MAY II 
liter! SJtteUang, 
WILLY. 
B. H. STODDARD. 
I take his picture from my knee, 
And press it to my lips attain, 
I see a hundred in my brain. 
And all of him, and dear to me. 
He nestles In his nurse's arms, 
His young eyes winking In the light; 
I hear his sudden shriek at night. 
Startled in dreams by vain alarms. 
We walk the floor and hush his moan; 
A (min he sleeps—we kisB his brow— 
I tose him on my shoulder now— 
His majesty is on his throne! 
His kingly clutch is in my hair; 
He sees a rival in the glass; 
It stares and passes as we pass; 
It fades. I breathe the country air; 
I see a cottage leagues from here; 
A garden near some orchard trees; 
A leafy glimpse of creeping seas; 
And in the cottage something dear; 
A square of sunlight on the floor. 
Blocked from the window; in the square 
A happy child with heavenly hair. 
To whom the world is more and more. 
He sees the blue fly beat the pane, 
Buzzing away the noontide honrs; 
The terrace grass, the scattered flowers, 
The beetles, and the beads of rain. 
He sees the gravelled walks below. 
The narrow arbor draped with vines, 
The light that like an emerald shines. 
The small bird hopping to and fro. 
He drinks their linked beauty in ; 
They fill the thoughts with silent joy; 
But now be spies a late-dropped toy, 
And all his noisy pranks begin. 
They bear him t® an upper room 
When comes the eve; he hums for me. 
Like some voluptuous, drowsy bee 
That shuts his wings in honeyed gloom. 
I see a shadow in a chair; 
I sec a shadowy cradle go; 
I hear a ditty soft and low— 
The mother and the child are there I 
At length the palm of sleep is shed; 
One bed contains toy bud and flower; 
They sleep and dream, aud hour by hour 
Goes by, while angels watch the bed. 
Sleep on, and dream, ye blessed pair! 
My prayers shall guard ye night and day; 
Ye guard me so, ye make me pray— 
Ye make my happy life a prayer. 
... - - ♦» » 
CORA. 
CHAPTER XV. 
No expense and trouble had been spared to 
render Lady Vincent’s party a success; and the 
pretty suite of rooms presented a brilliant and 
tastef ul'coup O'ceil as Lady Vincent entered, ready 
to receive her guests. 
Early In the evening troops of little people ar¬ 
rived to have their party, and to be regaled with 
all seasonable dainties—a huge Christmas tree, 
over which Cora presided. 
She was looking pale but her loveliness hardly 
needed much coloring; and she was very fair to 
gee as she stood on a stool, and dispensed the 
toys of all sorts, shapes, and sizes, with which 
the tree was adorned. At Lady Vincent’s entreaty 
she had laid aside the mourning robes she had 
worn so long, and to-night she was attired In a 
dress of rich cream-colored silk, trimmed with 
soft lace, while round her neck she wore a black 
velvet band, clasped by a diamond star; the only 
piece of valuable jewelry Cora possessed. 
81r Alan, who watched her keenly, saw no trace 
of the agitation of the afternoon; but once, when 
by chance her eyes met his, he fancied he read In 
their lustrous depths a shadow as of some deep 
sorrow. Later In the evening, when the little 
folk, “ worn out wtt'n pleasure,” had gone home 
to roost, aud the real festivities began, although 
Sir Alan had his hands full, his scrutiny did not 
relax. He saw that among the male portion of 
his mother’s guests Cora was a favorite, but he 
saw also that she gave to no one any mark of par¬ 
ticular preference; that while she was kind and 
gracious to all, oven his jealous watchfulness 
could detect nothing further. One thing, how¬ 
ever, could not fall to escape his notice, namely 
that to oue of the young men at The Bungalow 
Cora was the object or espeolal interest, and that 
wherever the girl moved, Ralph Granam’seyes 
followed her. 
He was a handsome young fellow, of good fam¬ 
ily and good means; by no means a despicable 
rival: and when 8lr Alan noticed the Arm resolve 
In his frank mouth and honest blue eyes, he felt 
that he had made up his mind to know his fate, 
and that shortly. Nor was he wrong, for while 
he hlin 3 elt was engaged In an apparently desper¬ 
ate flirtation with Lady Flora venue, who was a 
belle and a coquette to boot, he saw Cora leave 
the dancing-room, leaning on Mr. Graham’s arm. 
Lady Flora thought that her best seemed ab. 
sent and distrait after that, and sx»n dismissed 
him for a gayer companion. 
As he passed hts mother, Lady Vincent stopped 
him. 
“ What a laggard you are, son Alan,” 8he said 
smiling. “Don’t let Cora accept another suitor 
In the meanwhile.” 
“If she loves him, I am willing,” he said, 
moodily. 
“Isit likely?” replied Lady Vlnent. “Ask 
yourself, Alan, whether Cora loves anyone else 
after the scene you witnessed this afternoon. 
Only as the poor girl labors under a misapprehen¬ 
sion, she might imagine that If she la not to 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 3011 
possess the love she needs, It Is her duty to make 
some one else happy, If she can.” 
Hts mother’s words quickened Sir Alan’s steps, 
and he passed through the dancing-room Into the 
quiet, dimly-lighted conservatory. As he entered 
It, he met, Ralph Graham on hla way out; and 
even In the half-light ho noticed the pallor which 
overspread the young man’s race and the pain 
legible there. As he passed, Blr Alan felt, with a 
sudden sharp pang, that In a few moments he 
too mtght have a similar answer to his suit, and 
leave Cora “ with a life-long hunger at nia 
heart." He found the young girl sitting among 
the flowers, her head resting upon one little 
hand. 
She started at the sound of his footstep, and 
as she looked hastily up Sir Alan thought he saw 
tears upon her face. Sir Alan sat down on the 
cushioned lounge by her side, and his thoughts 
flew back to an evening two years ago, to a quiet 
country house in a distant land—to a fair, pale 
girl. In sable garments, leaning against a broken 
marble pillar—to a bowed girlish head, and a 
broken voice saying: 
“ Not now, not. ever!" 
As he did so, his courage almost failed him; 
but the remembrance of Cora’s face as she sat at 
his mother’s feet that afternoon renewed his con¬ 
fidence. The girl waa the first to speak; but 
her voice was a little husky, and her manner Ill- 
assured. 
“ Our friends seem to be enjoying themselves,” 
she said nervously. “ I think everything is going 
on well.” 
“ Yes,” answered Sir Alan, absently. He was 
not much Interested In the amusement of his 
mother’s guests as he sat there by Cora, his 
strong white hand pulling nervously at his heavy 
moustache. 
“ My mother tells me that you are thinking of 
leaving her, Cora,” he said, at length. “ But as 
the guardian your brother gave you, I must seem 
Impertinent, and ask your reasons for wishing to 
do so." 
Cora trembled and for a moment could not And 
an answer. 
“Have you not been happy here?” he contin¬ 
ued, quietly. “1 promised Harold to care for 
your happiness you know." 
Still Cora did not reply. 
“ Well?” he said, gently. 
“ Lady Vincent told me you were going to give 
her a daughter,” she said, with a quiver In her 
sweet voice. “ She will not need me then.” 
“ The second daughter will not take the place 
of the first,” he answered. “ She will always love 
you best." 
The girl shook her head. 
“ That Is not your reason, Cora," he pursued, 
unpltylngly, although he saw that she was great¬ 
ly agitated. 
As he spoke he put out hts hand and took hers 
Into his. His manner waa perfectly quiet, aud 
for a moment Cora contrasted It with the pas¬ 
sionate eagerness he had displayed In the Inter¬ 
view with her at her brother’s grave. 
“Canyou not give me the true one, Cora?’* 
said the baronet, playing with the little fingers 
he held. 
“No," the girl answered suddenly and almost 
fiercely. 
“Ah, well, nevermind,” said Sir Alan; adding, 
after a few minutes’ pause: “you have not 
wished me every happiness, Cora.” 
“I do—1 do,” she said eagerly. “ With all my 
heart, I hope—I pray you will be happy." 
“Thanks.” 
And Sir Alan bent his head over her hand; and 
touched It with his Ups. starting as if the 
touch hurt her, Cora withdrew ner fingers from 
his clasp. 
“ Why do you take your hand away, Cora ?” he 
asked. “ I have offended you, have 1 ? ” 
“ Oh, no not" she answered, quickly. 
“Have you no curiosity to see my mother’s 
daughter?” he said, as he repossessed himself 
of her hand. “ Shall I Introduce her to you, 
Cora?” 
“If you wish," she answered, as if the words 
hurt her. 
“Don’t you care to know her? I hoped you 
would be good friends, Cora. Have you uo Inter¬ 
est In the girl I love ?” 
She was trembling violently. 
Sir Alan smiled to hluiself, well pleased. 
“ Will you come to her now?” he went on, ris¬ 
ing, and looking down at her from his tall height, 
his eyes full of tenderness, lingering over the 
lovely troubled face. 
Cora rose, but her agitation waa so great that 
she sank down again on the cushions. 
“lam afraid you ore not well,” he said, gently. 
“1 will get you some wine, dear child. Stay 
quietly there until I return." 
Ho disappeared, aud Cora’s head fell forward 
on her clasped hands. 
"Howshall I bear It?” she thought. "I who 
love him, to meet the girl he lovee t" 
In a few moments Sir Alan returned with some 
wine, which he made her drink; then when she 
se emed calmer, he said: 
“Shall wo go, Cora? My darling Is tired, and 
ought to be In bed. I don't want to keep her up 
any longer." 
Cora shivered sb he led her out of the conserva¬ 
tory, through the ball-room Into the little sitting- 
room, which nad been held sacred from the in¬ 
trusion of any of the guests. To the young girl’s 
surprise It was empty. 
“There Is no one here,” she said, trying to 
speak lightly. 
“la there not?” he answered, softly. “Sit 
down here, Cora.” 
He drew her to a sofa, and sat down quietly be¬ 
side her. 
“I ought to have told you,” he said, “that to 
make my engagement sure the consent of one 
person Is lacking.” 
Cora was bewildered, and lifted wondering eyes 
to his face; but she saw nothing there to help 
her to read the riddle. 
Sir Alan smiled. 
“Yes the consent of one person. That person 
Is yourself, Cora." 
“ Myself?” said the young girl. 
“Noother, will you make me quite happy, 
and give It? Stators have sometimes a word In 
tbelr brother’s choice, and I shall not be happy 
unleeB you approve of my future wife. Turn your 
head Cora she la waiting behind you to receive 
it.” 
Cora turned her head quickly with a nervous 
start, hut the face she met as she did so was her 
own face reflected In a Venetian mirror whloh 
was fastened against the wall—her own face, 
which she saw looked pale and startled, and an 
undefined terror in her dark eyes. 
“ Well, dearest, do you like her ?” said Sir Alan, 
softly, In a few minutes. “ Will you say 4 yes' to 
me, Cora ?” 
“This Is a cruel Jest, Sir Alan,” said Cora, 
turning from him, and bursting Into a passion of 
tears. 
Sir Alan caught her In hts arms. 
“ It Is no Jest my darlln g; It la all true. I want 
your 4 yes’ to complete my happiness. My moth¬ 
er knows that there Is but one woman In the 
world for me, and without her love I cannot be 
happy. Is It mine, Cora ?” 
Cora's face was hlddentn her hands as he held 
her In hts arms, and no words came in answer to 
his eager question. Sir Alan waited; then he 
bent over her again, and In a voice, lowered to 
the softest whisper, he repeated it: 
44 is It mine, Cora?” 
"Do you really care to have It?” whispered 
Cora lifting her head, and looking at him with 
eyes very full of love, but as If unable yet to be¬ 
lieve m her happluess. 
“ What do you think, my darling?” he replied, 
lightly. “Oh 1 my child,” he added, passionately, 
44 ever since I saw you first, It has been the wish 
of my life to win It. Are you sure, quite sure 
that you will give It to me ?” 
“I cannot give you what is yours already," she 
said, softly, resting her hoad against him with a 
sigh of perfect content; and as he bent over her 
and pressed hts Sips to hers, he said tenderly; 
“My darling, my own love, now and ever!" 
“Do you know how unhappy I waa that night 
when you sent me away, Cora ?" he said, after a 
long, happy pause. 44 It seemed as If tbe whole 
world had changed to me, and the sight of you 
seemed to hurt me. Something In a letter from 
my mother brought me home at last. She told 
me that as yet no one had seemed to find favor in 
Cora’s eyes, and wondered why I had not courage 
to try again. When I came your distant manner 
almost reduced me to despair, but something In 
your dear eyes seemed to tell me that 1 might 
hope.” • 
Cora’s thoughts flew back to the past, to the 
hopes which had been hers when Bhe first re¬ 
turned to England, and a chill tell upon the hap¬ 
py heart when she thought that she ought to tell 
Sir Alan of her love for Lord Almane. Must she 
r<ai him she wondered? Must she risk the love 
whien was so precious to her ? Not yet—not yet 
—she could not chance It yet. She would wait 
until she knew him better—until she was sure of 
the love he had given her, and then- 
44 You are very silent, my darling,” said his ten 
der voice, breaking upon her reverte, “and you 
are looking very tired. Shall I send you to 
bed ?" 
" Oh, not now, Alan," she entreated. “You 
have not danced with me once to-night.” 
44 Let us have a waltz now, then,” he said, smil¬ 
ing, as they returned to the ball-room; and Lady 
Vincent’s eyes brightened as she saw their happy 
faces, and knew that all was well. 
44 How do you like my son’s future wife, Cora ?” 
she asked laughingly, as they paused near her. 
44 Do you think you will get on together?” 
Cora laughed and blushed, for Sir Alan’s eyes 
met hers, full of laughing meaning. 
44 We will try not to quarrel,” she said, gaily. 
“You had better not,” said the baronet, laugh¬ 
ing. 44 1 will allow no ono but myself to quarrel 
with her; no one but myself to scold her; no one 
but myself to love her !”—To be continued, 
- 4 . ► 
THE COUNTRY COUSIN. 
CHAPTER I. 
44 Now, girls, stitch away; there’s lots to do 
yet, and none too much time to do It In. Here’s 
the trimming to put on my dress, and the lace on 
Fanny’s skirt, besides that white wreath to alter. 
Oh dear, how I do wish I oould afford a new one!" 
said Sophy HarrlBon, with an Impatient Jerk at 
the flimsy fabric on her lap. 
44 Could I do anything ?” asked a plainly 
dressed, quiet-looking young girl, who had been 
for some time surveying the scene In silence 
44 Of course you can,” replied Sophy ; “ but it is 
a shame to set you on to work so soon. Besides, 
perhaps you hare something to do for yourself ?” 
44 Oh no, my dress Is all ready. Shall I tack 
that lace on ?” and without waiting for an an¬ 
swer, Maggie Cameron was soon working away as 
busily as the rest. 
“ What are you going to wear, Maggie ?" In¬ 
quired Sophy, after a pause, during wnich nee¬ 
dles and thread had been swiftly flying to and fro. 
44 1 bave but two evening dresses with me," re¬ 
plied Maggie; 44 a white muslin and a blue grena¬ 
dine. 1 will wear whichever you like.” 
" Oh not blue, 1 beseech you," said Sophy; 44 It 
would quite spoil the effect of my peach blossom. 
White will suit you admirably, and a red rose will 
look delicious In your dork h&ir.” 
“ Frank WUtord Is to be at the party to-night,” 
said Fanny. 
"You don’t say so !" exclaimed Sophy, dropping 
her work with a sudden start; “ 1 wish I had 
known that before, and 1 would have had a new 
wreath I” 
44 Ah, but Kitty Ansell is going, too,” said Fan¬ 
ny. 44 So there’s not much.chance for you or any¬ 
body else.” 
44 1 don’t know that,” said Sophy. “ At any 
rate It’s no harm to try; and who knows what 
may happen. 4 Ntt desperandum ,' Is my motto. 
Are there any nice young men about your place, 
Maggie ?” 
" I don’t know. Indeed," said Maggie, laughing ; 
44 1 go out so very little at home.” 
44 Oh I forgot," said Sophy. 44 My aunt Is very 
strict, Isn’t she, and makes a little nun of you ? 
I should hate that, It la so charming to go to 
balls, and plays, and concerts; only one's obliged 
to out and contrive one’s dress, bo, and that’s 
horrid.” 
44 You should have white muslin,” said Maggie, 
Innocently; “ that always washes and looks new 
again.” 
44 Yes, but that’s as old as the hills, child,” re¬ 
plied Sophy. 44 Nobody wears anything but gren¬ 
adine and tulle, unless, Indeed, one could afford 
lace. Now, the dearest wish of my heart Is to 
wear a black lace—real lace, mind you—over pink 
satin. Oh, wouldn't It be heavenly! Lotty Ste¬ 
phens has one over amber silk—such a beauty. 1— 
bat then she's going to be married, and can have 
anything. Hetgho I 1 wish I waa.” 
“There, that’s done!” exclaimed Fanny, Jump¬ 
ing up and throwing down her thimble; 44 make 
haste, girls, It only wants ton minutes to five, 
and we must be ready soon after eight. How 
long do you take to dress, Maggie ?” 
“Oh, about half an hour, I dare say,” was the 
reply; “but—” 
44 Half an hour 1" screamed Sophy; 44 hear her! 
Why l am going up now, and I shan’t be ready 
one bit before the time. I shall be an hour, at 
least, doing my hair. What a little rustic you # 
are, Maggie!” 
Maggie’s color rose-; but she only said, quietly ( 
44 Mamma does not like me to spend so much time 
over my dress, cousin; so I shall be ready to help 
you, If you like.” 
44 That’s a darling,” said Sophy; 44 so you shall 
for I want to look killing to-night, l can tel 
you.” 
The Harrisons were a large family, three girls 
and as many boys; and Mrs. Harrison and her 
daughters being excessively fond of show and 
company, It was almost as much as they could do 
to make both ends meet at the year’s end, par¬ 
ticularly now when the girls were all “ out,” and 
doing their best to get off. Their cousin, Mag fie 
Cameron, who had been brought up in a very 
different way, had come to spend the winter with 
ner aunt and uncle In the large, bustling town of 
Wlnterbury, where there was always plenty of 
gaiety In some shape or other the year round. 
The eldest Miss Harrison, Sophy, was nearly 
three-and-twenty, and her settlement In life was 
becoming a matter of very serious consideration, 
for visiting and late hours are not ravorable either 
to eyes or complexions, and a fair beauty soon 
fades. 
By eight o’clock on this particular evening Mag¬ 
gie was dressed, and down stairs long before ths 
others, who, as is usual with young ladles on 
such occasions, were fully half an hour behind the 
time. At length, however, they all sailed In, 
dressed In the extreme of fashion, with their 
heads an elaborate mixture of frizzles, puffs and 
flowers, and their skirts so voluminous, that how 
they ever got into them must have been & puzzle 
to tbe uninitiated. 
Maggie's costume waa a decided contrast,—a 
plain white muslin, tastefully yet simply trim¬ 
med, and made, too, without that sacrifice of 
modesty In which young ladles delight at the 
present day, for it actually did cover the fair 
smooth shoulders, and really had sleeves, and 
not shoulder-straps, A single flower of deep vel¬ 
vety crimson nestled In the glossy brown hair, 
and a handsome pearl locket, suspended by a 
piece of black velvet round the throat, completed 
the simple costume. 
Maggie had never looked so well. Her cousins 
surveyed her In silence, and only Sophia exclaim¬ 
ed, 44 My gracious, child, you’ve no bracelets, or 
bouquet, or fan, or anything! But It’s too late 
now; make naate.—the carrlrge Is waiting." 
Maggie had never been at bo large a party be¬ 
fore ; and the sudden plunge Into so much brtl- 
lancy and rashlon fairly dazzled her at first. 
But this feeling soon wore off, and the music 
was so exhilarating that she felt almost ready 
to dash off and Join the dancers there and then. 
44 Does not your cousin dance?” Inquired young 
Wilford, whom Sophy had successfully man¬ 
oeuvred to get for the first round dance. 
44 Oh yes, I suppose so,—I wonder mamma has 
not found her a partner," answered Sophy, not 
quite pleased at the inquiry. 
44 Pernaps you will Introduce me,” he con¬ 
tinued, as the music ceased, and they found 
themselves nearly opposite Maggie, who was 
half hidden by Mrs. Harrison’s satin skirts. 
Sophy complied, rather ungraciously, and then 
seated herself by her mamma, exclaiming that 
she was tired to death, and should like an Ice 
of all things. Of course there was nothing to 
be done but to comply with her request, and 
offer hla services to-escort her to the refreshment- 
room, which afforded a delightful opportunity 
for a little quiet flirtation. Before they returned, 
Maggie had another chance of dancing; and, 
after that, she found no lack of partners lor the 
rest of the evening, which passed away much too 
quickly tor the fresh young girl, whose early 
bloom had not been sullied by any or those 
soenesof childish dissipation known as “ child¬ 
ren’s parties.” 
“And how did you like the ball, Maggie?" 
said Fanny, as she yawned over a new novel 
the following morning. 
44 Oh, so very much I” exclaimed Maggie, en¬ 
thusiastically; "and the music was perfectly 
delicious; It almost makes mo dance now to 
think of It.” 
44 You queer child,” said Sophy, who sat rest¬ 
ing her feet upon the fender; "I did not think 
It nice a bit, and the music was simply horrid.’ 
44 Oh, but It was my first ball, you know, and 
It all seemed delightful to me,” said Maggie 
