I'itfrarp 0istfllanp. 
THE FIRST STRAWBERRY. 
MRS. FANNIE E. NEWBERRY. 
A MYTH. 
Pomona once, in meditative mood, 
Turned languid eyea upon the Sisterhood. 
And spoke with accents mild, and mellow tones, 
“ Come, sisters, let us wake and gird our zones; 
We must not dream these lovely hours away, 
A work we have before us this May-day— 
Have you not board great Jupiter’s request? 
He asks for something which may add a zest 
To lovely Venus's birthday festival; 
Some rare, delicious fruit which may excel— 
Even Bacchus's wine, or roots of asphodel. 
I have iu mind a thought of something sweet 
As honey of Hymetus, and complete 
In flavor as that raro, ambrosial brew 
Which Venus drinks, her beauty to renew. 
And yet, withal, a crispness it must have 
like to the spicy cress which brooklets lave; 
And e’en its color must be brilliant, too, 
For Venus’s beaut,y-loving eyes to view. 
Ah ! tell me. Sisters, what this fruit shall be 
To please the gods in taste and symmetry.” 
Fair Ceres thoughtful seemed, and turned away, 
And sparkling Flora not a word could say; 
The seasons, always helpful to the three, 
Looked in each other's eyes and sighed—” Ah, me ! ” 
But bold Pomona, roused to action now. 
Sprang to her feet, with triumph on her brow ! 
' Ob 1 Sisters, listen—heed my least command, 
And haste to bring the best from every land. 
Then in the magic bowl your gifts I’ll brew. 
And from it mold this fruit, all rare and new.” 
They flew on wings of thought, or sailed away 
(.hi downy clouds which, moored in ether, lay. 
Fair Flora ransacked all her beauteous bowers. 
And tore the hearts from out her choicest flowers; 
While Ceres found the nourishment which lay, 
Hidden from other eyes. In wheat away ; 
Then, thinking tills an off'riug all too mean. 
She wandered on among the wheat fields green 
Till suddenly, with thrills of sweet surprise. 
She met the glances of a baby’s eyes, 
Who, lying iu content beneath a tree, 
Had seen her lieauty, ami luughcd out iu glee ! 
Htoopiug, with strong desire, the goddess sought 
To steal a kiss from off his lips, but caught 
His breath, so subtly pure and sweet, she cried— 
“ I have It now a gift to suit my pride! 
This baby's breath contains a perfume far 
Sweeter than airs from spicy gardens are— 
Pomona will accept, this offering. 
E’en though from mortal lips its sweets I bring.” 
The Seasons brought their dainty off 'rings in 
Of sun rays warm, and rain drops left of sin 
Untouched and pure, since once their multitude 
Flooded this wicked earth and left it good. 
And as each off’ring uiiugled in that howl 
Into whose mystic depths no mortal soul 
May ever look—Pomona, priestess fair! 
Stood over it, and waved her white wand there; 
While, ling’ring round about, the Sisterhood 
With looks of doubt and eager wonder, stood; 
At length, she lifted thence a drop, or two, 
Which shODO with radiance of the morning dew; 
And from her finger took her thimble gold. 
To pour therein the amber drops till cold— 
Then turned them, hardened into shape, upon 
A rose-ieot pale, which fluttered there anon. 
But carelessly her while hand touched a thorn, 
And by it was, with playful malice, torn; 
A drop of blood oozed from the tiny wound— 
Impatiently she shook it to the ground, 
it tell upon the dainty, amber mold 
And into crimson turned its lucid gold 1 
Pomona lifted It, surprised aud mute. 
But iu her heart Him knew she'd found the fruit, 
O’er which both gods and men may well grow merry, 
The luscious, fragrant, crisp and sweet, strawberry! 
Colawater, Mich. 
-- 
WEAKEE THAN A WOMAN. 
(Continued from page 190.) 
CHAPTER XLI1I. 
At one o’clock in the morning, Darcy Lonsdale 
reached Garswood. lie had no words to express 
his surprise and dismay on hearing of sir Owen’s 
accident. He had returned home on the previous 
evening from London, and a few hours afterwai-ds 
received the summons to Garwood, lie went di¬ 
rect to.sir Owens room, and was startled by the 
loud cry with which the dying man received him. 
** Come here, Darcy," said sir Owen. “ You 
have more sense than all the doctors put together. 
Do I look like a dying man 
*' You look better than l expected to llud you,” 
answered Mr. Lonsdale. 
“ Yet they say I ain dying. They say my spine 
Is Injured. I am talking to you now ; yet they say 
when the situ rises I shall be dead. It Is absurd- 
say It is absurd. Lonsdale.” 
Mr. Lonsdale looked down with Infinite pity on 
the face that was almost convulsed with terror. 
“ 1 am afraid.” he said, “thatyou have heard the 
truth, it would be cruel to give you one false 
hope, it Is time for you to make your peace with 
Heaven." 
Sir Owen turned his agonized face to Ills wife. 
“ Gh, Violet, they are all against, me, my dear, 
but you! You do not believe It, do you 7 You are 
kinder and you care more for me. What is my lire 
to them 7 Tell me—<lo you believe that lam go¬ 
ing to die?” 
She whispered her answer. No one heard it but 
himself, and with a wild cry he turned away his 
face. 
“ They are all alike I They want me to die! 
They will not let me live!" he exclaimed. 
Doctor Brown stopped his wild raving by telling 
hhu that the Quieter he was the longer he would 
live. The presence of the two doctors, howe ver, 
Irritated 81r Owen so greatly that they were com¬ 
pelled to go down-stairs. Felix followed them. 
The night had grown cold and chill. A storm was 
brewing; the wind was walling round the house, 
beudlug the tall trees, and robbing them of leaves. 
The servants were all up aud a lire had been 
lighted In the library. Felix ordered hot coffee, 
and sent some to his father and Lady Chevenlx. 
THE 
RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
“ This Is a terrible state of things,” said one doc¬ 
tor to another. •* There seems to be.no sense of 
what, should he done. We ought to send for the 
vicar.” 
“ Yes, It would be better,” agreed the other. “ It, 
would save appearances. But I am no believer 
myself in death-bed conversions.” 
“ You forget,”rejoined his friend, “thatmercy 
may be extended even at the last moment,” 
“ No; I do not forget that. But l think the best 
preparation for death is a good life, I would not 
change places with Sir Owen ” 
Felix sent at once for the vicar of Lifford, and 
then returned to the Baronei.’s room, leaving the 
doctors together. 
Sir Owen had grown very quiet now. He lay 
with Violet’s hands clasped in his, as though cling¬ 
ing to her, he could not die. Darcy Lonsdale sat 
at the other side, his kind, sensible, face lull of 
compassion. He had seen nothing In all his life 
that affected him as this death-bed scene did. 
“ I am no worse,” he said ; but the voice was 
changed and faint. “ Have you sent the doctors 
borne ?” 
Felix bent over him without replying ; but there 
was such kiudiy sorrow and anxiety In his face 
that Sir Owen said— 
“ You are a good friend—what I call a true 
friend. My dealing with you was not as fair as 
regards violet here. But you forgive me 7” 
“ Yes,” answered Felix, “ I forgive you.” 
“ Now look at me,” whispered the faint voice— 
“ look well at me. 1 feel weak, but that Is through 
lying here so long, and being frightened. Tell me, 
do 1 seem like a dying man V 
With a woman’s weakness, Felix bent lower over 
the race that a few hours since had seemed to him 
repulsive, so that sir Owen should not see the 
tears which tilled ills eyes. 
“ Do not. be angry with me,” he said—“ I dare 
not say ‘No.’” 
'lhe Baruriet groaned; and shortly afterwards 
Airs Haye arrived from Lllford. Lady chevenlx 
never moved; she still knelt by her husband’s 
side, and Darcy Lonsdale kept his station opposite. 
Sir uwen smiled when Mrs. Haye came In—he lmd 
always liked her, 
“ Did they send for you also 7” he said. “ What 
folly! You must not believe one word they say.” 
'i he darkness of the night passed—there was a 
faint gleam of early tlawn in the eastern sky. 'i he 
dying man's quick ears detected the first notes or 
the birds. 
“ iiush! Hark 1” he cried. " The birds are 
chirping! Now who is right? They said that 1 
should be dead betore the dawn! Draw those 
hangings, Violet, and put out the lamps. It is 
dawn uow; l seethe ml light, In the sky. I am 
right, and the doctors are wrong.” 
i hey drew the hangings and put out the lamps, 
the dawu came Itushmg Into the room, l he great 
window laced t he east, so that (he nrst rays of the 
sun shone directly Into the room. How gray and 
haggard sir uwen’S face looked as those beams 
touched It! 
Darcy Lonsdale discerned what v iolet could not 
—the speedy eomlug of death. He kuelt down by 
the dying man s side, and he spoke to him as no 
one would have luought he eouid speak, tie dwelt 
so much upon the mercy of heaven aud the good¬ 
ness of God t hat sir Owen’s pale lips trembled. 
••1 wish,” he said, “that 1 had thought of all 
that before. Itfs too late nosv—much too late.” 
'I he vicar came; but when he stood by the Bar¬ 
onet’s death-bed, it was percepiible to all that sir 
Gwen neither heard uor understood. He roused 
himself soon afterwards, however. 
“I feel very ill, Violet,” he said—"very 111 In¬ 
deed. 1 have uo strength; 1 cannot move. Can 
It be true what they said ? call the doctors back, 
aud tell them they must do something for me," 
'i hey were brought back, and such an hour 
passed then as they hoped uever to see ugulu. sir 
Owen s terrible cries, his screams of tear—for he 
was afraid to die—horribly afraid of the ijnknown 
future—distressed them, it was such a scene that 
those present were long lu lorgetting it. ’i hen, 
when the bright sun uumc forth In his splendor, 
and the birds chirped loudly, the Baronet turned 
Ms face to his wife, sighed softly, and his spirit 
lied. 
He had been dead some minutes before the doc¬ 
tors loimd it out; und the same Sunbeams glided 
the dead face of tue husband and the white, beau¬ 
tiful living face of the wife. 
l hey carried her away; for the horror of the 
scene proved loo much tor her. She was so over¬ 
whelmed as to cause alarm amongst those who 
loved her. It was bright morning then, 'l he doc¬ 
tors look some breakfast, aud each went off to his 
duties. Lady chevenlx lay In her room, with Mrs. 
Haye keeping anxious watch by her. Felix went 
home, aud Darcy Lonsdale remained, to take 
charge of everything. 
The gloom of the next tew days was great. Into 
the darkened house there came no sunlight. Peo¬ 
ple kept, going and coming, all Intent ou the same 
melancholy business-preparations ror the funeral. 
Dull gloomy days they were, Into which came no 
gleam of hope. 
SB’ Owen’s death caused great dismay; still no 
one was very much surprised at his untimely eud; 
and, curiously enough, the suddenness of It excited 
great pity. People who had spoken uuklndly of 
him, and condemned his faults most vigorously, 
now grieved most for him. ills sins aud errors 
seemed to be covered by the great, dark, thick veil 
of death. 
The day of his funeral came, and half the county 
attended. Sir Owen was buried lu the churchyard 
at Lllford, where the oak trees seemed to murmur 
among themselves that they had foreseen wlrat 
would happen, In the early days, when he walked 
under the spreading shade of their great branches. 
Tlicu came the tending of the will, The lawyers 
and trustees assembled in the library, and Lady 
Chevenlx, in her widow s dress, entered soon after¬ 
wards, accompanied by Mrs. Haye. There was 
some little commotion at her entrance. One gen¬ 
tleman brought a chair, another a footstool. She I 
looked so delicately lovely In her widow’s dress, | 
her golden hair hall hidden by a pretty Parisian 
cap, the heavy folds of rich crape sweeping the 
ground. Lord Arlington hastened to meet her. 
and, after a few kindly words, took his station by 
her side. It was well known that he and Captain 
Hill were the two executors of the will. He spoke 
some few words to her In a low voice, and then 
both composed themselves to listen. 
It was a good and just will—evidently the pro¬ 
duct of a thoughtful mind. Mr. Lonsdale had, in 
fact, suggested almost every clause lu It. Every 
old servant iu the house had a handsome legacy; 
the trustees, all Sir Owen’s old friends—every one 
was remembered. The bulk of Ills fortune, with 
Garswood, was left to his “dearly-beloved wife.” 
There was a very handsome bequest, to Francis 
Haye, and one to the vicar; there was a large sum 
left to each charity lu the neighborhood. 
1 here was a murmur when the reading ceased. 
Every one was pleased. Lady Chevenlx "bowed as 
she quitted the room, and the gentlemen stood lu 
little groups to talk about her. 
“ What a fate I” said Lord Arllngtou. “So young, 
and so beaut If ul! She will have an I ueome of over 
thirty thousand pounds per annum too. Wlrat a 
strange fate!” 
’• That comes of having a beautiful face,” put In 
frank Captain Hill. “ A beautiful face is better 
It an a fortune.” 
“ At times,” said Darcy Lonsdale. “ Every beau¬ 
tiful woman is not favored like Lady Chevenlx.” 
Then matters pertaining to the estate were dis¬ 
cussed by the executors; and It was arranged 
that, with the young widow s consent., all business 
should stiff be left lu the bauds of Mr. Lonsdale. 
A very different scene was passing in the room 
where Lady Chevenlx sat wllh her mother. Mrs. 
liaye was walking up and down, her pride and 
elation almost more than she could conceal. 
“I always liked Sir Owen, my dear. I always 
said that he was a most honorable man. What 
could be nobler than his treatment of you ? I have 
known such terrible things happen.” 
“ What klud of things, mamma 7" asked the 
widow—but there was little interest In the tone of 
her voice. 
*• Terrible tilings, my dear. I have heard of rich 
men dying, and leaving a handsome fortune to 
their wives on condition that they should uever 
marry again. Now 1 call that atrociously mean.” 
“.so It is, mamma,” said Lady Chevenlx—“and 
very wrong, too. " 
she spoke, however, as one whose thoughts were 
not with her words. She hail untied the widow’s 
cap. and was caressing with her lingers the long 
golden hair that fell over her shoulders. Mi’s. 
Haye did not observe her. 
“ sir Owen, you see, violet, had more sense than 
that. 1 have uever heard of a more generous will, 
only twenty-six—and you do not look twenty- 
young. beautiful, with a fortune like that—what 
more could any woman desire ?" 
“1 desire no more, mamma. I only feel as 
though I wanted a long rest- I am very tired; no 
one can ted how tired 1 am.” 
“Your Income will be over thirty thousand a 
year. Only think of that 1 And it was so good of 
your dear husband to leave your rather and myself 
live thousand pounds; It showed such a kind feel¬ 
ing. It seems strange that so much good fortune 
should have fallen to your lot.” 
dhe young widow looked round her sumptuous 
room. 
“ Yes,” she said, “ It Is strange to remember that 
I was once Violet Haye." 
“ ‘ Beautiful violet Haye 1 all the young farmers 
called you,” rejoined Mrs Haye. 'i hen she saw 
ilie golden hair lying ou the folds of crape An 
expression of horror came over her face. “My 
dear violet, how can you be so careless,” she cried 
—" and after such a wlU as that ? Put on j our 
cap, my dear child, ul once: only imagine my 
feelings ir one of the servants saw you! I should 
never forgive myself.” 
“ 1 did not think of what I was doing,” said Lady 
Chevenlx. languidly. 
“ But you must think of such things You must 
study appearances. It Is a duty. ’ 
Mrs. Haye hastened to her daughter’s side, and 
with her own hands wound the golden hair Into a 
large knot, and placed the cap securely on her 
head. 
‘•Do not take It off again, violet,” she said 
“ after such a will. It seems quite heartless.” 
she wondered why her daughter laughed with a 
tired, hopeless expression—she who was mistress 
or thirty thousand a year. 
CHAPTER XL1V. 
Long mouths had passed since Sir Owen was 
laid in his grave; and uow August was come round 
again with its ripe fruits and yellow corn. Lady 
Chevenlx. every one agreed, was a model widow. 
During the Interval that had elapsed since her 
husband’s death, hardly anyone had seen her. 
Visitors had called, but had never been admitted; 
they had left cards and condolences, aud lrad each 
approved of the fact that Lady Chevenlx kept her¬ 
self quite secluded. 
Mrs. liaye spent a groat deal of time with her 
daughter. It was Indeed that most estimable lady 
who lrad advised the long course of seclusion— 
who saw that the golden head was not uncovered 
until the proper time—who brought to her daugh¬ 
ter all the news of the outer world, and formed the 
one link between her and society In general. 
Nothing could have been more decorous or 
proper: and every one felt it to be quite the right 
thing ui speak of Lady Chevenlx as reeling her 
husband's loss so keenly that she was no longer 
able to see any one. 
Did she (eel It so keenly ? she never asked her- 
self the question. Slit* had been overwhelmed wit h 
the horror of the closing scene—as Indeed had 
every one else who had witnessed It. it had haunt¬ 
ed her sleeping and waking hours, as it had the 
days and nights of every other witness. She had 
been stunned aud bewildered by It. She had been 
so frightened that ail her natural high spirits had 
left her. 
Did she regret Sir Owen very much ? She could 
r ’l 201 
not tell—she never asked herself the question. She 
had been shocked startled, horrified—but It was 
not the keen sorrow of her loss that made her 
shrink from all observation. It was rather the re¬ 
action from wlrat she had suffered. Aud she suf¬ 
fered still. She often started In alarm from her 
seat, her heart beating with terror, thinking that 
she heard her husband s voice; then she remem¬ 
bered that he was dead. She woke often from her 
sleep, her pillow wet with tears, her whole frame 
trembling with the horror of some terrible dream, 
In which her husband was an aeilve figure—and 
then she remembered with a strange emotion that 
he was dead. 
It was strange to go about the house without 
fear; It was strange to give her orders with the 
certainty that they would be obeyed; it was 
strange to know that she need tremble and suffer 
no more. There were to be no more anxious hours 
spent In walling for her husband's going out aud 
coming In; It was all over—he was dead. 81ie said 
the words to herself a hundred times each day— 
“ s lr Owen Is dead.” She bad found It difficult to 
realize, her subservience; she found it just as dif¬ 
ficult to realize her independence. She told her¬ 
self at times that she was absolute mistress of 
Garswood—absolute mistress ot thirty thousand a 
year; but she could neither realize nor under¬ 
stand It. 
One day Lord Arlington found It necessary to see 
Lady Chevenlx on business: he was accompanied 
by Captain HU1, She received them with quiet 
grace, aud listened to all their business statements; 
then she said It was her express wish that. Darcy 
Lonsdale should continue to act in every way lor 
her, but, as he would have more to do, she insisted 
on doubling the salary sir Owen had paid him. 
Lord Arlington was very pleased about It, aud the 
Interview ended satisfactorily. 
Meanwhile Darcy Lonsdale spent whole days at 
Garswood; and It was strange that he never once 
mentioned Felix to Lady Chevenlx—nor did she 
Inquire about him. But one day, when some pro¬ 
tracted business was coming to an end, she looked 
up suddenly and said— 
“ Your son was very kind to me In my distress, 
Mr. Lonsdale. I can never forget how kind he was. 
But for him 1 do not know what I should have 
done.” 
“ I am sure that he would be pleased to be of ser¬ 
vice to you, Lady Chevenlx,” he replied. 
“ It. was doubly kind of him. He heaped coals of 
Are on my head," she declared warmly. Arter a 
few minutes she added, “ I sUould like very much 
to make 1dm a present, Air. Lonsdale—just as a 
slight acknowledgment of his kindness to me. I 
should like to present him with a diamond ring. I 
thought. I would consult you first. AV fiat do you 
think ot it 7" 
She saw Darcy Lonsdale’s face flush. He did not 
answer for a few minutes; then he replied— 
•• I will speak to you quite frankly, Lady Cheve¬ 
nlx. 1 do not think (hut he would like it." 
she bowed to him. 
“ 1 am glad that L asked you,’ she replied. “ You 
know best.” 
“ I am quite sure that the fact of his having been 
ot service to you will be far more to him than any 
diamond ring, or anything that could be given to 
him,” said Darcy Lonsdale. 
“How is your sou ; ’ she asked. “Is he well? 
He never comes here.” 
“ He Is quite well, but so busy that we see little 
of him at home, lie works without intermission." 
She looked as though she would fain 
ask some other question. She played for a few 
minutes with the strings ot her widow’s cap and 
her race flushed. Whatever the question might 
have been that she wished to ask, It remained un¬ 
spoken 
on that same evening her mother was at Gars¬ 
wood. Lady chevenlx seemed rest less. She 
changed her seat continually ; and then, tired ot 
sluing, she walked up aud down the room. 
“ You are very restless, violet,” said Airs. Haye. 
“ What Is it, my dear?” 
“ 1 want to hear some news of my Lllford 
friends; none of them comes near me. How Is Eve 
Lester, mamma ? Has she njkmce yet? Is there 
any rumor of her marriage 7” 
" No. People say tuat she has refused some 
good offers—no one knows why,” said Mrs. Haye. 
“ And—Felix Lonsdale, mamma. Is he going to 
marry ?” 
For a moment Mrs. Haye looked keenly at her 
daughter, and then she answered carelessly— 
“ I hear nothing ot him. I do not think he will 
ever And time to marry; he has too much busi¬ 
ness." 
“ Does he — let me think — what Is the Lllford 
phrase? Does he - pay his addresses’ to any¬ 
body ?” 
She waited restlessly tor the answer. 
“No,” replied Mrs. Haye, “I have not heard 
that he does ; in fact, he has no time.” 
she looked at her, but Violet's race was turned 
to the window. 
Later on Mrs. Haye began talking to her of the 
brilliant second marriages she had heard of—mar¬ 
riages of ralr young widows who had been left 
with large fortunes — how they had made most 
brilllaut matches, married lords and dukes, filled 
grand positions, and made famous names. She did 
not say that there was a moral to be drawn from 
all this; but she left It for her daughter to think 
over. 
so t ime passed; and at last Lad)' chevenlx wrote 
to Implore Marian Hethcote to return to her, if 
only ror a few days—tor she was longing for a 
change. But, when Marian came, It was found 
that she had permission to remain tor six months. 
‘ It Lady Chevenlx desired It. 
AUss Uetlicote deplored the sudden aud untimely 
death of the master ot Garswood; but there could 
be no doubt her second visit was more pleasant 
than her first Lady Chevenlx was cheered by the 
presence of her young guest; It was novel to hear 
the sound ot a laugh in the gloomy Hall. Alarlan 
said to her one day— 
“ Dear Lady Chevenlx. do you know what, II I 
were In your place, 1 should do V” 
