SEPT. 27 
fiferatg Ufottllang. 
GETHSEMANE, 
BY ELLA WHEELER. 
In golden Youth, when seems the Earth, 
A Suimnerlnod for singing mirth. 
When souls are triad, and hearts are light. 
Anti not a i hadow lurks iu sight, 
We do not know it. but there lies 
Somewhere, Veiled under evening skies, 
A garden all must sometime see; 
GethSeinane. Oethnemane — 
Soniowbcro lies our Gothsemone. 
With Joyous steps we go our ways; 
Love lends a halo to the days . 
Light sorrows sail like clouds afar; 
We laugh, ard say how strong we are. 
We hurry on, and hurrying, go 
Close to the border land of Wo, 
That waits for you and waits for me; 
GetbKcmano. Gcthsemane— 
Forever waits Gct.hseinano. 
Down shadowy lanes, across strange streams 
Bridged over by our broken dreams. 
Behind the misty caps of years. 
Close to the great salt fount of tears. 
The garden lies. Strive as you may. 
You cannot miss it in your way; 
All paths that have been, or shall be. 
Pass somewhere through Got.hsemane. 
All those w ho journey, soon or late 
Mur.t pass within the garden 'm gate— 
Must kneel alone in darkness there, 
And battle with some fierce despair. 
God pity those who cannot sny, » 
“ Not mine, but thine," we only pray, 
“Let this cup pass." and do not see 
The purpose of GetUsemane; 
Gethsemane, Getheemaue— 
God help us through Gethsemane ! 
■ v »■»- 
IN TOLLY’S NET. 
CHAPTER V. 
"DUST IN HIS EYES.’’ 
Miss McLeod walked straight up the broad car¬ 
peted staircase, to Lady Sholto’s pretty drawing¬ 
room, and the Earl followed her in a rather omi¬ 
nous silence, which Jean did not quite care to 
break until they were safe from eyes and ears In 
the privacy of the drawing-room. 
It was a very elegant apartment, hung with the 
palest blue satin, dotted here and there with rose¬ 
buds ; a most charming Duburry combination 
which all Lady Sholto's visitors admired greatly. 
The windows, which opened on to the ground, 
were hung with white lace curtains without, and 
within, with delicate blue satin wltli a border of 
rosebuds running all round them; the chairs were 
of the softest, most luxurious description, and In 
the center or the room was a cushioned canseuse, 
bearing on its center pillar a most exquisite bou¬ 
quet of nowers, chiefly pale pink roses, and their 
green leaves, A Are was burning on the heal th, 
although the day was soft, and mild enough, and 
the windows were opened to admit the soft sum¬ 
mer breeze. 
Miss McLeod walked straight across to the Are, 
and stood there In silence; and as the Earl came 
up behind her, she leant back her saucy plquanto 
face and said with the sweetest Intonations: 
“ Well, Archie.” 
“ Well, Jean.” 
“ What are you looking so sober about ? Are 
you angry with me ?” 
“ Do you not think I have cause ?” he said, 
gravely, 
“ Cause, of course not — most decidedly not; 
why should you ? What cause have J given you ?” 
she said, laughingly. 
“ Nay, it you do not know, I cannot tell you," 
he answered, gravely and a little sadly now. 
“ What have I done?” the girl said, with comic 
pathos. 
“ Jean," he said, sternly, “ do you think It a 
right thing for you to drive that man’s horses as 
you have done to-day ?” 
“ Right!” she repeated, haughtily. “ I really 
cannot see the harm.” 
“ You are trifling with me, Jean,” he replied, 
in displeasure. “ Try and be serious for a few 
moments. Surely you must have known that 
though I so seldom lay any embargo on your ac¬ 
tions, such a course could not fall to be displeasing 
to me." 
Jean (ltd not answer. There was the same little 
lurking Imp of pride In her heart, making her 
eyes flash, and her lips curl In the haughtiest 
curves they could take. 
“ Why did you do It, Jean ? It would be unlike 
you to do It from a deliberate impulse to give me 
pain,” he said, In a moment. 
“ You do me so much justice then,” she said, 
carelessly. “ I did It—I did It — Indeed, I can 
l-ardly say why—probably pour passer 1e temps— 
certainly for the pleasure of driving such charm¬ 
ing horses,” 
She threw herself Into an easy-chalr as she 
spoke, looking up saucily. 
“ But, Jeau,” began the Earl, “ it Is possible to 
carry such things too far you-” 
“ Oh! pray don't begin to preach a sermon on 
flirtation,” s ,- e said, Interrupting him, “ It Is 
rather too late In the day. You knew I was a 
flirt before you naked me to marry you; If you 
disliked my ways you ought not, to have done so." 
There was a moment’s situneo; then Lord lvcr 
spoke tn a tone of mingled displeasure and sor¬ 
row which wont to Joan’s heart, j 
"I loved you too well, Jennie, to dislike any of 
your ways, as you call them, and I trusted you Im¬ 
plicitly ; still, as 1 say, you may go too far, aud 
I am sure you would not wilfully give me pain.” 
*• But this Is a mere trifle, Archibald. You are 
so Inconsistent; you say you have trust in me, 
and for a bagatelle like this you are vexed.” 
" This is not a bagatelle, Jeau,” he said, coldly 
THE RURal NEW-YORKER. 
(for though a man’s anger Is less easily raised’ 
it Is also less easily laid than a woman’s, and 
though Miss McLeod desired an armistice, she was 
too sure of the Earl’s love for her to show that she 
did so). “I do not choose to have It said that my 
promised wife was driving about London with 
Mr. Blair.” 
"You do not choose !” Jean said, growing very 
pale. “ Your tone Is a strange one.” 
“Isit?” he retorted, angrily. "I grieve that 
It should be so, then; but in this matter I must be 
obeyed.” 
" Obeyed I" repeated Jean. 
“ Listen, Jeanle,” said Lord Ivor, more gently, 
and taking her hands In his. “Must 1 believe 
that you love me so little as to disregard my 
wishes entirely ?” 
“Certainly not,” she said, haughtily. “When 
your wishes are reasonable, you will always And 
mo ready to accede to thembut I do not choose 
to be treated as a naughty child, and ordered to 
do this or to do that.” 
lie dropped her hand, and turned from her in 
anger. Jean hesitated a moment. 
“ Whatls your objection to Mr. Blair?” she said, 
quietly. 
“I have no objection—at least not much—to 
him personally,” answered the Earl, oddly. “ But 
I say that, In your position as my promised wile, 
you ought not seriously to encourage, his or any 
other man's attentions.” 
“ Oh! dear,” and Jean shrugged her graceful 
shoulders. “Now! shall have a lecture on the 
duties of wives, I suppose. Well, 1 should like a 
little prospective information.” 
Then, changing her tone, she drew nearer the 
Earl, and slipped her hand caressingly through 
his arm. 
“Don’t let us quarrel,” she said, softly; "It 
would be so disagreeable, Archie. Why. only last 
night you said you trusted me, and if you have the 
perfect faith In my love for you that you ought to 
have, you must have perfect faith In my actions. 
Come, kiss and make friends.” 
But the Earl's grave lace did not relax, and 
Jean's color mounted angrily to her brow. She 
withdrew her hand from iris arm with an Impatient 
gesture, aud turned to leave the room. 
“You are most unjust and im reasonable,’’she 
said, passionately. “You know as well as I do 
that there was no harm In my drive home with 
Mr. Blair; and In future,” she added, as she put 
her hand on the handle of the door, “I will ride 
and drive with hUn as much as I like—Indeed, If 
tho fancy takes me, I may even marry this objec¬ 
tionable Mr. Blair.” 
As the words were uttered, the door opened from 
without, and disclosed Lady Sholto, Miss Crawford 
and Mr. Blair htmseit ; and the expression on their 
faces showed pretty plainly that they had heard 
Jean’s little speech. 
“Mr. Blair has come back to have some tea, 
Jean,” Lady Sholto said, rather nervously. “Arch¬ 
ibald, Is that you ? We have had such a charming 
afternoon.” 
Lord Ivor turned from the Are with a few com¬ 
monplace words of pleasure at their enjoyment 
and return, his face covered with that mask of 
smiling Indifference which most people wear In 
society sometimes; and Jean returned Into the 
center of the room, with no remains or her late 
annoyance tn her face, save that her head was 
hold a little more haughtily than usual, and that 
a bright spot ot angry color burned on each 
cheek. In a few minutes Lord Sholto appeared, 
aud then the conversation, which had flagged 
slightly after the awkward contretemps, became 
more lively and general; and when, In about 
half an hour, Sir. Blafl- took ills leave. Lord 
Sholto pronounced him a veiy agreeable, amusing 
fellow. 
“ You must ask him to dinner, Flo,” he said to 
Ills wife. 
“ He is leaving town almost immediately,” said 
Jean, suddenly; “going to Scotland. So you 
can put off your hospitality until you go to Sholto 
Hall." 
“ So I will, little lady,” said hts lordship, looking 
over at her with a smile. "You handled those 
chestnuts admirably this afternoon; there are not 
many women tn London who would have done as 
well.” 
“Did you drive heme in Blair’s phteton, Shol¬ 
to ?” said the Earl, as Jean swept Lord Sholto a 
saucy i-everence, and sailed out ot the room. 
“ Of course I did. Capital horses he drives, is 
that the dinner-bell ? Vanish, Ida. Remember, 
Murray Is coming to dinner.” 
For some reason or other Collins, Miss McLeod's 
maid, round her mistress very difficult to please lu 
her dressing that evening; and although she was 
generally the least vain of belles, she did not seem 
saltsiled with her appearance when her toilette 
was completed. 
“Are you sure my hair Is high enough?” she 
asked. “ l'ut the tlower lu more to the left, Col¬ 
lins-” 
And again: 
“ I don't like the effect of those turquoise orna¬ 
ments, Collins. Give me my pearls. No; I won’t 
wear tho pearls; 1 shall wear the cameo set Lord 
Ivor gave me." 
And so on, until colltns was not a little relieved 
wheu the toilette was completed, aud Miss McLeod 
stood before her pier-glass arrayed for conquest. 
“ He was very cross, but I was very provoking,’’ 
she said to herself, as she went down stairs a bril¬ 
liant vision of shlnlug white silk and lace, “ But 
I was In the wrong, so l must apologise. Dear old 
Archie, so much too good for such a worthless flirt 
as I am." 
Lord and Lady -Sholto and Miss Crawford were lu 
tne drawing-room, and Captain Murray, who was 
the only guest that evening, was coming upstairs, 
but when Jean eutered the drawing-room her be¬ 
trothed was not there, and tor a moment the girl’s 
heart stood still with a sudden fear that the Earl 
was really vexed; but Ida, seeing the sudden pale¬ 
ness and agitation, said In a low voice, as she 
passed Jean to greet Captain Murray: 
“ Lord Ivor is oa the balcony,” aud jean crossed 
the room and disappeared behind the lace and 
satin drapery, shading the window. 
Lord Ivor was standing, leaning over the railing 
and though he heard the soft rustle of Jean’s silk¬ 
en robes he did not turn Ids head, nor, when she 
put her hand softly through Ills arm, did he make 
any answering caressing movement. 
“ Archie, will you forgive me 7” whispered Jean, 
with a tremor in the low, sweet voice. 
He made no answer. 
"Archie, I am very sorry,” and the low tones 
were very unsteady now. “ Won’t you even look 
at me, and see how sorry I am ?” 
Such pretty pleading, was It In the power ot 
mortal man to resist It? certainly not in Lord 
Ivor’s, for he put his arm round her and drew her 
fondly to his side. 
“ Why did you not toll me that Sholto drove 
home with you ?” 
“Because It was no justification of my folly,’’ 
she answered, frankly. “ I believe he only came 
because he kuew you would not like me to drive 
homo with Mr. Blair. Archie, I did not mean to 
vex you.” 
“Own that you were very naughty,” said the 
Earl, drawing her nearer to him, and looking' down 
tenderly at the sweet face. 
“ Confess that you were very cross,” Jean re¬ 
plies, with a touch of her old espieglerte, 
“1 was Very cross." 
“ I was very naughty.” 
Both laughed, and Lord Ivor, stooping, kissed 
the sweet Ups which made confession. 
“ So you are going to marry Mr. Blatr, sweet¬ 
heart ?” he said, smilingly. 
“ Will you give your consent?” said Jean, laugh¬ 
ing In her delight at that reconciliation which Is 
not inaptly called “ the feast of love.” 
“You had better uut Inquire,” answered his 
lordship, as they went, back Into the drawing¬ 
room, little thinking that a day was not far dis¬ 
tant when Jean’s light, words would come back to 
her with bitter significance, and when she would 
wish—ah I how vainly—to have them recalled. 
CHAPTER VI. 
“ I detest that fellow, Kingston!” 
The speaker was Mr. Blair, standing at his club 
window, three or four days after his visit to the 
Botanical Gardens. He spoke to Mr. Kingston, 
hls./fdwff Achates pro lem., and he spoke of Archi¬ 
bald, Earl of Ivor, who chanced to be standing 
on the steps of the club-house talking to one or 
two men. 
“ Most men do, wheu they have known Jean 
McLeod many days,” said Harold Kingston, laugh¬ 
ingly. “ They are apt to see him through green- 
tinted spectacles,” 
“ Pooh I It is not that, of course,” said Andrew 
Blair, contemptuously. “ nut 1 hate those proud 
ways of hts, so awfully high and mighty, as If he 
were going to carry all betore him.” 
“He does most things ho undertakes,” said his 
friend, Indifferently. “ So would most men with 
physique, twenty thousand a year and an earldom 
at his back.” 
Mr. Blair muttered an execration, which made 
his trlend stare. 
“ What makes you hate him so, Blair ?” he 
said, curiously. “ He does not Interfere with 
you?” 
“Something antagonistic, I suppose,” said 
Blair, carelessly. "I never did like him. When 
he was a bit of a lad he gave himself airs. 
Now—” 
“ He Is engaged to a very charming girl. In whom 
Mr. Blair has a very great Interest,” said Harold 
Kingston. 
“And who has quite sufficient interest In 
Andrew Blair to make him a dangerous rival,’’ 
laughed Blair, who was cutting off the end of his 
cigar. 
“ i dare say,” replied Kingston, who had a 
very honest admiration for Mr. Blair; the ad¬ 
miration of a rather weak nature for a resolute, 
determined and unscrupulous one. “ By-the- 
bye, Blair, is It true that Miss McLeod drove 
your chestnuts home from the park the other 
day?” 
•* Not from the park, my good tellow, but from 
the Botanical Gardens, and a very good whip she 
Is. JusL ring tor a sherry cobbler, old man, and 
I’ll tell you all about it.” 
The sherry cobblers were brought, and Mr. Blair, 
leaning back In his easy-chalr, with an air of non¬ 
chalant complacency, told his story of Jean’s un¬ 
lucky drive home with him. 
“The cream ot the little adventure,” said Mr. 
Blair, pulling slowly at his cheroot, ” lies In this— 
Its sting Is In Us tail, my dear Harold. Just as we 
pulled up at Lord Sholto’s, who should come up In 
a hansom hut thejptnee. 11c looked furious. Miss 
Jean took it very coolly; blit I saw that she was a 
little apprehensive of a quarrel, so I took leave as 
quickly as I could, and they went In together, to 
discuss the subject, I presume.” 
“This Is interesting,” said Harold, sipping his 
sherry meditatively. “ Pray go on." 
“ Well, l went on my way, but just near the 
Albert Gate 1 met Lidy Sholto’s barouche ; she 
stopped. 
“ Did not Miss McLeod keep you to have some 
tea, Mr. Blair ?” she said. “ Pray, come back with 
us, it you have nothing better to do.” 
“Ot course 1 had nothing better to do, so I came 
back with them; and Just as we reached tne draw¬ 
ing-room door, wo heard Miss Jean's voice, speak¬ 
ing as if she were not too well pleased. 
“ ludeed, l may take It Into my head to marry 
this objectionable Mr. Blair," she said. 
“ By Jove I how furious Ivor must have been.” 
“ Of course wo all heard me words, although we 
all pretended we did non. We round his lordship 
looking, I must say, remarkably cool and com¬ 
posed ; but his lady-love’s eyes were more like stars 
than ever, uud alt her pretty color seemed to have 
concentrated Itself in one spot on her cheek.” 
“Sounds like a magazine story,” said Harold, 
laughing. 
“ yes; and like most magazine stories, It is ‘ to 
be continued,’ ” said Andrew Blair, rather grimly, 
as he flung away the end of his cigar and rose from 
hts lounging chair. “ What are you going to do 
this afternoon, Kingston?” 
“Iam going to Burlington nouse to see the pic¬ 
tures. And you, own cher ?” 
“ I don’t know; I am going to stroll down Bond 
street just now; I have some purchases to make 
before I leavo town." 
“Don’tforget our Richmond dinner to-night,” 
said Harold, calling after him as ne turned to leave 
the room. 
“ No chance of that,” said the other, laughing. 
“ By-bye for tho present.” 
And while narold Kingston turned his face to- 
towawte Burlington House, Mr. Blair sauntered off 
In the direction of New Bond street, with an ex¬ 
pression or deep thought upon his handsome face, 
and his mind ro pre-occupled that he had no leisure 
to use hts eyes and admire the many pretty wo¬ 
men and charming costumes which he passed on 
the way. 
As he sauntered on, his thoughts went back over 
a space of twenty years, and he was a boy again— 
a bold, dashing, dictatorial, bullying Etonian, full 
of life, health, and spirits, giving willing respect 
and obedience to no one, and tyrannising to the 
top of his bent over the younger boys whom chance 
and the! r own Ill-luck threw in his way. No wonder 
that Andrew Blair, of Blatr Gates, was no favorite 
among his tellow collegians. Big, strong and hand¬ 
some as he was, plentifully supplied with pocket 
money and lavish In his expenditure, clever, bold, 
daring and heedless, he was In almost, every par¬ 
ticular a lad likely to become the hero of a school, 
boy faction, the head of some party, but, strange 
to say, he was not so, AH hts brilliant qualities, 
and they were many, were counterbalanced by a 
leaven of cruelty and oppression, which the boys 
were not slow to perceive and dislike; so that 
Blair’s partisans were few and not taken from the 
better class of boys. 
Looking back, Andrew Blair vaguely realized 
this—realized It with a pang of anger and vexation 
even after all these years; he remembered the 
jealousy and hatred with which he had regarded 
the more popular boys, and (he way In which he 
made his fags suffer for his want ot popularity. 
And as he strolled on there came before blm 
clear as daylight, a scene In that vanished school 
life. 
A retired part of the playground, out ot the view 
of any authority, where no one was likely to Inter¬ 
fere or discover any misdemeanor, a little dog, 
half dead with fright and pain, and some half 
dozen schoolboys with himself, Andrew Blair, at 
their head, throwing stone after stone at the 
wretched little animal, which was fastened to a. 
post, as an Illustration of the maimer In which th< 
martyrs of old met their deaths. For some shori 
time this abomtuable pastime had continued un 
Interrupted, when another personage appearet 
upon the scene—a tall, slender boy of twelve oi 
thirteen, with big, gray eyes and clustering curls 
of fair hair, who came running up, and, perceiving 
their amusement, burst Into a storm of anger anc 
contempt, while the handsome, aristocratic young 
face colored crimson with anger and distress. 
“You cowards, how dare you!” he cried, pas¬ 
sionately, flinging himself before the ill-used ani¬ 
mal. “ How can you be so cruel t Leave off, will 
you, or I’ll go straight to Mr. Munster and tell 
him.” 
“Sneak! sneak! sneak!” shouted three or four 
voices. “ Tell-tale—tell-tale!" 
“I'd rather be a tell-tale than such cowards,” 
the boy retorted, manfully. “ L say, leave off, 
there's good fellows. Blair, don* let them—how 
can you! Your own little Tomtit t” 
“By what right do you Interfere, youngster?” 
said Andrew Blair, contemptuously. “Out of the 
way, I say, or you may get hit Instead of the dog.” 
“ 1 don't care,” panted Lord Ivor, in his distress. 
“ Stone me if you like, but leave the dog alone. 
Cowardly brutes as you arc.” 
The words had hardly passed his lips when a 
stone came whizzing through the air and struck 
him on the cheek; the boy stood his ground man¬ 
fully. although the pain and dizziness caused by 
the blow turned him sick and faint. 
“Cowards," he cried again; then his strength 
gave way, and, staggering a pace or two, he fell 
forward fainting on the ground. 
Andrew Blair, twenty years after, saw It all as 
plainly as then, he remembered the beautiful 
young lace when they had raised him, the closed 
eyes and pallid Ups, the golden curls, and the cut 
upon the fair round cheek. 
“ Served him right for Interfering,” he had said 
at I he time; but it had not ended there, for all the 
school sera Blair to Coventry for the rest of the 
time; and hls master, whom some garbled rumor 
had reached, reprimanded him severely and pub¬ 
licly, and that reprimand rankled still In hls heart, 
and hls dislike to Lord Ivor existed still, after all 
those years. 
“If It had been any other man,” he muttered, 
sotto voce , ♦* l might have given her up, for after 
all, 1, as an Englishman, don’t care for stealing 
my friend’s sweetheart or wife; but If I could win 
her from him. It would wipe out that old score, it 
will be no easy matter, though, especially sur¬ 
rounded as she Is by hts people; but, as sure as I 
live, I will make Jean McLeod my wife, by fair 
means or foul. She Is charming, and well worth 
trying for; aud if the game is a dangerous oue, I 
risk nothing but failure, 1 can only lose her at the 
worst. 1 risk nothing,” he repeated over and over 
again, “ EmUy will be furious, perhaps; but of 
course I never meant to marry her. How can I 
win her? How? how? ‘All Is fair tn love and 
war.' I will leave no stone unturned. My Lord 
Ivor, look to yourself, a wolf Is after your ewe 
lamb, and If 1 judge rightly, shs Is only too will¬ 
ing to become hts prey. Bah! that’s an ugly word 
under the cu oiuustances.” 
The dinner-party that night at the "Star and 
Garter Hotel" was a large and brilliant on?, and 
Andrew Blair was one ot the most brflltant of the 
convives; he was In the highest spirits, and Lord 
Sbolto, who was oi Uie party, was comU'wed la 
