OCT. 2 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
664 
f itfrarg lltkfUanjr. 
IN TOWN. • 
I have a friend across the street, 
We nevor yet exchanged a word, 
Yet dear to me tun accents sweet, 
I ain a woman-ho a bird. 
And here we twain in exile dwell, 
Far from our native woods and skies. 
And dewy lawns with healthful smell. 
Where daisies lift their litnfrbing’ eyes. 
Never again from moss-built nest, 
Shall the caged woodlark blithely soar; 
Never agai n the heath be pressed, 
By foot of miue forevermore I 
Yet from thatfeatherod, quivering throat, 
A blessing wings across to me; 
No thrall can bold that mellow note. 
Or quench its flame in slavery, 
When morning dawns in holy calm, 
And each true heart to worship calls, 
Mine is the prayer, but his the psalm, 
That floats about our prison walls. 
And as behind the thwarting wires 
The captive creature throbs and sings, 
With him my mounting soul aspires, 
On Music's strong and cleaving wings. 
My chains fall off, the prison gates 
Fly open, as with magic key; 
And far from life’s perplexing straits, 
My spirit wanders, swift and free. 
Back to the heather, breathing deep 
The fragrance of the mountain breeze, 
I hear the wind's melodious sweep, 
Through tossing boughs of ancient trees. 
Beneath a porch where roses climb, 
I stand as I was used to stand, 
Where cattle-bells with drowBy cbime 
Make music in the quiet land. 
Fast fades the dream in distance dim, 
Tears rouse me with a sudden Bhock; 
Lo ! at my door, erect and trim, 
The postman givoe his double knock. 
And a great city’s lumbering noise 
Arises with confusing hum, 
And whistling shrill of butcher's boys; 
My day beginB, my bird is dumb. 
—Temple Bar. 
•-♦ ♦ »- 
INMATES OP LESTER HALL, 
CHAPTER IV. 
(Continued from page 645.) 
Slipping the check Into his pocket-book, Rex. 
crossed languidly to the table, sat, down, glanced 
at some letters lying there, wrote one or two, then 
pushed away his seat. 
“ My head aches furiously,” he muttered Impa¬ 
tiently ; “ and I’m tired. I got no sleep last night 
with that horrid cough.” 
He flung him 3 ell'down In the armchair again, 
passed his hand wearily over his brow once or 
twice, and fell Into a heavy but disturbed sleep, 
which lasted some time. Awaking with a start 
he glanced vacautly around him, then recollecting 
where he was, he uttered an exclamation and 
rose, staggering slightly, as if weak or giddy, 
“Almost six o'clock,” he exclaimed, glancing at 
his watch. “ And 1 have to meet Carewe at the 
club at halt-past.” 
He rang the hell, desired the olerlc who answered 
It to send for a oarHaga, and asked whether his 
uncle had left. The answer was an atllrmatlve 
one, and a few minutes after Reginald Lester, 
having fortified himself with a brandy and soda 
at tne nearest restaurant, was rolling rapidly 
towards a fashionable club, where he was engaged 
to dine with two or three kindred spirits. 
This was how he kept the promise he had given 
to his uncle, ir Mattie could have known! if she 
could have seen—would she not have felt that no 
greater degradation could have fallen on her 
brother than this ? 
CHAPTER V. 
DANG Kit AHEAD. 
“ Easy is the descent of Avemus,”says the Latin 
proverb, and easy, thrice easy, did Reginald Lester 
find It. Once entangled in the snares of dissi¬ 
pation, excess and gambling, he could not set him¬ 
self free. Not that he made much effort to do so; 
he did not care for his freedom, he plunged deeper 
and deeper into the mire; although ho was per¬ 
haps a trifle more careful to conceal his conduct 
from his uncle. 
Even when he fouud that his health was serious¬ 
ly affected by his manner of life it did not seem to 
deter him ; he went on his way regardless of the 
Incessant cough which racked his iramo, or of the 
greater Increasing weakness and languor and of 
the greater and greater disinclination to any 
active exertion. 
For mauy weeks Mr. Daton nevor suspected that 
his nephew was deceiving him, and breaking the 
promise he had given “upon his honor;” and 
when he discovered It by chance, his wrath was 
terrible. There was a short but stormy and de¬ 
cisive Interview between them, during which the 
merchant was stern ami bitter, the young man by 
turns sullen and ItulllTerent, which, ended in a 
command from Mr. Baton that his nephew should 
never darken his door again, and by Rex. Lester 
taking Ills hat. bowing low with a nonchalant, 
mocking grace, and leaving Ills uncle's presence, 
outwardly smiling and Indifferent, but Inwardly 
full of anguish and despair. He knew that ruin 
was at hand now; he knew that he was deeply, 
Irretrievably la debt, and that one whisper of his 
uncle’s dtsploasure would cause his creditors to 
swarm round him like bees. 
“The game is up," ho said to himself, bitterly, 
as he went out into the street. 
“1 am ruined. I have run a-muck, as Carewe 
calls It, with a vengeance I There Is nothing left 
for it but a bolt, I suppose, and shame, disgrace, 
and death after. Good Heaven! why have I not 
the courage to put a pistol to my head and end it 
all!” 
He walked on slowly for a few yards, then 
hailed a cab, gave the coachmen an address, and 
promised him double fare If he went fast. The 
horse chanced to be a good one, and they dashed 
off rapidly, pulling up at a little arched door in 
the wall of the grounds surrounding the house 
whoso address Rex had given. 
Opening this, Reginald passed through the 
grounds, which were small, hut well kept and 
carefully walled In. Tne house stood well back 
from the road, and was almost concealed by the 
tall trees and dense shrubbery. 
Rex. Lester’s imperative knock at the door was 
answered by a man-servant out of livery, wbo ad¬ 
mitted Rex Into the dainty miniature halls, with 
Its tesselated pavements, Its shaded lights and 
scented flowers, and assisted him to remove his 
overcoat in solemn silence. 
' • Get me some brandy. Carter,” said Mr. Lester, 
curtly; and when the man obeyed his behest, he 
drank a deep draft of the fiery spirit, and pulled 
himself together, as it were, with a slight 
shudder. 
“ That's better,” he said, with a ghastly laugh, 
as he handed the glass back to the servant, and 
passed up the low, broad carpeted staircase to a 
room on the first floor, from whence the sound of 
voices came, whose doors were hidden under 
heavy velvet cumins, which muffled the tones 
and laughter into a softer key. 
Reginald Lester entered the room, pushing aside 
the velvet hangings, and opening the doors with¬ 
out the slightest formality, nor did his entrance 
cause any disturbance as he stood for a moment 
looking at the scene before him. 
The room, one of a suite of three opening one 
Into another, was brilliantly lighted and richly 
furnished. 
The air was heavy with perfume and with the 
aroma of choice cigars, and around each of three 
or four tables were grouped some half-dozen men 
playing various games of cards or dice or chance. 
The play was at It* highest as Reginald entered, 
heap3 of gold and notes stood upon the tables, 
and more than one of the faces of the gamblers 
was pale and haggard, others flushed and trium¬ 
phant; and the play was proceeding almost In 
silence. Now and then one rose for a moment 
from the table, and crossed to a small table on 
which stood glasses and decantars full of various 
kinds of wine, and drank down a deep draft be¬ 
fore he returned to the table. 
“Hallo, Lester, la that you? Just In time,” 
said a voice, after a minute or two. “ come on, 
we’ll make room for you here." 
So saying, the speaker, a handsome, fashion¬ 
able, even aristocratic-looking man of two or 
three and thirty, drew a chair to his side; and 
after a momentary hesitation Reginald went over 
to the table and sat down, leaning his head on his 
hand for a moment, as he looked at the glittering 
heap which lay at his friend's elbow. 
“You appear to have been luck}', Carewe?” 
he said, languidly. 
“Very,” sold the other, carelessly. “Try your 
luck, Rex—fortune Is befriending us.” 
“She won’t do so long,” said Reginald, with an 
attempt at laughter which brought on a paroxysm 
of coughing, after which he lay back In his chair 
for some minutes completely exhausted; then 
strengthening himself by a draught of strong, 
fiery Roussillon, he Joined In the game, taking out 
of his pocket a handful of notes, which he began 
to stake with reckless excitement. 
For some time he won steadily, and the excite¬ 
ment rose higher and higher, while the noise 
seemed to die gradually away, and the stillness of 
Intense, hlghatrung excitement succeeded. 
Reginald eat with hla elbow on the table, and a 
fierce, almost delirious Ught in his oyes; ne knew 
that it would be the last time he should play. 
That even if he won largely to-night it would avail 
nothing; while If he lost, deeper shame, more 
complete ruin stared him In the face. 
He did not speak beyond the usual formula of 
the game; no word passed hts Ups, but the deadly 
pallor ot his face contrasted strongly with the spot 
of vivid, burning red on either cheekbone; and 
the fierce glitter of his hazel oyes, so sunken and 
hollow, would have told a sorrowful tale to any 
pitiful observer. 
The night-hours wore on; the play rose higher 
and higher; one or two men lert the tables empty- 
handed, with their faces ashy pale and their 
hearts tull of bitterness and despair; but the gap 
made by tholr absence was soon filled up, and the 
play went on without intermission. At last the 
run of luck, which had flowed eo completely In 
Reginald’s favor, turned, and he began to lose, 
until the heap of notes and gold rapidly and surely 
diminished, and grew perceptibly less, while the 
ghastly pallor deepened on his face and the fever¬ 
ish glitter in his eyes. At last the last sovereign 
was gone, and Rex. Lester sat staring at the table 
In a silence so stricken and complete, that the 
man who sat by his side glanced at him rather 
anxiously. 
“ You are not going to be so mad as to stop 
now?” he said. In a low tone. “The luck will 
turn again.” 
“1 am cleaned out,” Reginald said, with a ghast¬ 
ly laugh. 
" Never mind, go; you oau always get money,” 
said Mr. Carewe, In the same hurried whisper, 
and Rex. hesitated for a moment, then he shook 
his head, and rose unsteadily from the table, stag¬ 
gering slightly In his gait os he did so. 
Reginald crossed the room with the steady, fal¬ 
tering gait, and went to the wludow, pushing 
aside the curtains and opening it, admitting a 
keen gust of wind as ho did so. The dawn was 
breaking dimly and feebly in the east, and the day 
was dawning cold and chill. Regluald leaned out 
far into the night, although he shivered as he 
met the chill blast. 
“ Shut that window, Lestor; are you mad?” said 
Mj\ carewe, turning his face for a moment, 
“ It Is bitterly cold.” 
Reginald obeyed mechanically, and turned from 
the window, standing still for a moment 1 n the 
same strange, undecided manner. Then he went 
towards the door, staggering and slow, as If he 
moved only by an effort.; and just ere he reached 
It he stood still again, swaying to and fro, and 
then fell suddenly forward hla full length on the 
floor. 
There was a slight stir at the gambling-table 
and Mr. Carewe rose hastily and went to his 
friend’s assistance. He knelt beside him and 
raised his head with hasty, misteady hands, and 
an exclamation of horror broke from his Ups! 
Reginald’s eyes were closed, and from his Ups 
there came a thin red stream which stained the 
whiteness of his linen and dyed Carewe’s hands 
as he raised the feeble head. 
" I believe he Is dead,” he said. In a low, horror- 
stricken tone. 1 ‘ Help me, one of you 1” 
Very gently they lifted him, and carried him In¬ 
to another room, and while one tried to staunch 
the terrible hemorrhage another rushed off tor 
a doctor. Fortunately medical aid was quickly 
forthcoming, and soon the hemorrhage ceased, 
and when consciousness returned, Rex. was suf¬ 
ficiently recovered to be taken in the doctor’s 
cushioned carriage to his own chamber. 
There the doctor left him, with strict in junction 
for perfect quiet, and there, for twenty-four hours 
Reginald lay passive, languid, facing his ruin with 
thoughts full of despair. His only visitor, and 
even he was by no means a frequent one, was Mr. 
Carewe; and on his second visit Reginald told him 
frankly of his circumstances, of hla quarrel with 
his uncle and his ruin. 
Mr. Carewe listened in silence, with his race 
darkening and his eyes filling with a baleful light. 
“You led me to believe that you were sure of 
your uncle,” he said, coldly. “You have lived 
fast and loose for the last two years without the 
slightest excuse for so doing. How do you Intend 
now to escape from your creditors ? How do you 
Intend to settle those debts of honor you so reck¬ 
lessly contracted ?” 
“You have no right to reproach me I” said Reg¬ 
inald, furiously, with a flush on his cheek. " You 
led me on; you Introduced me to those who have 
ruined me; you were the tempter I” 
“Gently, gently!—you must not excite your¬ 
self i” said Mr. Carewe, with a sneer. “You are 
to keep quiet, you know. I will send you a doctor 
whose charges shall he moderate, considering 
your circumstances. Adieu 
•• Carewe, you shaH not go—you shall not leave 
me thussaid Reginald, hastily, forgetting his 
weakness and exhaustion. “ Carewe, I say, you 
must wait!" 
Ills voice failed, and he sank back on the cush¬ 
ions completely exhausted, while Carewe, with a 
slight gesture—half mocking, hair pitying—of fare¬ 
well, passed out of the room, leaving Reginald 
panting, furious, excited, but too feeble to prevent 
him. 
In the afternoon of that day the doctor of whom 
Mr. Carewe had spoken came, and although he 
carefully avoided any mention ot Mr. Carewe, he 
devoted himself with care and skill to his patient. 
So four days went by almost unnoticed, and not 
one of the gay friends of Reginald’s butterfly 
career came near him. 
Ill news travels apace, and It 30on got bruited 
abroad that Mr. Baton, the great merchant-prince 
had disowned hl3 nephew, and that they had 
quarrelled Irreparably ; and the bills came pour¬ 
ing In, and angry creditors had fierce encounters 
with poor Reginald’s servant, who, strangely 
enough, was faithful to him in hts extremity. 
On that fourth day Reginald, turning suddenly 
upon the doctor with a scrange earnestness asked 
abruptly: 
“ Is there any chance of getting over this ?» 
The kind, grave eyes avoided his as the physi¬ 
cian answered, in that stereotyped sentence: 
** While there is fife there Js hope.” 
“Haveyou any? Doctor, you are honest, even 
though you—forgive me. I hardly know what I am 
saying; but you are honest and true—answer me 
honestly and truly, shall I recover?” 
“ You ask me a question no human being dare 
answer decisively,” said the other, tremulously. 
“ What Is your opinion ?’’ persisted Rex. “ Shall 
I get well?” 
“I think—1 am afraid not!” stammered the 
other. 
“ Why are you afraid?” said Rex, with a bitter 
smile. “Shouldyou not rather rejoice that such 
a life as mine is ended thus, and not by a dose of 
laudanum or a plstol-sliot ? W ell,” he went on In 
a moment, “ 1 am glad to know it, Poor Mattie! 
poor little Cecil! this is the end of It all!” 
lie saDk back, closing hla eyes wearily ; but by- 
and-by, when the doctor took his leave, he roused 
up, and held out bis trembling, burning fingers. 
••Thank you doctor," he said, with a little sad 
smile. “You have been a good friend to me— 
the only one, save the uncle whose regard I have 
alienated, the sisters whom 1 have neglected. 
Good-bye, and thank you.” 
“ Until to-morrow,” said the doctor, as he went 
away; but the next day, when he came to see his 
patient, he found that he had left. 
“ Left while I was away getting that medicine,” 
said the servant, with something very like tears In 
his eyes. "He put his watch on this slip of paper 
addressed to me, and there Is this note for you, 
sir." 
The doctor took It and read It In silence. It con¬ 
tained a few grateful words of farewell, written In 
a tremulous, unsteady hand. 
“ You need not trouble about me any more," it 
said, "lam going where I shall he well taken 
care ol; and believe that, living or dying, I shall 
never forget your goodness to me.” 
That was all, and as the doctor folded the 
little note, and put It carefully away In his 
pocket-book, handling It tenderly as though It 
had been a lady-love’s dainty epistle, he thought 
that the “ never ” would mean but u short while 
only if it meant the space of Reginald Lester’s 
short life, for that his days were numbered. 
CHAPTER VI. 
M5ATH-BKD. 
The June roses are blooming richly at Lester 
Hall! the lilacs and laburnums have faded with 
the spring, but the wilderness of summer flowers 
makes the air sweet and fragrant; an 1 dally 
Cecil Lester runs out in the fresh morning sun¬ 
shine, filling her white hands and dainty muslin 
apron with floral treasures, to be transferred to 
the old china bowls and Venetian vases, to deco¬ 
rate the rooms of the old Hall. 
Three years In their flight have made but little 
alteration m Mattie Lester. They have, it may be, 
matured her loveliness into more “ perfect perfec¬ 
tion,” deepened the gold of her hair and the blue 
of her sweet blue eyes, but there is no other 
change in her; while Cecil has become, from a 
handsome, half-formed girl, a stately and beauti¬ 
ful woman, looking older at eighteen than Mattie 
at one-and-twenty. 
More brilliant than her sister, and tar more In¬ 
tellectual, she had taken for some months the 
lead In the little household, Mattie being well con¬ 
tent to be set free from household cares, and at 
leisure to dream the hours away over her beloved 
piano, for she was fanattm pel' la muxvn, as 
Cecil declared, laughingly, sometimes. 
She herself was no musician compared to Mattie, 
but she had a contralto voice of singular oeauty 
and richness, and one which, if properly trained 
and cultivated, would have made her fortune on 
any stage. In character Cecil was ardent and Im¬ 
pulsive, brave and generous, loving and hating 
well, and possessing as much resolution In her 
pretty little finger, to use a homely expression of 
speech, as her brother and sister joined together. 
A woman at eighteen Cecil certainly is, though 
many girls are children at that age; and many 
a poor or sick person In the village could have told 
you stories of Cecil’s womanly tenderness which 
you, if you had only seen her face, with Its 
haughty beauty, would have found hard to be¬ 
lieve. ner manner Is generally cold and proud to 
a fault, but when she unbends she can be winning 
and gracious to a degree; and there Is more 
danger In that winning gentleness from Cecil 
than In the most tender and bewitching coquetries 
ot another woman; and to those whom she loves 
Cecil is ever most gentle, and tender. Eyes and 
tone soften so often as she addresses them, and 
even the touch of her little hand, as It meets 
theirs, tells more strongly than any words how 
dear they are. 
It Is morning—a bright, sunshiny, June morn¬ 
ing—not much past seven o’clock, an hour when 
townspeople are beginning to grumble that It is 
time to get, up, but which In the country la so 
lovely with the song or birds, the scent of flowers, 
and the clear sunshine. Breakfast Is ready In the 
quaint little sitting-room where we first made ac¬ 
quaintance with Reginald Lester and his sisters, 
and a bright little wood-fire Is burning on the 
great wide, old-rashloned hearth, for Cecil likes 
to make the coffee herself, and to he assured that 
the water was boiling. Coffee Is made; Mattie at 
her piano la playing some grand, solemn melodies 
of Bach’s, which rise and fall on the stillness; and 
Cecil, having finished ii er breakfast preparations, 
stands for a moment, basket in hand, to listen 
ere she goes out to pick the fresh blossoms open¬ 
ing in sunshine. The beautiful melody goes on, 
swelling richly out under Mattie's skillful flngars, 
and Cecil, with a soft light In her eyes which her 
sister’s music can always bring there, passes out 
of the hall Into the gardens beyond. 
Very busily and very Intently she moves 
among the flowers, touching them with gentle, 
almost reverent, fingers—she has a strange living 
love of flowers—filling her basket with roses and 
mignonette, and feathery heather, and sweetly- 
scented stepbanotls and syringa, and looking very 
fair to see, with the sunshine on her chestnut hair, 
as 3he passes through the alleys In her simple 
print morning-dress, so dainty and fresh and 
simple—the three principal things required In a 
woman’s toilette, believe me, fall* reader. 
The soft music-strains die away, and Mattie, 
rising from the music-stool, appears for a moment 
at the door. 
“Come In, dear. The coffee will he cold If you 
linger among your flowers.” 
“ I am coming,” answers Cecil, in her soft, rich 
voice. 
And Mattie goes back into the screened-off sit¬ 
ting-room, while Cecil turns her face homewards, 
softly humming a song as she goes. 
Suddenly the song comes to an abrupt conclu¬ 
sion, the flower-basket falls, scattering its fragrant 
treasures over the pathway, and Cecil stands still. 
Her foot has touched some obstacle In the path¬ 
way, unheeded In her absorbed interest in the 
flowers; and looking down, she sees the prostrate 
figure of a man. 
The rich color rades tn Cecil’s cheek, and a look 
of alarm steals Into t he lustrous eyes. Then she 
stoops and touches him lightly on the shoulder, 
for the face is hidden, and she cannot tell whether 
he Is sleeplDg or not. His dress is that of a gen¬ 
tleman, but dusty and travel-stained; and one 
hand, lying helplessly by his side, is white and 
slender—very slender, and the hand of one who 
has never done aDy manual labor. 
" What Is the matter ? Why are you lying 
here?" says Cecil, half Imploringly, half Impe¬ 
riously. 
Both words and touch are unheeded; the man 
lying at Cecil’s feet gives no sign of life, and the 
young girl’s heart sinks with a sudden inexplica¬ 
ble dread, at which the next moment she almost 
laughs. 
“ What an absurd Idea,” she says, half aloud, 
and stands trembling a little, with the rich color 
fading In her cheek, looking down at the prostrate 
figure in silence. 
Then, In a minute, she stoops again, and putting 
her hand on his shoulder, she gives him a little 
shake, which rouses him effectually; he raises 
himself slightly on his elbow, and turning his face 
towards her, looks at her for a moment with va¬ 
cant, unsteady gaze. 
