride.” 
Thus the week passed. Marie was only to be 
seen In the afternoon; she dressed in a style 
much above her station, I thought, hut she was 
such a perfect lady that one lost sight of this 
apparent incongruity. My friend was perfectly 
enraptured; he spoke and thought of nothing but 
Marie. The merits of my own sweet little be¬ 
trothed were quite eclipsed, or rather never men¬ 
tioned, for when at times I would endeavor to 
speak of Lizzie I was interrupted aud bored with 
the name of Muric. 1 could not blame my friend 
nor be angry with him, for heretofore Lizzie’s 
name anil merits had formed the staple of our 
evening's conversation. 
One evening we returned home earlier than 
usual, and were surprised to hear the sound of a 
female voice singing in our rooms. We stopped 
and listened at the door. It was a love song from 
the opera of the Pre aux eleres, a favorite of my 
friend's. 
How beautifully she sang I—with what style 
and execution! She was a finished artiste. We 
stopped at Cue door until the last note bad died 
away and was succeeded by a lively vale?. Then 
we entered. 
“ It Is Impossible! It can’t be!” cried Jules. 
But It was Marie, who, rising from the piano as 
we entered, Btood suffused with blushes. 
“ I beg your pardon, gentlemen, for my pre¬ 
sumption In entering your rooms,” she said; “ but 
madame was here arranging them, and I came up 
to keep her company.” 
Madame’a head, with her twinkling, mischiev¬ 
ous little eyes. Just then peered forth from the 
adjoining room, as If in proof of Marie’s state¬ 
ment. 
“ No presumption whatever, mademoiselle; It 
Is an honor,” said Jules. “ But I beg you will once 
more sing my favorite song.” 
The sun had long since cast Its last rays on 
Montmarte, and madame had a dozen times 
risen to go, and still Jules and Marie were at the 
piano. My friend was an accomplished performer 
on the piano, and an enthusiastic admirer of 
music. They sang duets and solos without num¬ 
ber, and when at last Madame Jacques said she 
must go, It was with regret they parted. 
The morrow was Sunday; we slept longer than 
usual on that day, amt ten o'clock had sounded 
from a neighboring st eeple when Madame Jacques 
entered the room with two letters, one for Jules 
and one for me. Mine was from Lizzie; she was 
educated In France, and she told mo that she In¬ 
tended paying a visit to an old school-fellow of 
hers, Mademoiselle Ernond, who resided at the 
Chateau de Beauville, near Rouen; and, further, 
that Bhe expected me to pay her an early visit 
there. I could bring my 41 double,” thus she 
called my friend, with me. I Jumped out of bed, 
delighted at the prospect of seeing Lizzie so soon, 
and hurried Into Jules's chamber. I found him 
Intently occupied with a little rose-colored billet. 
44 Wuat, a ottiet-doux /” said I. “Pray who 
thus honors you, Monsieur Jules ?” 
lie handed me the note; the writing was deli¬ 
cate and ladylike. 
“ Monsieur,” thus it ran, 44 1 have to thank you 
much for tiro honor and pleasure you have 
afforded me by your pleasant society. I leave 
Paris tills morning, and have no time to bid you 
adieu. Receive, therefore, monsieur, my best 
wishes, and believe me, with respect, 
“Marik.” 
44 Well, it Is had news, mon ami," said I; “but 
if you love her, you must find out from madame 
where she Is gone, and follow her.” 
“Ah, madame won’t tell me her address,’ re¬ 
plied Jules. “ She says Marie has forbidden her 
to do so. She says she Is gone to Join the family 
with whom she resides In Normandy.” 
“But this ts superb I” I exclaimed. “Road 
what Lizzie says. We will be off on Thursday 
morning, and having seen Lizzie, I will tell her of 
your love affair, and I am sure she will aid you, 
for a woman’s wit Is sharper than man’s." 
Thursday evening found us located In the hall of 
the Chateau de Beauville. The first raptures of 
my Lizzie were over, and we were seated near 
the lire which burned In the huge chimney. 
Jules was occupied with Lizzie's friend, Madem¬ 
oiselle Ernond, while the rest of the family were 
variously engaged In other parts or the chateau. 
I had determined to apeak to Lizzie of Jules’ 
love affair at the earliest, opportunity, and this 
opportunity now presented Itself. How her eyes 
sparkled while I narrated the story and described 
Marie! I thought she was amused at the Idea of 
the struggles between pride and love that my 
friend had undergone. 
I had scarce finished Bpeaklng when Madem¬ 
oiselle Ernond rang; and when the servant ap¬ 
peared, she desired him to ask Marla to come to 
her. 
“Shets my companion," she said, smiling, to 
Jules; “a very beautiful and Interesting girl, I as¬ 
sure you; but unfortunately, she Is only a por¬ 
ter’s daughter.” 
What! could wo have thus fortunately found 
M arle without a day's search 7 Yoa, sure enough, 
the door opened and there stood Marie. 
Demure and humble enough was her greeting 
to us, but her eyes sparkled with an Irrepressible 
fire that strangely affected me; I could not com¬ 
prehend her. As lady’s companion, she occupied 
a seat ut table, and I noticed the servants treated 
her with marked respect. 
I need not say with what rapidity the week al¬ 
lotted for our stay had nearly passed. On all 
possible occasions Juies was the attendant of 
Marie, and he did not escape the Jests and laugh¬ 
ter of the company on this account; but he boro 
them with extraordinary meekness and coolness 
for one so proud and hot-blooded as I knew him 
to be. 
One day Lizzie and I were seated In an arbor 
In the garden; she had consented to fix on an 
early day for our wedding, and we were discuss¬ 
ing our marriage arrangements, when suddenly 
we hoard footsteps approaching, and Jules say, 
“ Nay, Marie, believe me, 1 love you truly and 
dearly; can you return my love, and be my 
wife?" 
“ Can youthen really sacrifice your principles, 
and brave your father's displeasure, by marrying 
a porter's daughter?” she asked. 
“ Trust me Marie, my false pride Is all gone,” 
ne replied. “ I love you devotedly, and ask you 
to be my wife.” 
The answer I could not hoar for they had passed 
on toward the chateau. 
44 Well, Jules, I involuntarily heard your decla¬ 
ration of love to-day," said I, when the family 
had retired for the night. “ What answer did 
you receive?” 
44 Congratulate me, my friend,” hereplled. 44 She 
loves me—she told me so; but. she could give no 
positive answer about, the marriage, she said; 
she must speak to her friends first—It Is a duty 
she owes them.” 
The next morning at breakfast the unplcuslog 
intelligence was given us that Marie had left the 
chateau, and left nothing to tell her whereabouts, 
or her reasons for doing so. 
Mademoiselle Ernond appeared rather offended, 
but forgot her Jll-humor when she was told that 
her cousin, Mademoiselle de Beauville, had just 
arrived. 
The sadness which had seized poor Jules when 
he heard of Marie’s departure was noticed by all, 
and there was many a laugh at his expense, when 
the door opened, and Mademoiselle de Beauville 
was announced. Could It bo possible ? Why, the 
Jady who entered was certainly Marie. 
“ Jules, Jules," I cried Involuntarily to my 
friend, who had forgotten tils accustomed polite¬ 
ness, or did not hoar the lady announced, for he 
remained at the table without turning, “Jules, 
is not this Marie ?” 
Before he could rise from his chair she stood 
before him, and gave him her hand. “I have 
spoken to my friends,” she said, “ and they are 
satisfied, Jules; therefore 1 will be your wife.” 
In an Instant she was In his arms, closely clasp¬ 
ed to his heart. 
44 But they announced Marie as Mademoiselle 
de Beauville,” I said to Lizzie. 
“ Yes, It is true, Monsieur,” cried Marie, freeing 
herself from J ules’ embrace. “ 1 am the heiress 
de Beauville, and not the porter’s daughter." 
“How could you impose on our credulity lu 
such a manner?” 1 asked. 
“Madame Jacques is my foster-mother,"she 
replied, 44 and she calls me her daughter. When 
l met you It was an accident, and inadamo hav¬ 
ing called me her child, I determined to allow 
you to retain the belief that such was the case, 
for I felt Interested in Jules, and soon found he 
loved me; and having discovered that you were 
the lover of my old friend Lizzie, I made a plan to 
meet you here and give Jules a trial to test his 
affection for me, for I have learned from Lizzie to 
wish for a husband that would love me for my¬ 
self.” 
She hid her blushing face In Jules’ bosom for a 
moment, and then asked, 41 Have you nothing to 
Bay, Jules ? You won’t be angry with me for the 
deception I have practiced, will you?” 
44 No, no Marie, I am too happy,” he replied. 44 1 
only ask that Llzzle’B bridal day may be also ours.” 
And thus It was settled. Jules and I are now 
both happy husbands; and when the late war 
broke out, Jules and his wife came to reside near 
us In New York. j. f. 
--- 
WASHINGTON LETTER. 
MART GAY ROBINSON. 
Southern Orators - Society Pleasures— 
Distinguished New Yorkers. 
Washington, D. C., March 1, 1878. 
A great day at the Capitol has just, passed—tho 
climax of the Silver Bill. The first Interest cen¬ 
tered In the House; Its floor, galleries, and door¬ 
ways were black with tho crowd; a third of them 
could neither hear nor see, but they could say 
“ we were there,” and people go far to do that. 
Tho President's veto was read. A silence like the 
grave fell over all the House, then they took up 
the bill, voted, and passed It by a large majority 
over the President’s head. When tt was an¬ 
nounced there was applause, stamping, and rap¬ 
ping such as I do not remember having heard 
before. 
The galleries at once thinned out; members of 
the House left; business was resumed, but no one 
seemed inclined to heed It oxceptthe lew who had 
speeches to make and those who came to hear 
them. There Is no Congressman without his Hue 
of followers who will always be on hand to listen 
to his speeches, and applaud at the right mo¬ 
ment. 
J. N. WituAMs of Alabama, made a good plea 
for resuming the pension ot the soldiers of the 
Mexican war. He read his plea and had all the 
discomfort of the going out of those who followed 
the Silver Bill over to the Senate where It was 
taken up almost Immediately. If a man can talk 
well with Inattentive listeners,he has a rare gift; 
but our Southern friends are Invariably noted for 
tbelr eloquencespeech-making is their glory. 
Honorable Alexander H. Stevens can make the 
House pause In one ot Its noisiest performances, 
so strong Is the hold of hta mind and his Infirmity 
upon the other members. He looks almost like a 
dead man, pale and wan as be works his three¬ 
wheeled chair up and down—sits with his hat and 
glasses on, while often congressmen stoop down 
to talk with him. 
Hon. Cuari.es o. Hooker, of Mississippi next 
spoke for the Pension Bill. He has but one arm, 
the other was lost In the Confederate service. 
He too Is a born orator; the right arm Is all- 
sufllclent for his expressive gestures, his large, 
broad face flushes with intense excitement, a 
white moustache and black hair make him con¬ 
spicuous and easily remembered. In spite of 
thinned floor and galleries, ho la complimented by 
the silence of all who are present. It Is a great 
success when a man speaks so people will stop to 
listen ; he has then half-gained his cause. 
Leaving the Representatives speaking on the 
Pension Bill, we find the Senate in Its more digni¬ 
fied and solemn way repeating the scene Just 
passed la the House. Every spot In the smaller 
hall of tho Senate Is filled. Senator conelino 
has a party of ladles In the diplomatic gallery 
which is usually empty and blue, for foreign 
diplomats care little about our Congressional 
doings and are seldom there, and tho ruLe la their 
gallery must not admit any one else. The Repre¬ 
sentatives we missed from the House, are all 
here. Long soras from side rooms have been 
brought In and when the ayes and nays are taken 
every man Is watched to see how he v otes. They 
are pretty surely pitted South and West against 
North and East. When the Sliver Bill Is passed 
one rejoices while another side groans. Tho 
amendment which Is some panacea to those who 
opposed the bill Is spoken of by the other side, as 
an act which future legislation can annul. The 
couutry has been tipping over Into an abyss so 
long and has not gone clean over, we begin to be¬ 
lieve It will weather all storms. 
From the strife ot Congress we turn to the 
glare and glitter of society which now flames up 
with its last brilliant efforts. This week witnes¬ 
ses the last receptions In many high quarters. 
Cabinet day, K Street, was gay with equipages; 
beautiful ladles In charming costumes dazzled 
the eye and the ladles of the Elliott and Riggs 
Houses also held their final levees. Many fashion¬ 
able people go to Paris next month and use the 
intervening time to visit home, East, West or 
South. 
The President’s last evening reception was very 
brilliant. The Cabinet officers were all present, 
also Senator Dawes ot Massachusetts and Sena¬ 
tor Burnside. Mrs. Hayes with her lady friends, 
are pronounced by all very agreeable. Mrs. 
Hayes wore white silk plain, with velvet and 
silk striped fringe, lace, folds and plaltlngs richly 
trimming It, Secretary Ev arts walks as quietly 
and self-consciously about In a Presidential levee 
as If he were walking through a crowd on Broad¬ 
way. lie takes no note of anybody, seems busy 
looking at his thoughts and revolving them over 
and over. He is as emaclaLed us ever, and one 
would scarce believe that he lived In the midst of 
plenty. The thin, wiry people are reckoned 
among workers, and the angular Secretary Is sup¬ 
posed to bo the personification ot Industry, but 
overwrought energy is not the best. Ills physi¬ 
cian ought to prescribe more play and loss work, 
or he will never see a mellow old ago. 
Mr. Bierstadt, the artist, Is visiting at tUe 
White House. On sunny afternoons we see the 
Hayes ramily and their distinguished guest riding 
out through the pleasant suburbs, and at recep¬ 
tions the artist is an honored friend, pronoun ;ed 
by all a very handsome man. Among foreigners, 
one of the most curious physiognomies Is that of 
a gentleman who Is stepson of Pere Hyacinths— 
one of thoso German-French faces of Intense 
homeliness which you have to learn to like, as 
we like bitter when opposed to too much sweet. 
