MARCH 30 
THE 
A9- WEW-YORKER. 
ONLY ONE DAY. 
BY M. C. P. ASSONET. 
‘"Man's work’s from sun to sun; 
But Woman's work is never doue." 
[Old Proverb. 
There was a man who lived in the woods, 
And this you may plainly see; 
For he said he could do more work in a day 
Thau bis wife could do in three. 
“ So be it,” the (food wife said, 
“ But this you must allow,— 
That yon will work at home to-day, 
And I’ll (jo follow the plow. 
“ You must milk the pretty, brown cow, 
For fear she should ko dry; 
And you must feed the little fat pig, 
That lives in yonder sty. 
“ You must watch the speckled hen. 
Or she may lay astray; 
And you must wind the bobbin of thread 
That I spun yesterday,” 
Then the woman took the staff in hand, 
Anil went to follow the plow; 
Her husband took the shiniUK pail. 
And went to milk the now. 
Tiny she hinchod, and Tiny she fliuched, 
And Tiny she stuck up her nose, 
Then «ave the old man such a kick in the face 
That the blood ran down to his toeB ! 
“ Sob, Tiny! Ho, Tiny! 
My pretty brown cow stand still. 
If ever I try to milk you again, 
’Twill be against my will!” 
He went to feed the little fat pig 
That lived in ** yonder sty," 
And struck his head upon a beam, 
Which caused bis brain to fly. 
He could not watch the speckled hen, 
And so sbe laid astray j 
He forgot to wind the bobbin of thread 
His wife spun yesterday. 
The dinner to get, the table to set, 
The beds to make up smooth, 
The house to sweep, the bread to knead, 
“ Too much for him, in truth !” 
Dried apples to string, a patch to 6et on, 
These she said nothing about. 
“ Enough for a wcek.” in despair thought John, 
And he was no lazy lout. 
“ The windows to wash, th’ stove to make bright 
The beauB to put baking for Sunday; 
And all to be done before it comes night— 
Too much for only ono day !’’ 
So Jonathan saw, by the livbi of the moon. 
And the green leaves on the tree, 
That his wife could do more work in a day 
Than he could do in Hire.- ! 
[Woman's Journal. 
OH ! COUSIN CHARLEY. 
MARGARET LIVINGSTON. 
“Cousin Charley’s coming home!—Cousin 
Charley’s coming borne!” cried little, twelve- 
year-old Maud Bentley, darting breathlessly, full 
of the Important news, into tho breakfast-room. 
“Pa has Just had a letter. I heard him telling 
mamma, in the dressing-room, as I went In to 
kiss hn." 
ller elder slater, Kate, who presided at. the urn, 
changed color, and her heart began to beat fast; 
but she said not hing, an ommlsslon which ex¬ 
cited Maud’s indignation, 
“ Why don't you say something. Sister Kate ?” 
she cried, shaking her by tbe sleeve. 
“Are you not glad? If I were a boy, I’d 
hurrah.” 
“I’ll hurrah for you,” said Master Freddy, a 
youngster of eight, with his mouth lull of buttered 
toast. “ 1 don't remember Cousin Charley, hut 
they say he’s a brick. He’ll bring me, tnaybe, 
a big knife with twenty blades from New York! 
Jim Stanley has a stunner, that his father bought 
there for him. Hurrah!” 
“Freddy, dear," said Kate, mildly, “don't use 
such slang phrases, please. Gentlemen never 
do,” 
“Just so,” answered Freddy, coolly. “But, 
then, you see, I’m not a gentleman yet. I’m 
only a school-boy." And he went on stufiing 
himself with toast. 
Notwithstanding her assumed indifference, 
Kate’s heart was beating like a forge-hammer. 
T p to four years ago, when Cousin Charley had 
gone abroad to finish bis education at a Ger¬ 
man university, Kate and he had been all In all 
to each other, She was, at that time, nearly 
sixteen, and he four years older. Charley had 
been, as It were, brought up In the family, ror 
when his parents died he was only nve years 
old, and as his father had been Mr. Bentley’s, 
cousin, the boy had been committed to the lat¬ 
ter’s guardianship. All Charley’s holidays, 
therefore, had been spent at the Bentley’s; In 
winter at their town-house; In summer at their 
country seat. As Kate developed Into glrinood, 
he and she became Inseparable, no would 
have no other partner at tho children's parties 
they attended together In town. 1 n the country 
sue would i,o out with uo one else fishing, or 
rambling In the woo !s. It was one of those 
ehudish attachments at which the elders of the 
family smile good-naturedly, aware that they 
generally come to nothing. It began to look 
more serious, however, when, at twenty, Cous¬ 
in Charley still persisted lu his devotion. 
“ He is going abroad, however, for four years,” 
said Mr. Bently, when his wife expressed some 
anxiety on tbe subject; “and when he comes 
back, he will probably have forgotten Kate. 
Of course there Is no objection to Charley In him¬ 
self. He has a good fortune, and Is everything 
that ts desirable. But Kate, at least, Is too 
young to think of marriage.” 
Cousin Charley received a hint of Ills uncle’s 
opinions on this subject, and went away without 
any formal engaginout to Kate. It must be con¬ 
fessed she was surprised. But she remained 
true, nevertheless. A year after, when she began 
to go Into society, his Image still had such power 
over her that no one of her many suitors was 
able to surplant It. Thus she had reached tho 
age of twenty, and was still unmarried. People 
called her cold. Even her parents thought It 
odd, for they had long ceased to connect her and 
Cousin Charley together. 
But now we know why Kate’s heart beat so 
fast on that December morning; ana why, never¬ 
theless, she assumed such an air of unconcern. 
Cousin Charley, came and more than realize 1 
her maiden Ideal, for he was still as merry and 
kind-hearted as of old, with the most distin¬ 
guished manners superadded. But alas! for 
poor Kate, t here was no renewal of the old In¬ 
timacy. At tlielr first Interview she held back 
and Cousin Charley had little to say—In faot, 
seemed rather embarrassed. The secret was 
soon out. Kate had an old :school-mat,e who 
had come that day to spend the holidays with 
her, a beautiful, Juno-llke girl. The moment 
that. Li via R andolph entered the room, cousin 
Charley’s whole manner changed. It came out 
that lie a’d Llvla were old friends, and had spent 
most of t he preceding winter In Parks together. 
Kate was quite left out of the conversation. Nev¬ 
ertheless, she could not help admiring Cousin 
Charley’s quick wit, his eloquent language, his 
warm enthusiasm as to all things noble and 
good. 
“1 am nobody,” she said to herseir, with a 
sigh. “ lie forgets the old times altogether.” 
As the days went on, and Christmas drew near, 
this conviction became more tlxed. Cousin 
Charley came constantly to the house; but It 
was always with Llvla he talked. There seemed 
a complete understanding betwen them. She 
was Invariably In the drawing-room, awaiting 
his visit, and before he had been there long, she 
and he managed to be together on some distant 
sofa, whispering'. Kate could not help thinking 
t his was rude; but her heart, was sore, and she 
forgot that the same law cannot be applied to 
lovers as to others. Now and then Cousin Charley, 
as If recollect ing Ills good manners, would address 
himself to Kate, but. It was always tn a stiff, 
constrained way; and Kate Instinctively, answer¬ 
ed to the same cold and reserved fashion. 
Great, preparations were being made at the 
Bentley’s to celebrate Christinas and New Year. 
There was to be a dancing-party and a supper on 
Christmas Eve, and the dining-room was to have . 1 
suspended from a chandelier, a huge bunch of 
mistletoe; and woe to the pretty girl that was 
caught under It, for the old-fashioned penalty of 
a kiss would be sure to be exacted. The arrange¬ 
ments were superintended by Kate herself, she 
being practically housekeeper, her mother hav¬ 
ing been for years very much of an Invalid. All 
day Kate was busy, going and coming. She even 
denied herself to callers. But Llvla, as a guest, 
was of course free from all these cares, and sat In 
the drawing-room, resplendent In beauty, receiv¬ 
ing visitors till late In the afternoon. 
Just before dusk, cousin Charley came. Kate 
happened to be passing through the back part of 
the hall, and heard him ask the footman u Miss 
Randolph was in. She noticed particularly that 
he did uot Inquire for her. “He knew 1 was to be 
busy,” she said, "and has chosen this day on 
purpose: 1 have no doubt bo Is going to propose 
for her. Well, I wish wit h all my heart they may 
be happy.” But alas 1 poor girl, her sigh and her 
woe-begone face belted her words. 
About tlfteon minutes later, Kate, returning 
from the kitchen, glanced Into the back drawlng- 
room, the door of which was just opposite the root 
of tho hall staircase. Llvla and Cousin Charley 
were standing by the mantel-piece, In lull sight. 
Cousin Charley was handing Llvla a mlnaiture, 
which she began Immediately to kiss passionately. 
They were so absorbed that they did not hear 
Kate's footsteps, which Indeed were hardy audl- 1 
hie on the thick Axmlnster carpet, and In a mo¬ 
ment she had darted up the staircase, and was 
out of sight. 
“ Oh! oh 1 oh I” she cried, when she had gained 
her owli room, and locked the door behind her, 
and she pressed both hands on her heart, which 
she thought would break. Then she flung her¬ 
self on the bed, face downwards, and burst into 
an agony of tears. 
She had t hought she was prepared for the blow; 
but idle found she was not. A little hope, after all, 
had lingered In her heart, fed by looks that Cous¬ 
in Charley gave her now and then, or that sue 
fancied he gave. But now even this slight bit of 
comfort was gone. She had seen, with her own 
eyes, the engagement. Cousin Charley bad given 
Llvla his miniature, and the passionate way In 
which she kissed It showed how she loved him. 
Poor Kate ! We draw a veil over the next half 
hour. By-and-by she washudher eyes, readjusted 
her hair, and weut back to her household duties. 
Then she met the family at dinner, and talked as 
cheerfully as If nothing had happened, and was 
particularly amiable to Llvla, who, It was plain to 
see, was lu the most extravagant spirits. The 
conversation was principally about the ball In the 
evening, which everybody predicted was going to 
be a great success. 
“ You must look your prettiest, to-night, Sister 
Kate,’ ’ said the talkative Freddy, “ for every¬ 
body says that you and Llvla are the two hand¬ 
somest girls in town; and It wouldn’t do, you 
know, to be pretty, and not do justice to It; and a 
stunning dress goes a great way.” And tbe pre¬ 
cocious young critic nodded his head as saga¬ 
ciously as Lord Burleigh, while everybody 
laughed. 
Kate had no heart for fine clothes; but she 
knew it was expected ;of her that she should 
look particularly elegaut; so she chose a stiff, 
white silk, which, with Inappropriate trimmings, 
everybody declared made her look bewitching. 
She finished her toilet early, la order that sue 
might make the tour of the rooms, to be sure that 
nothing was neglected. She rtrst visited, the 
drawing-room, and then passed on to the dining¬ 
room. Here she saw that the tables were set 
for the guests, aud that nothing remained but to 
serve the Bupper at tbe proper hour. 
Suddenly she heard a step behind her,aud turn¬ 
ing quickly, found herself In Cousin Charley’s 
arms, and directly under the mistletoe. Instinct¬ 
ively she struggled to get tree. But Cousin Char¬ 
ley was too strong for her. Half laughingly, yet 
radiant with triumph, he clasped her by the 
waist, held her t ight and kissed her. 
Kate’s ilrst feeling, on flndtng herself lu those 
dear arms—shall we confess it ?—was one of ex¬ 
quisite bliss. And If she could have lain there 
for ever, sure of Cousin Charley’s love, she would 
have been perfectly content. For Just one mo¬ 
ment she gave herself up to this delicious dream. 
For just one moment she let Cousin Charley's 
heart heat against her own. Only she looked 
up at him, half-shy ly, half-beseeching, blushing 
furiously, and whispered, lu maidenly protest: 
“ Oh Cousin Charley!” 
Then all at once, she remembered Llvla, and 
the scene she had witnessed that afternoon. The 
whole current of her feelings was changed tn an 
Instant. With an angry gesture, she freed her¬ 
self from Cousin Charley, crimsoning redder than 
ever, but this time with shame for herself and in¬ 
dignation at him. 
“ How dare you? How dare you ?” she cried, 
passionately; and then breaking down she cover- 
ered her face with her hands, and burst into 
tears. 
Cousin Charley drew back frightened, and be¬ 
gan to stroke his moustache, looking at her with 
wide-open eyes, the very picture of dismay aud 
bewilderment. 
“It was mean, cowardly to take agvantage of 
a girl, because sbe was weaker than yourself,” 
she sobbed. 
“ But—but,” stammered Couslu Charley rally¬ 
ing at last, “ I thought It was understood that 
when a girl was caught under the mistletoe one 
had a right to kiss her. ’Pon my word, I did. I’m 
awfully sorry that I’ve offended you, Kate. I 
didn’t mean it, I’m sure. I’ve been on the lookout 
for days for a chance to speak to you alone." 
^Kate.tn spite o( her tears, opened her eyes wide. 
-'I came early to-night, hoping to catch you be¬ 
fore others arrived. I thought I was the happiest 
fellow alive, when l found you here. But l see 
how it Is. You’ve hardly spoken a kind word to 
me since I came home. Tho old days are forgot¬ 
ten-” 
“Stop!” interrupted Kate, angrier than ever, 
for she did not believe a word of this. She be¬ 
lieved, on the contrary, that he was trifling with 
her. He had learned in Parts, she said to herself, 
to do these things. “ Don’t think you can talk 
to everybody, she went on, vehemently, “as 
you talk to Ltvia. Go to her; l< you want”—sob¬ 
bing—“ U you want—kisses.” 
Now If Kate bad been herself she would never 
have said this. No well-conducted young lady 
would. But Kate was tormented out of all self- 
coutroiby jealousy and outraged maidenllness. 
“Llvla! What has Llvla to do with it?” said 
Cousin Charley, more astounded than ever. “ It 
Isn’t Llvla I love—It ts you." 
Ills voice, as he spoke these last words, quiver¬ 
ed with emotion and tenderness. In his eager¬ 
ness ho drew nearer to Kate again. 
“Me?”cried Kate, moving away quickly. She 
could not. believe It. This was only another form 
of Insult- Was he a Grand Turk, to throw his 
handkerchief to everybody ? “ Don’t touch me. 
I know you too well. Didn't I see you this after¬ 
noon leantug over Llvla—giving her your mtoa- 
ture—and now you dare to speak to me in this— 
this way!” 
" Good heavens I" cried Cousin Charley, beside 
himself with despair, “how you misconceive! 
Don’t leave the room,” stepping forward to inter¬ 
cept her. “ Or only hear one word first. I thought 
everybody knew—you. especially—that Llvla was 
engaged to Harry-’* 
“ Engaged ?” interrupted Kate. 
“Yes, engaged to Harry Johnstone, whom I 
left Ui London, lie and Llvla met last winter in 
Paris. 1 brought Harry’s miniature over, which 
he had just had painted, to give to Llvla; but 1 
mislaid It stupidly, and only found It again this 
morning. Confound It! I’ll never do a kind ac¬ 
tion again 1" And he turned away' wiped his 
forehead, where great drops of agony had gath¬ 
ered. 
There was silence for a moment. Then ctune a 
soft, low voice: 
“And—and—you don’t really love Llvla?” it 
said. “It was all a mistake ?” 
“ I’ve never loved anybody but you,” answered 
Cousin Charley, with his face still averted ; “and 
it’s cruelly unjust to a fellow." 
There was another moment of silence. Then 
Kate drew near, and stole a little hand Into his. 
“ You won’t be angry with me, Cousin Charley, 
will you?" whispered the soft, low voice. 
“ Angry with you!” ciled Couslu Charley, turn¬ 
ing quickly. Then he saw what made him catch 
her In his arms. “And you mean to say you love 
me ? Bless you, darling! Oh 1 how can I thank 
you?” 
Before the evening was half over everybody In 
the house knew that Kate and Cousin Charley 
were engaged. 
- -»■»♦- 
OOR A. 
For the benoflt of those of our subscribers who 
have been unable to procure tho earlier chapters 
of “ Cora” we give below a brief compendium of 
the story up to the present Issue. 
The story opens by Introducing to us the hero¬ 
ine Cora Sinclair and her brother Harold, a young 
artist, who arc living In comfortable circum¬ 
stances on the outskirts of London. 
They visit London on the occasion of a grand 
illumination and Cora becomes separated from 
her brother by the dense crowd from which she 
is extrlcatod by viscount Alraane, who now comes 
upon the scene, and takes in the situation at a 
glance. Of course, this Is the commencement of 
a very agreeable acquaintance. Lord Almane 
visits the Sinclair’s at “The Tryst," as their 
cottage is called, and one day on his way thither 
he Is thrown from his horse and carried to them 
with a broken arm, and remains their guest In 
consequence,until entirely recovered from Ills ac¬ 
cident. Meanwhile the young Lord conceives a 
passion for the beautiful and unsophisticated 
Cora, and sbe In turn, dazzled by the handsome 
and graceful nobleman, gives up to him her fresh 
young heart without reserve. This state of af¬ 
fairs ts divined by an old Italian servant who 
has long been In tbe family, and cherished the 
brother and sister as her own children—old Mari¬ 
anna. She confides her suspicions to Harold and 
he realizes for the first time the danger to which 
his sister has been exposed. Upon Inquiry he as¬ 
certains from a friend and brother artist, that 
Lord Almane’s character is by no means above 
reproach, and that he is already engaged to he 
married to his cousin, Lady Lucie Belmont. 
Young, handsome and fascinating, he has been 
spoiled and petted by the society of his world—he 
has become hard, selfish and unscrupulous, and 
now, his fortune being dissipated, his marriage 
with an heiress of his own rank his become Im¬ 
peratively necessary. Harold on his return con¬ 
gratulates Lord Almane In Cora's presence on his 
approaching marriage—In hopes the warning to 
the latter would yet belu time. Lord Almane’s 
Influence Is already sufficiently potent to Induce 
Cora to keep a midnight tryst with him to give 
him an apportunlty to “explain,” which he does 
by representing himself a passive victim of cir¬ 
cumstances and hts engagement to have been 
brought about through no volition of Ills, and de¬ 
clares his undivided love for Cora, who now, al¬ 
most heart-broken, makes her way to her apart¬ 
ment. This conversation has been overheard by 
old Marianna. The following day Lord Almane 
leaves “The Tryst,” meets hts nancee In the 
vortex of London fastitonable society and vainly 
strives to exorcise the spell the artless Cora has 
woven around him. But ids old pleasures pall on 
him, he becomes dull and distrait, and not accus¬ 
tomed at any time to deny himself the gratifica¬ 
tion of any selfish whim, he ouce more seeks the 
Sinclairs. Arrived at the Tryst he finds the 
"Birds flown” and the closest Investigation falls 
to give him a clue to their whereabouts. 
The story has now arrived at the point where 
Lord Almane upon driving Lady Lucie to visit her 
friend Mrs. Colston, espies at one of the windows 
the well-remembered features of the lost Cora. 
Mrs. Colston was a handsome, good-natured 
woman of five and forty, highly educated, but by 
no means thoroughbred, and perfectly well satis¬ 
fied with herself and her belongings. If she really 
loved any creature, it wp-s Lady Lucie, whom she 
had almost entire charge of from her childhood ; 
hut her easy good nature often prompted her to 
do kind things which made most of her friends 
and acquaintances regard her as a thoroughly 
kind-hearted woman. 
“ And you are feeling as well as looking quite 
well, my dear ?” she said, as she sat with Lucie’s 
hand to her’s. 
“ Oh, yes! perfectly well,” replied Lucie, laugh¬ 
ingly. “ l ought to have come to see you before 
this, but could not find time. However, Stanley 
Indulged me to-day.” 
“ And I am very grateful to his lordship," said 
Mrs. Colston, smiling, “ It Is a long time since I 
had the pleasure ol seeing you both together— 
quite eight years ago.” 
" Isle really so long?" said Lord Almane, with 
a smile, which belled a sigh. “ Lucie must have 
been a wee girlie then.” 
“ Yes, and you were a young officer, very proud 
of your grand uniform," answered Mis. Colston, 
laughing. “ I remember perfectly that I wished 
then that I might Uve to see—what 1 hope I shall 
see before very Long." 
Lucie blushed at the significant words; aud to 
relieve her embarrassment, asked a question 
which Lord Almane was anxiously expeettog: 
“ Have you any one staying with you, Emma ? 
I saw a strange face, and a very pretty one, at one 
of the windows,” 
“ Yes, a young friend who la staying with me 
during her brother's absence abroad. I will Intro¬ 
duce her to you, my dear. She Is a pretty crea¬ 
ture.” 
So saying, she rang the bell, ordered some tea, 
and desired the servant—a footman to most start¬ 
ling Uvery—to ask Miss Sinclair to come down. 
•* She Is not so much a friend of ours,” she ex¬ 
plained, turning to Lucie, whon the man had dis¬ 
appeared ; “ but Mr. Colston's partner, Mr. Fer- 
rler, ts Intimate with her brother, and I was so 
pleased to have her. He was afraid of Rome foi 
