THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
They cheered again and again. It -was with 
some difficulty that the Earl could make himself 
heard. At last silence was restored, and then he 
continued— 
“ We can never make up to him tor all that he 
has suffered; we cannot give him back the 
strength, the hope, the happiness he has*lost; we 
cannot atone for the wretched hours, the sleepless 
nights and the weary days—all that Is beyond us. 
But I have thought of a plan by which we may old 
him, and I wa nt the close attention of every gen¬ 
tleman present while 1 propose it." 
The Earl paused for one moment, and those 
seated at his hospitable table looked earnestly at 
him; there was still deeper silence when he began 
to speak again, 
“There Is no secrecy in England. Everything 
done in t he country la as open as the sea t ha t sur¬ 
rounds it. Our newspapers ventilate everything* 
and In one souse that Is quite light; but In a case 
like this it is hard. Throughout the length and 
breadth of England men have read how Darcy 
Lonsdale’s case went against him. and how he lost 
the money left to him. I want something else to 
go through the length and breadth of the land; 1 
want people to road how Darcy Lonsdale s friends 
and townsmen—myBetf at their head—met and ex¬ 
pressed their sympathy with him, 3 nd that they 
presented 1dm 111111 a handsome testimonial to 
show their full confidence In him and to make up 
for his loss. That testimonial I propose to head 
myself with live hundred pounds; and I venture 
to say there will not be a nobleman or a gentleman 
in the county who will not add his ualrn' to the 
list." 
Cheers again arose—never had the “ Bramber 
Arms ! heard such cheers. Darcy Lonsdale's face 
had grown deathly pale; hut for the strong arm 
of his son thrown round him, he would liave fallen. 
“ I have one word more to say. gentlemen," con- 
tinued thc Earl, and It is this. My agent. Mr. 
John Flea man, a gentleman whom you all know 
and respect, Is leaving me. 1 am glad to say that 
a fortune lia s fallen to him, and that he is going to 
enjoy It 1 propose now to ask .Mr. Darcy Lonsdale 
to tako Ms p 1 st. The emoluments are gpod—one 
thousand per annum and a house to live La. If he 
win accept the- office, I shall bo proud to place my 
Interests, my welfare, ray property. In the hands 
of a worthy, honest, and honorable gentleman. 
\ et one word more, m r. Lonsdale Is no longer 
young; but he has a son—I wish we all had such a 
son-and 1 propose that be acts, If necessary, In his 
father's place, always of course with Ids authority; 
If he does, 1 shall secure two good agents Instead 
of one. Gentlemen join me la drinking the health 
of a valued, trusted townsman, of an honest, hon¬ 
orable man, my agent Darcy Lonsdale." 
It was drunk with such honors as a man’s name 
seldom receives. Then Darcy Lonsdale rose and 
turned his white face to them; but he could make 
uo speech—the only words his trembling ups could 
utter were— 
“Heavenbless you, my lord: I cannot thank 
you, though you have made a man of me again. 
My dear old friends and neighbors, how could you 
have misjudged me! But yousee now that It was 
all a mistake. I am glad out. In future we will 
deal gently with each other, we win judge each 
other mercifully. Lord Arlington, youhave saved 
ray honor; henceforward command me as you 
will " Then unable to say auymore, he sat down. 
Doctor Hunter was the first to leave his place 
and shake hands with him. 
“ I confess I never believed one word of the story, 
Mr. Lonsdale," he said, “allhough 1 confess that 
J have avoided you. Will you shake hands and let 
the past be past V’ 
After th.it the guests wont up to the lawyer one 
by one and shook his hand. Some frankly avowed 
that they had misjudged him, some begged hts 
pardon, some said that they had gone with the 
many; but every man present wished him well 
and God-speed in his now life. 
The speech worth hearing when that scene had 
passed, when Justice had been done to an injured 
man, when peace had boon made, was when Doctor 
Hunter stood up to prospose Lord Arlington’s 
health. Lever was a toast so received; for there Is 
nothing after all which touches an Englishman's 
heart sooner than detense of the weak, love of Jus¬ 
tice, and generosity. 
It was a pleasant evening, and Lord Arlington 
had so contrived, matters that Darcy Lonsdale was 
the hero and not himself. Jie was all that was 
most land and considerate; he talked to him, and 
won his son’s heart forever. But in everything he 
put Darcy first, so that people might understand 
all t Ills had been done for him. W T as 11 any wonder 
that when he was gone the men stood In little 
groups, each one praising him? 
Felix followed him to the door or his carriage and 
said— 
“ My lord, your the Is filled, so people say, with 
great and generous actions; but none could be so 
great, so generous, so noble, as that which you 
have done to-day." 
“I have only done justice, my dour hoy;” said 
the Earl, kindly. “Your rather was an Injured 
man; I have tried to set him straight, and beside, 
I wanted a good agent, and 1 round one." 
“You cannot make light of the deed," returned 
Felix; “ it Is a good one. My father appeal’s to be 
anew man to-night; there ls.a light on Ids face 
and lire is his s.ves that 1 have not seen for long 
months. The miracle has been worked by you— 
you have removed the false reproach attaching to 
his name. 1 can fancy, but I cannot tell you, what 
our home will L like ro-nlght. My heart beats 
last, vlien I think ol the mother and children 
there, my lord. I am not very eloquent, and I am 
moved too much fm- words—I can only echo my 
father’s request, command iuc as you will." 
The Earl was more touched than he liked to 
show by tin' emotion on the inndsome young face. 
“Ivlll make you this one promise, Mr. Felix 
Eons i He,” he said—“ if ever I want a service done, 
or w .ml .1 Lien 1 , l will come to you,” 
“Thank you, my lord,” responded Felix; and 
When the.Liiil drove off dome he know that he had 
left some of the happiest hearts in England behind 
him. 
What a night It was ’. The vicar drove away 
soon after the Earl had left; and then one by one 
the company dmndled down to about twenty. 
These would not let Darcy Lonsdale leave them— 
they had so much to say to him, and were so anx¬ 
ious to make up to him lor their coldness; and 
when the host grew anxious, they would not separ¬ 
ate until they had sung “Auld Lang Syne" in 
chorus. Then they escorted father and son to Vale 
House, where Eve and Ivatlc anxiously awaited 
them. 
“ I am quite sure," said Eve, springing from her 
seat, “ that 1 hear them , and that Is Mr. Lonsdale 
laughing-do you hear, Katie ?—laughing—and he 
has never laughed ei ace the trial! Now 1 know 
there Is good news." 
There was good news in very truth, and the pity 
was that Lord Arlington was not there to see Kate 
clasp her arms round her husband’s neck and sob 
out that she always knew matters would come 
right—that he was so good Heaven was sure to 
make his innocence clear. Presently she looked at 
him with tremulous Ups. 
“ Is It really time, Darcy, that you are to be 1 he 
Earl’s agent and have a thousand a year ? I cau 
hardly behove that it Is all true. ’ 
“It Is true, Kate," be replied. “Eve. my dear, 
what have you to say to me, my true friend—the 
due true friend who loved me well enough to offer 
me her fori une If I would take it? Eve. I shall 
never forget that.” 
It had been arranged that Eve should spend the 
night at Vale House, so they sal round the Are 
until they were quite ashamed of the hour, and 
Felix- repeated every one of the Earl's noble words, 
while the two ladies listened in raptures; every 
time he paused they said, “ Go on, FeUx.” until he 
assured them that he had repeated every word. 
“ So ir - vlll be printed In every paper in Eng¬ 
land ?” said Kate. “ Well, my only puzzle Is, what 
could have inspired Lord Arlington to do such a 
kind and gene runs action ?" 
Felix knew that Lady Maude had been the chief 
tnstlgator of It, but that was a secret he never 
told—he kept It all his life. It was Darcy Lonsdale 
who answered his wire’s question. 
“My dear Kate," be said, “Lord Arlington has 
a love of seeing Justice done. T remember when 
he raised half the county because some wrong had 
been done to a toll-gate keeper, it was such men 
as he who made old England what she is. and who 
made the word 1 Englaud,’ a synonym for honor.” 
And then these simple people, who had been 
through the fiery furnace of suffering, who had 
borne sorrow, shame, and disgrace, who had never 
ventured to hope for justice In tuts world, knelt 
and thanked Heaven for their rescue; and Darcy 
Lonsdale's eyes grew dim with grateful tears as he 
opened his Bible and read how the Just and mer¬ 
ciful creator saves those who put their trust In 
Him. 
Gradually they awoke to the full reality of the 
good fortune that had befallen them. The strength 
of his youth seemed to have returned to Darcy 
Lonsdale; he took his place ouce more amongst his 
townsmen, he went briskly to and fro from his 
office, he worked hard at his business, the clerks 
came back one by one to the office, and far more 
than Its ancient glory returned to the house of 
Lonsdale and Son. 
Katie could not rest until she had seen the Earl, 
In order to thank him; and the little lady went 
over to Bramber Towers and asked lor an Interview, 
She tried to thank him hi a dlgidUad matronly 
fashion and ended by falling upon her knees and 
kissing bis hand, very much to the Earl’s confusion 
and delight, it was a new life for them all, and 
the warmth of It cheered and brightened them 
more than anything had ever done before. 
The day came when Darcy Lonsdale put his arm 
lovingly on hla son’s shoulder and said— 
“ Do not think, Felix, that In the midst of my 
troubles and of my prosperity I have given no 
thought to you. I am doing the best 1 can for you 
by giving you so much work that you will have no 
time to regret your lost lore.” 
“My dear father, I shall regret her until I die,’, 
returned Felix. 
“The young always think both their love and 
their sorrow immortal. I will say now what I have 
nevei said before, because 1 thought It would pain 
you—I thought she was not worthy of such love as 
yours. She had nothing but a beautiful face to 
recommend her-her soul was not beautiful, her 
he.u t wits not true. The time will come when vou 
will say that you had a fortunate escape. I pray 
Heaven it may be so.” 
But Felix looked grave; the world must come 
to an end before he could see a silver Umug to that 
could—the cloud of his misplaced, unhappy love. 
(7» be continued.) 
WHAT HAPPENED TO SEVEN GIRLS IN 
TEN YEARS. 
MARY WAGKK-FISHER. 
Roswell’s letter was addressed to Mary Walter, 
and her letter comes next In order: 
PmLAuBLriiiA, Jan. 2 , 187T. 
Dear Biddle ;—Last night came to me, torward- 
ed from New York, the Inclosed autobiographical 
letter from Roswell, which explains Itself. I sug¬ 
gest, that after reading It, you send It on to the 
“Cookies;” that, they in turn forward It to Ray¬ 
nor mow Mrs. K, Carlton, cairns’ Point , N. Y.), 
and she will send it to Lee. who will have the kind¬ 
ness to send It, with Its accession or letters, back to 
me, when I will send the batch to Roswell 
My! hasn’t Mary Roswell had a career! f wrote 
her quite a long letter last night, giving her the 
whereabouts, amt wham bouts ot“us girls.” she 
outstripped us all in falllngln love and getting mar¬ 
ried. lam heartily glad she Is anchored at last, ! 
and so very happy . and trust, that her swede will 
continue to prove to be nil she believes him to be. 
As for my own experiences, it would take me ten | 
jours to relate them in detail, r cun only give (ho j 
skeleton of my whereabouts, which you girls may 
clothe with the flesh of fashion and folly, of high 
life and gay life, of serious thought, of earnest 
work, or with whatever else may suggest itself. 
You cannot hit far from the mark, foi-my experi¬ 
ences have beeu wide and deep, although not at all 
like Roswell's, so here am I categorically for the 
past ten years t As Lee Jaynes would say “ Wal¬ 
ter opens her mouth.” 
Last of June, 1857, left Richmond for my home In 
M estern New York. April, being thrown upon 
my own resources, 1 began a literary career In New 
lork city. Spent a month, In the summer of that 
year, with Biddle at the “ Cookies’." In the sum¬ 
mer of the following year, made a tour through the 
West. Spent the spring of to In Washington, and 
the following summer In Newport and at Long 
Branch. Winter of TO and 71 In New York; tho 
summer at. Saratoga, with a fortnight at Cairns’ 
Point with Zethrea, Winter of 7i and ’72 in New 
York and Washington; the summer at Sea Grove 
and the Lakes of New York. July 27, is;?, sailed 
for Europe. Winter, spring and summer of ’72 and 
’73 in France, Italy, Aust ria and Hungary. 
In May, is 73 , in the Pantheon, at Rome, In the 
moonlight, made the acquaintance, with a party of 
friends, of “my future," as the French say—a 
young man of goodly presence, whose card bore 
the simple Saxon—WiUlam Raleigh Darrell. (When 
Mercy Biddle first sa w him she said •• william the 
Conqueror "> it was a case of love at first sight, at 
second sight, and at all sights, for, after being over 
head and ears in what Lee would call the “ Ileaven- 
born-marrlags-love,” I made up my mind, that if 1 
was ever married, It would be to that man. And he, 
poor soul, seemed to be laboring under a similar 
delusion. The delusion continued during the fall 
and winter of '73 and ’74. spout in rarls. In the 
summer of 74 , after a month in England, I sailed 
for New York, where I remained for the most part 
until the following summer-time, when I was “ on 
the wing —at Round Lake, Saratoga, Philadelphia 
and Niagara Falls. In the first month of the Cen¬ 
tennial year, 1 was married to the “ man of my 
heart."—whose profession Is Law, and whose law 
is love,—aad who, as a mao and a husband, phys- 
lealiy, mentally and morally, “is all that could be 
desired," which you may imagine written in capi¬ 
tal letters as high as the moon, wp were married 
with very little ceremony, after the manner of the 
Quakers, in a room full of friends, neither of us 
promising to “obey," but each and both subscrib¬ 
ing to the same vows. When I said good-by to New 
York, some one threw a pair of old slippers after us 
for luck, abd we were whizzed away to tills city of 
Brotherly Love, which is our home. We are both 
happy a 5 well-nested pigeons and busy as bees. 
mu troubles have been only mental conflicts and 
his pat hs those of prosperity and peace Mim have 
beeu somewhat sterner, but upon the whole these 
ton years have been full of adventure and whole¬ 
some discipline, or hard work and travel, of fair 
literary success and a comfortable financial in¬ 
come. 1 feel that my girlhood was well “ filled 
in," and trust that my middle life and old age (for 
I intend to have ono-Europe gave me a new lease 
of Ufe) will partake of similar experiences and per¬ 
haps usefulness. I still scribble and study as of 
yore. Haven’t changed much, I think. No gray 
hairs hor any of their relations! I " behave ” bet- 
tor than in tho Richmond days—am an excellent 
wife, which surprises me, for I had an idea, ten 
years ago, that there was not a man on earth I 
could live with, without at least one “ pitched bat¬ 
tle ” a week. Ah, how little we know ourselves! 
Our chateau Is slowly taking shape, and when once 
under Our own vine and fig tree, come and test my 
excellence us a housekeeper. 
In conclusion, have the kindness to accept the 
expression of my highest and most affectionate re¬ 
membrance, in which my husband also desires to 
unite. Fraternally, Mary Walter Darrell. 
New York city, Jan. 20 , 1877. 
Dear girls:— The other two letters will speak 
for themselves. I was not of the New Year’s party, 
ten years ago (still t belonged to that clique of 
girls), for I was North begging, to save the Normal 
School. Sunday, Jan. nth, jssr. found mo again In 
Richmond. Just got my school started, and was 
telegraphed horns again -to my mother’s death¬ 
bed. 
During the next two years, I was housekeeper 
for my lather, the only break during that time, a 
visit to the Cookies with Walter, In tho summer of 
’os. Bp ring of ’69 my father married agaiu, aud In 
March I bethought me to study medicine, and com¬ 
menced reading. Came to New York In Oct., ’6it, 
and spent the next year In the “ New York Infirm¬ 
ary for Women and children,” studying and at¬ 
tending college loctures. The following two years 
spent all my time in college and studying, and in 
March, ’,’2, graduated, receiving a diploma of Doc¬ 
tor of Medicine. 1 put out a little shingle, “Dr. M. 
Biddle," and laid wait for any sick unfortunates 
who might fall Into my hands. 1 immediately got 
the opportunity to prescribe (In the church of 
“The Holy Trinity") for the poor women of the 
parish, which I still continue to do. The year fol¬ 
lowing my graduation 1 commenced teaching in 
college as an assistant, and am now lecturing on 
Materia Modlca; also am Secretary of the college. 
My success as a physician has been, I believe, all 
that I deserved. I love my work more and more, 
and am perfectly satisfied to Live and die In my 
chosen profession. 1 have kept up the acquaint¬ 
ance or the “ Cookies " and Walter (and was the 
only one of the 'six at the latter's wedding); also, 
of Mary Roswell, whoso beautiful boy is eno ugh to 
make any mother proud. I am sure, l’oor wave- 
tossed girl l t arn glad she Is harbored at last. 
“ Pious-faced ” Martha Cooko and J are the only 
ones out of the matrimonial noose, and so we cele¬ 
brated our single-heartedness by doing the Centen¬ 
nial together. And perhaps I should say, that an¬ 
nually, we have a visitation at one or tho other's 
place of business, and woe to any who shall dare to 
Interfere with this time-honored usage till death 
do 11 s part. 1 live In Fannie Fern’s old home, 
where much of her spicy scribbling was done, and 
though I sir in her chair and morn over her car¬ 
pets, I cut with the knife rather than the pen. 
Come one, come all, to see me; come, if you are 
well, and come, be sure, if you are ill. 
Sincerely, Mercy Biddle. 
( 7b be continued) 
REAL CARE AND SHAM 
That sturdy son of the English church, the 
Bishop or Manchester, recently, in the course of a 
public speech, made some sharp remarks on the 
frivolity of social Ufe, and read the following letter 
from a young woman to illustrate :— 
Wc breakfast about 10 . Breakfast occupies the 
best part of an hour, during which we read our 
letters, and my mother expects me to write her 
notes of invitation, or to reply to such. Then I 
have to go Into the conservatory and feed the 
canaries and parrot s, and cut off the dead leaves 
and faded flowers from tho plants. Then it Is 
time to dress for lunch, and at 2 o’clock we lunch. 
At 3 my mother Ukes me to go with her when she 
makes her calls, and we then come home to a 
5 o’clock tea, when some friends drop in. After 
that we get ready to take our drive in the park, 
and then we go homo to dinner, and after dinner 
we go to the theater or the opora, and when we get 
home I am so dreadfully tired that I don’t know 
what to do. 
This is an exaggerated plcttire, of course, or at 
least, however true of English society girls, could 
hardly be asserted of any considerable portion of 
tiffs community. Yei the cares or what are mag¬ 
nified into cares oi some people can hardly be of 
greater Importance than feeding the canaries and 
parrots and cutting off dead loaves and faded 
flowers. There Is a fatal facility in multiplying 
cares about nothing, until we seem to be absorbed 
and completely taken up with vanities and noth¬ 
ings. The more complex civilization gets, the 
more burdensome it becomes, until we are fain to 
run away In any direction from the tread-mill 
which we have built for ourselves. l ake for in¬ 
stance the single Item of the supply of food to our 
human necessities. Plenty Is the first essential ; 
then we must have.varlety and delicacy, then fine 
ware from which to eat and an experienced ser¬ 
vant to care for it as well as to prepare the meals ; 
other refinements are gradually added, until the 
performance of satisfying hunger aiuld plenty, be¬ 
comes a featot organization, cooperation, and ex¬ 
ecution, not at all Inferior In difficulty to t he origi¬ 
nal problem of proctulng the raw material of food 
Itself, it finally comes to this that there Is more 
distress over the failure of the domestic to scrub 
the silver or brush up the crumbs, than there 
would once have been over the absence of the din¬ 
ner entirely Perhaps It is still t ruer of apparel 
that the demands of fashion Impose on this gen¬ 
eration more labor and venation than the weav¬ 
ing and home manufacture of garments did upon 
the celebra ted grandmothers. 
This tendency of civilization to complicate rather 
than simplify our lives should bo resisted at every 
turn. I.et us be sure that these modern “con 
vonlences” are not traps to Impose some new and 
embarrassing fetters, quite different from the op¬ 
portunity for enlarging fife which is anticipated 
from them. Keep the necessities of life well with¬ 
in bounds and And something outside of them, of 
a more ennobling character, for all the leisure 
which can be made. It Is very easy to fill up lei¬ 
sure with “ fancy work” and “loafing" and Imag¬ 
ine oneself tired from mere absence of exhilarat¬ 
ing mental effort, or personal experience outside of 
the most ordinary selfish ways of Ufe. 
It. is sometimes a good moral discipline to think 
over one’s burdens, separate the real and the nec¬ 
essary, from the fictitious and the needlessly as¬ 
sumed. The value of tho practice goes beyond 
personal lire Into public affairs. The difficulties 
of public problems arise more from manufactured 
obstacles to Improvement and reform than from 
real ones, however real the former may sometimes 
be made to appear.—Springfield Republican. 
RANDOM BITS. 
True SociETv.-The society begins In the home. 
When two young people love each other, and 
marry, they restore the picture ot the apostolic 
church. They are of one heart and ono soul- 
neither do they say that anything they possess Is 
their own, but they have all things in common. 
1 heir mutual trust In each other, their entire con¬ 
fidence in each other, chaws out all that is best In 
both. Love is the angel who rolls away the stone 
from the grave In which we bury our better nature, 
and It comes forth. Love makes all things new; 
makes a new heaven aud a new earth; makes all 
care3 light., and pain easy. It Is the ono enchant¬ 
ment ot huma n life which realizes Fort unlo's purse 
aud Aladdin’s palace, and turns tho “Arabian 
Nights” into mere prose in comparison. Think 
how this old story of love is repeated forever In all 
novels and romances and poems, and how we never 
tire of reading about It; and how, if there Is to be 
a wedding la a church, all mankind go, just to have 
one look at t wo persons who are supposed, at least, 
to be In love, and so supremely happy. Hut this, 
also. Is not perfect society. It is too narrow, too 
exclusive. It shows the power of devotion, trust, 
self-surrender, that there Is in the human heart; 
and It is also a prophecy of something larger, that 
Is to come. 
But It is at least a home, and before real society 
can come, true homes must come. As in a shel¬ 
tered nook 1u the midst of the great sea of tee 
which rolls down from the summit, of Mont Blanc 
Is toiuid a little green spot full of tender flowers, so 
In the shelter of home, In the warm atmosphere 
of household love, spring up the pure affec¬ 
tions of parent and child; father, mother, son, 
daughterof brothers and sisters. Whatever 
makes this insecure, and divorce frequent* makes 
ot marriage not a union for life, but an experi¬ 
ment which may be tried "s often as we choose, 
and abandoned when we like Mid this cuts up by 
the roots all the dear affections of home; leaves 
children orphaned, destroys fatherly uni motherly 
loro, and is a virtual dissolution or society, t 
