OCT. 9 
677 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
I iltrarg UtistfUanir. 
THE INDEPENDENT FARMER. 
Let sailors siiiK the windy deep, 
Let soldiers praise their armor; 
But in my heart this toast I’ll keep. 
The independent farmer. 
When first the rose in robe of grrcen, 
Unfoldsite crimson lining. 
And 'round his homeJy porch is seen 
The honeysuckle twining, 
When banks of bloom their sweetness yield 
To bees that Rather honey, 
He drives the team across the field, 
Where skies are warm and sunny. 
The blackbird clucks behind the plow, 
The quail pipoR loud and clearly; 
Von orchard hides beyond its boughs 
The home lie love* so dearly, 
The Kray old barn, whose doors infold, 
His ample store lit measure. 
More rich than heaps of hoarded (fold, 
A precious, blessed treasure; 
But youder In the porch there stands 
His wife, the lovely charmer. 
The sweetest rose on all Lub lands; 
The independent farmer. 
To him the Spring- comes dancing day. 
To him the Summer blushes, 
The Autumn smiles with mellow ray, 
His sleep the Winter hushes; 
He cares not how the world may move 
No doubts or fears confound him ; 
He smiles in calm content aod love 
On children gathered 'round him. 
Ho trusts in (iod, and loves his wife, 
Nor grief, nor ill may barm her, 
He’s Nature's nobleman in life— 
The independent farmer. 
-» v »- 
INMATES OF LESTER HALL. 
(Continued from page 662.) 
CHAPTER VII. 
The sun Is sinking slowly to its rest behind the 
western hills, changing the blue of the Summer 
sky Into a gorgeous mass of gold and purple and 
red, and tinging the hills beneath with a rosy 
glow. Everything Is very still In this evening 
hour-the laborer has left work; the “plowman 
homeward plods hts weary waythe bells are 
ringing out softly the call to evening prayer, and 
as the soft, chime reaches over hill and dale, It 
steals Into the room where Rex. Lester lies, with 
his face turned towards the window which opens 
on the west, and the red light falls on his pale 
face, giving it. a strange, unearthly beauty, which 
may Unger until he has passed through the dark 
valley which ho la entering now. 
Yes, Reginald Lester is dylug; this is the last 
sunaet he will ever see, which la shedding a stream 
of golden light, on the couch on which he lies, on 
Mattie’s head as It is bowed on the pillow near her 
brother’s, aud on Cecil's beautiful paleface, which 
is turned towards the window, white and still, and 
tearless, but full of a sorrow too deep for tears 
It la but. the day after that on which Cecil Lester 
found her brother prostrate on the greensward; 
but the two girls know the truth now—know that 
their brother Is dying—dying, too, from the effects 
of the life he has led In that great city which swal- 
Ws up ho much that Is good, and noble, and beau¬ 
tiful, lor Rex. has not spared himself. He has told 
them freely all; he has made confession with fal¬ 
tering, broken voice truly, and great drops of pain 
on bis brow, aud the two girls who love him so 
truly find no room In their hearts for blame, only 
for pity. 
But now, In these his last moments, there rises 
within him all the bitterness of his blighted hopes, 
of his ruined Ufe; and while he owns that he has 
sinned, and sinned grievously, he blames bitterly 
the man who has token advantage of his weak¬ 
ness and led him yet deeper into temptation and 
sin. He is ceding Cecil of him now, in the weak, 
hurried accents of extreme weakness, and Cecil 
listens with the anger and pain In her eyes deep¬ 
ening, and the proud Ups taking a yet more deter¬ 
mined fold. 
“ Were It not for Utrn r should not be here, dy¬ 
ing, disgraced, ruined,” he murmurs, bitterly. 
“ He tempted and me when he had led me on to 
disgrace and shame, he threw me over without a 
word of regret.” 
Cecil’s white teeth meet under her red Ups and 
her eyes Hush. 
“This man. who is he?” she says, softly, as 
she bends over her brother aud wipes the death- 
dew from his brow; and Rex. looks up at her 
with a sudden gleam of resentment in his dying 
eyes. 
“ Ills name Is here,” he says, feebly, putting out 
one weak hand, and feeling In the pocket of the 
loose coat he wears. “ When I was dying—dying 
through him—he sent me this. Heavens! IT I 
could only And strength to take my revenge— 
onoe l” 
“ I will And strength!” said Cecil, calmly. “ i 
will revenge! 1 promise It, Rex.” 
He looks up for a moment Into her face, so pale 
and set aud siern. 
“You will do it, CecU?” he murmurs feebly. 
“ And yet no! What a legacy for you, poor 
child!” 
He has token a little sUp of paper out of his 
coat pocket, but he does not give it to her. 
“l will do it! He shall suffer, even as he has 
made you suffer!” says the young girl, impetu¬ 
ously. “ Why should he be exempt ?” 
“ceoll—Cecil!” says Mattie's low, broken voice, 
“Rex., my dearest brother, iorglve him now!” 
Reginald turns away from her a little Impa¬ 
tiently. Consciousness is fast falling him, but he 
holds the little slip of paper tightly In his feeble 
Angers. 
“ Were it not for him I should not be dying 
here!” he says, with a last effort of strength 
“ It la he who has kUled me, he through whom I 
am dying—Cecil—remember—this is the name— 
Ca—Ca-!” 
His voice falls him, a dreadful spasm contracts 
his face, and be falls back exhausted, while Mattie 
putB some reviving cordial to bis Ups which the 
doctor has left when he called an hour ago, and 
told them that Rex. was dying. 
“ I will not forget, Reginald,” says CecU, stead¬ 
ily, as the dying eyes meet here. 
One hour, two hours slip by, the sun has set, 
the gorgeous golden clouds have died away; the 
gray evening shadow steals Into the room, and the 
shadow of death creeps over Rex. Lester's face. 
.Suddenly he opens his eyes and gasps forth: 
" Mattie—Cecil - forgive P 
The words die away, the heavy eyelids close; a 
long sigh, a shudder which passes all through the 
prostrate form, and all is over. 
Mattie sinks down by the bedside, sobbing pas¬ 
sionately ; and Cecil, as she stoops and puts her 
tender lips to those which can never again return 
her caress, draws gently from the stiffened Angers 
the paper which Is clasped in them, and slips It, 
Into her dress. 
“ I will remember, Rex," she says, softly. “I 
will keep my vow.” 
And thus she makes a vow which will color her 
whole Ufe hereafter, and in the keeping of which 
she will sacrlAce all the brightness and beauty of 
her Ufe. 
Poor Cecil i 
CHAPTER VIIT. 
A NEW LIFE. 
Mr. Baton’s nouse was a very stately and mag- 
nlAcent mansion—as magnltlcentasltwas possible 
for wealth to make It; but superb as it undoubt¬ 
edly was, It was neither artistic nor In the most 
correct taste. Mr. Baton himself oared very little 
about it; so long as he hud one comfortable room 
to himself, he did not take much Interest In the 
rest, of the house; and It created considerable 
surprise In his household—most of hts servants 
had been with him for years—when he became 
possessed with a mania ror altering and redeco¬ 
rating the reception-rooms of his house, aud on be¬ 
coming the convert of a certain groat lilgh-art, 
upholsterer, who had orders to completely meta¬ 
morphose the drawing rooms, and to furnish a 
charming little boudoir in the newest style. 
Well and thoroughly did the great man tulillthe 
great merchant’s requirements. The drawing¬ 
room, from betog a heavy, old-fashioned room, 
hung with crimson velvet and gold, beoarue a 
latry-Uke apartment, and was made altogether 
the most charming combination of high art and 
real elegance that could be Imagined. 
Mr. Baton could hardly believe that he was In 
his own house when he entered the room, but ne 
looked pleased, and expressed hla satisfaction In a 
manner which must have been agreeable to the 
great man who had made the change. 
About the boudoir he was rather dubious; he 
did not quite appreciate the hangings, tbe dado of 
black and gold, and the quaintly-shaped chairs, 
but he supposed It would be all right; while the 
dining-room was In Its way quite as great a suc¬ 
cess as the drawing-room. 
The household were naturally thrown Into a 
state of excitement by these preparations, and 
many were the discussions in the servants’ hall as 
to the master's future plans; and of course the 
conclusion of the servants In general was. that 
these alterations and Improvements pointed but 
one way—that their master was going to take to 
himself a wife. 
" He was so dreadfully cut up at Mr. T,ester’s 
death," said the housekeeper, as she and Mr. 
Forbes the butler sat over a cup of tea In her com¬ 
fortable sitlitig-room down stalra, “that I thought 
he would nevar take any Interest In anything 
again; but lor’, the poor young gentleman-a 
sweet young fellow, to my mind—has not been 
dead a year, and the master is quite himself 
again.” 
Quite himself again! Mrs. Bradley was per¬ 
fectly right, for Mr. Baton seemed more cheer¬ 
ful than he had done for many a long month; 
and he was neither of an age nor of an appear¬ 
ance to preclude the notion that he was about 
to take a second wife, and give hts stately home 
a mistress. 
But the one did not necessitate the other; and 
although the house was to have a mistress, Mr. 
Baton had no Intention of taking a wife, as Mrs. 
Bradley soon ascertained from her master’s own 
lips. 
“My two nieces are coming to live with me,” 
he said, quietly, one morning, when she was sum¬ 
moned to his presence. ** I wish you to give di¬ 
rections that they should have every attention 
paid them. Miss Lester is a moat amiable young 
lady, and I have no doubt that you will all And her 
a kind and considerate mistress.” 
There was a slight emphasis on the last sentence 
which showed that, Mr. Baton meant his eldest 
niece to be reaUy the ruling spirit, of the house¬ 
hold, and which Mrs, Bradley was too sharp a 
woman to mlsuuderstand or to neglect. 
By-aud-hy Mr. Baton went away for a tew days, 
and returned with two beautirul girls, exquisitely 
dressed In mourning, and attended by a French 
maid, who was extremely pretty, and soon made 
herself a favorite in the servants’ hail, although 
Mrs. Bradley looked rather unfavorably on her 
sUm waist and eoquclUshly-arranged hair. 
“ We have been In Paris sluee our dear brothers 
death,” said Miss Lester, In her Arst Interview 
with Mrs. Bradley; “ and l am quite unused to the 
management of a large household, so l shaU be 
glad of your advice and assistance, Mrs. Bradley.” 
Which Bpeech, accompanied by one of Mattie’s 
gentle smiles, quite won the housekeeper's heart, 
and made her declare that “though Miss Cecil 
was a trine haughty, Miss Lester was the sweetest 
of young ladles.” 
Uls nephew's death had given Mr. Baton agreat 
shock; the news came upon him with the sudden¬ 
ness of a thunder-clap, and he had traveled north 
Immediately, and had arrived In time to see the 
marble face of the young man he had bo much 
loved before the coffin was closed upon it. And 
although. In truth, he had nothing to blame him¬ 
self for, there was much self-reproach mingled 
with his grief. 
Very soon, however, when Its Arst bitterness had 
passed away, h° transferred the affection he had 
conceived for Reginald to his two sisters, and more 
especially to Cecil, who on her side grew to love 
and esteem this new-found uncle with all her 
heart; and when he urged the girls to give up 
their lonely existence in the old home, and to live 
with him, Cecil seconded the proposal strongly. 
And so It was arranged that they should leave 
Lester Hall, and take up their residence with their 
uncle, after spending the Arst year of their 
mourning in farm, where CecU, at eighteen, threw 
herself Into studies with a passionate ardor and 
energy which surprised her sister, who—while 
Cecil wasgolng heart and mind not only Into the 
mysteries of languages, but Into the study of de¬ 
portment, manners, and elegance—conAned her 
study to that or music alone. 
Mr. Baton was very frequent In his visits; and 
as months went by he was more and more struck 
with the alteration and Improvement which Paris 
Ufe was making in his youngest niece. Her 
style was perfect—her maimers, always graceful, 
perfectly self-possessed, quiet, a trine languid 
perhaps, and always tinged by that air of hauteur 
which Is only not objectionable In a beautiful 
woman. Her dress, too, was unexceptionable, 
Mattie teased her sometimes for her study of the 
toilette, but the result was so charming, bo ar¬ 
tistic, and Cecil herself so lovely, that her vanity— 
If vanity it were—was perfectly excusable. 
“ I don’t see why you need care so much about, 
It,” said Mattie, one day. « You are quite beauti¬ 
ful enough, Cecil.” 
“Ami bealitllul?” the girl answered, thought- 
lully.—“ i am glad to be beautiful, and I Intend” 
—a curious, darkened look came into the beauti¬ 
ful hazel eye for a moment, then she laughed 
slightly—“ r Intend to be perfectly irresistible!” 
And perfectly Irresistible Cecil was when she 
made her detrnt Into society, at a grand baU given 
by her uncle shortly alter the young girl’s arrival 
in town—and a very great sensation she made. 
Both sisters weie In white, without a touch of 
color, for both were In mourning still; and while 
Mattie’s loveliness excited much admiration, her 
sister's more stately beauty caused general com¬ 
ment, and that. Arst night’s success made her an 
acknowledged belle. 
Mattie herself was too sincerely unseinsh to be 
jealous of her sister’s superiority, and she re¬ 
joiced In her triumph all the more when she saw 
that Cecil herself waa pleased, with a keen, eager 
pleasure Mattie did not quite understand. As tor 
Mr. Baton he waa proud and pleased beyond 
measure at seeing hla nieces appreciated as they 
deserved. He had resolved that their aetmt should 
be a successful one, and it was so. 
CecU had her own horse and groom, and rode 
dally with her uncle, who smiled with pleasure at 
the admiring looks which followed his beautiful 
nleoe; and in the atteruoon the sisters showed 
themselves lor an hour or two in the handsomely 
appointed carriage which their uncle had given 
them, exquisitely dressed, and tne observed of all 
observers. Then in the evening there were half a 
dozen different engagements to be fulfilled, al¬ 
though MaUle generally contrived to spare an 
hour for the opera, where she would listen to the 
divine strains of Rossini and Bellini, sitting as 
quietly absorbed In the music as Mrs. Audley her¬ 
self, a lady whom Mr. Baton engaged as compan¬ 
ion and chaperone to his nieces. 
What a change such a life as this was from the 
retirement of Lester Hall. It was a continual 
round of gaiety and adulation, wearing beautiful 
dresses, meeting pleasant people and bearing ex¬ 
quisite music. Both girls were much sought after 
and both thoroughly enjoyed, Cecil especially, 
their popularity; and it would have been small 
wonder If, In the excitement of this new and brill¬ 
iant existence, the young girl had forgotten the 
sad circumstances connected with her brother's 
death, and the vow of vengeance on him who had 
led him Into evil. But she did not, and In every 
action of her Ufe she had been influenced by the 
vow—by the desire for revenge against this man 
whose name was written on the sUp of paper her 
brother's dying band held. Unknown to, even un¬ 
suspected by her sister, this ruling motive colored 
all her life. She had formed no deAnlte plans of 
revenge, but she had some dim and vague con¬ 
sciousness that her only arms against this man, 
whoever and whatever ho was, would be her 
beauty, her grace and her fascination—therefore 
these, must uot be neglected. 
It was a strange, wild scheme to enter Into any 
girl’s head, more especially luto tbehead of a girl 
like Cecil, naturally so Impulsive, ao true and so 
frank; but she had conceived it, and If ever the 
power of vengeance came to be beta, sbe would 
use that power, even It it broke her own heart to 
do so. 
None could have guessed that this young girl, 
seemingly so brilliant, so careless, so haughty, 
was eherlshmg such a desire in her heart; and it 
would have surprised not only the beautiful Miss 
Lest er’s partners, but those who loved her so dear¬ 
ly, her uncle and her sister, If they could have 
seen her sometimes on her return from some 
brilliant assembly, where she reigned supreme. 
If they could have seen the color fade from the 
beautiful face, the light die out of the lustrous 
eyes, the smile leave the sweet mouth, they would 
have wondered; and although If Mattie had seen 
her sister go to her dressing-case, take out a slip 
of paper, on which a lew words were written, and 
stand brooding over them with Armly set lips and 
eyes iull ol yearning sadness and pain, she might 
have known that she was recalling her dead 
brother’s last moments, even Mattie would not 
have know the dark thoughts Ailing her heart. 
And these were the words written on the paper 
which Cecil had read and re-read so often: 
“You have only your own confounded folly to 
blame for what has happened; had you taken your 
measures more skillfully, D-would not have 
Iscovered anything. I can’t help you; I have nm 
‘a-muck’ myself, and must keep dark for a time.” 
The name signed at the end of these words was 
“L. Carewe,” and whonever Cedi read It there 
came before her eyes vividly, as If It had been but 
yesterday, her brother's death- tho beautiful dy- 
log face, the broken, feeble voice, the sunken eyes 
lighted with one hash of resentment, as the words 
came, gasped forth from tbe pale lips: 
“When I was dying—dying through him—he 
sent me this. Heavens! If I could only And 
strength to take my revenge once 1" 
And her own answer sounded clearly in the 
young girl’s ears: 
“ I will And strength; I will revenge; I promise 
It, Itex. no shall suffer, even as he has made you 
suffer.” 
And though as yet, Cecil could not see her way 
clearly, Bhe was resolved to keep that promise 
even If It cost her Ihe happiness of her life, or her 
Ufe Itself. 
CHAPTER IX. 
A DINNER. 
“Mattie, have you made out the list of Invita¬ 
tions for me to All In 7” said Cecil, one morning, 
when the brilliant season was drawing to a close, 
as she entered the boudoir, and threw herself Into 
a low chair beside the Are, which the cold, damp 
day, In the month of June though it, was, rendered 
necessary. 
“Yes, dear.” Mattlo answered from her seat, 
where she was writing letters, “but are you not 
going to ride this morning ?” 
“ No, I am rather tired,” replied Cecil, listlessly 
as she crossed her feet on the footstool. 
“ Flirted too much last night, 1 suppose,” her 
sister said, with a smile. “ Poor Mr. Gerald, I felt 
quite sorry for him 1” 
“Bid you? there was not the least necessity; 
he Is quite welt able to take care of himself. Oh, 
Mattie, I am getting rather tired of it all,” said 
Cecil, wearily, as she looked Into the red gleam of 
tho Aro with a tired expression on the beautiful 
race. 
“Tbe reaction,” said Mattie, gaily. “Never 
mind, the drive to Richmond will quite restore 
you.” 
“ To Richmond ?” said Cecil, looking up. “ Oh, 
1 had forgotten. Is It to-day the dinner-party 
takes place?” 
“Yes," said Mattie, with the prettiest blush. 
“How could you torget?” 
“It is quite possible!” said CecU, laughing. 
“ You were not likely to do so, Mattie. What an¬ 
swer Is Mr. Edgar to have when he pleads his suit ? 
Nay, darling, I did not mean to vex you, but 
surely you have noticed how Irretrievably gone 
the poor young man Is." 
“ Are you sure he Is not ‘Irretrievably gone,’ as 
you call It, on Miss CecU, sister?” said Mattie, 
with a little laugh, which was not quite sponta¬ 
neous. 
“ Q uite sure,” said CecU smiling. “ And I think 
to-day will decide It. Mattie ; Richmond Park Is a 
charming place for that kind of thing.” 
“Is It?’’said Mattie, laughingly. “You have 
had more experience than l have. There Is the 
list. Cecil; and as I have finished my notes, the 
desk is at your service.” 
“ Thanks!" and Cecil moved languidly across 
the room, and took her sister’s place before the 
writing-table, while Mattie went to the piano, and 
began to play some soft, dreamy melodies, which 
did not Interfere with her sister's work. 
For somemlnutes the silence was only broken 
by Mattie’s soft music, for Cecil went on lan¬ 
guidly addressing and Ailing the cards tor a large 
ball with which Mr. Baton Intended to conclude 
the season, without comment, and mechanically 
as it were. 
She had almost finished her work when a name 
towards the end of her list arrested her attention. 
The fair face bending over the dainty Invitation- 
cards (lashed suddenly to the roots or the bronze- 
brown hair, then she grew white as death, as me¬ 
chanically she took up the card ana Abed It In 
with the name or “Dr. I.. Carewe,” and having 
done so, she sat with the card before her, 3tarlng 
at It as If something In Its aspect fascinated her. 
“ Mattie." she said, after a pause, speaking with 
her usual Indifference of tone and manner, “ who 
is Dr. Carewe?” 
“ I really don’t know, dear," said Mattie, ab¬ 
sently. “ Unole Henry knows him, and I think he 
said he was under some obligation to him, and 
hoped we should be civil. Uncle Henry says he Is 
one of the cleverest men of the day, and that he 
wlU make a name for btmseif In his profession.” 
“Indeed!" said Cecil, quietly, as she put the 
Invitation-card into Its envelope, and addressed It 
to “Dr. L. Carewe,” and concluded her writing 
wtibout further comment, although the color was 
comlDg and going In her fair face, and the little 
jeweled hands shook so that they could hardly 
hold her pen. 
“There are the cards, Mattie,” she said, as she 
rose; “ and now I think I win go to my room. My 
bead aches, and 1 do not care tor luncheon; If I 
lie down now I shaU be tresh for this evening.” 
“ ShaU 1 come with you, and bathe your head a 
little?” 
“No, thank you; I shall be better alone,” said 
CecU, ungraciously; and she went swiftly up¬ 
stairs to her own apartment, locking herself in as 
she closed the door. 
“ At last—at last 1” she said, aloud, as she paced 
up and down the pretty room. “ At last, after all 
this weary waiting, my time will come 1 Rex. my 
brother, I wlU keep my vow; even as you suffered, 
he shall suffer; ay. and more—a thousand times 
more, If it be possible! It has been hard to wait, 
but at last my opportunity has come—at last 1” 
She went over to the looking-glass, and standing 
before it, examined herself critically—not like a 
youug girl pleased and proud of her own beauty, 
but. like a connoisseur examining a picture to 
discover Its power. 
What would be the effect if she strove to please? 
Would she fall now ? 
She looked at the face the glass refiected—at 
