Democratic Sentinel, Volume 2, Number 46, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 December 1878 — ONE NEW YEAR IN A THOUSAND. [ARTICLE]

ONE NEW YEAR IN A THOUSAND.

BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD.

Betty Wilmarth—and a quaint, piquant little beauty she was. They used to call her a changeling; for where she found that Spanish face of hers nobody knows. Yes, Betty Wilmarth was a beauty, and somehow as fascinating as beautiful; lull of innocent caprices that set you to wondering what would be the next, and kept your interest alive; with n temper that struck sparks, but which was in the next moment all sweetness; impulsive, warm-hearted, a charming, willful piece, setting her lovers by the oars, and making all the other girls devoutly wish she would bo married and done with it; for of course there was no chance for anybody else so long as Betty Wilmarth was around. But Betty Wilmarth was in no sort of hurry to marry; one by one she filliped off her lovers lightly as thistle-down, l’ettnd and caressed and indulged to death, as people said, she declared she wanted neither to bo an old man’s darling nor a young man’s slave; and old lovers consoled themselves and new lovers took tlieir turn, and she was heartwhole and happy, singing her way through life, and cotinting her 20 years in the sunshine as a child might count a row of brilliant beads. But one of these lovers was not to be filliped off as lightly as the rest; and that was her mother’s young step-cousin, Will Maunder. Ho had come down to Frenoborougli from bis mountain home in the deep forests, after the disastrous tire that left him only bare rock for liis inheritance; and where, save for his mother, and some old goodies, he had never seen a woman; and Betty had struck him as a goddess might have struck a clown. Not that Will Maunder was a clown, by any means— liis mother, a lady who carried her ladyhood into the woods, had attended to ali that; and a certain wild grace and rude courtesy accompanied his every action. But he was a brawny, long-legged, stalwart fellow, for all that, and his fair face had been sun-kissed with many a freckle, and his hair curled close to his head in tight rings but Betty knew nothing about any Greek head with close curls of the same description, and would have liked it no better if she had; and of all things, she despised freckles. She had an ideal of the face and form and mind and manners that were to win her on some distant day—a day distant enough to borrow enchantment—a slender knightly shape, perhaps, a perlect, countenance, long auburn locks—diHcolorisl. .in if ii frown Kneirrlod thnni. ho frayed tins bn.snet where A sharp white line iltvided dean the hair, tlloHny above, glossy below. She would not have liked it fit all if she had seen.it so; and,if she had but known it, the massive limbs and shoulders of AN ill Maunders were much more like the ancient knights she dreamed about than possibly could be this obscure and puny ideal she had set up. I lie days of chivalry are over now,” said Betty, with a sigh. “ Mighty disagreeable, cold, cheerless, dangerous, and uncomfortable days you would have found them,” said : Will. j “ Cheerless or not, they’re over.” “ What makes you say so, Betty?” he asked, from where lie sat at her feet. “ Oh, because they are! ” she answered, throwing up her pretty arms und clasping them above her head as she leaned it back among the honeysuckles, and looked as sweet as they, and made poor Will’s heart beat with looking at her. “ Oh, because they are! Who would dare great adventures for anybody now—scale castles, kill giants, enter the dens of wild beasts—” “ I would—for you, Betty.” “Oh dear me! How tired I am of hearing you say so! They would, for anybody. Now please don’t, Will dear, any more! There are no castles here; I don’t want anything of wild beasts; and you’re a giant yourself, you know.” I wish I wasn’t, Betty. I’d change with that little Hop-o’-my-tliumb, Fred Famniis, if—” “ Oh, that shrimp! Ido detest him —he’s such a—such a spoon! ” “I thought you didn’t liko slang, Betty,” “ I don’t—from anybody else.” “But if you use it yourself, you’ve no right— ” “Oh dear me! if only those criticised who wero perfect themselves, what a delightful, easy-going world it would be! It seems to me, Will Maunder, that you are always finding some fault with me, and— ” “ You’ve not been used to it. I don’t see any fault in you, Betty,” he added, presently. “Oh, there, there, Will! Do be still with your mooning! Come in and sing this new song with me: it needs a great rolling bass.” And so Will would go in and sing with her, his voice trembling as he heard hers; would go out and walk with her, to be left for the next gallant who sought her side; would be her abject slave, waiting on her least wish and every breath, and would get no thanks for his pains. It was when affairs were in this posture, Will pursuing, and, with the van-tage-ground of residence in the house, Betty retreating, yet half relenting, that Mr. Yalerino, the young exile, came to Freneborough to give lessons in music and in his native tongue. Of course his supposed story fired the Freneborough heart —the feminine auricle of it —and all the romance of Betty’s dreams rose to meet it. As for the young exile himself, he was the very creature of romance —so tall and pale and dark and - melancholy; his immense dusky eyes seemed full of the strange, sad roemo-

ries of wonderful adventure and experience in the Apennines, and on the Campagna, and among the brigands of the Bomagna, and the light of heroic days and nights made, as one might say, a halo round him as he walked. Certainly, now, it was hardly Mr. Valerino’s fault; he never said he was an exile; he never said he was a patriot; he never whispered of conspiracies among old ruins and in the Catacombs; he couldn’t help being tall and pale and melancholy; and there was no reason why he should mention that Iris father had for forty years played the piccolo in the orchestra of a New York theater. If people chose to take him up and make his way easy for him, it seemed all right and natural. After he discovered the reason, his lessons being nearly through, and his vanity too sensitive for an explanation, he quietly left town on ending his engagements. But, meanwhile, this little Betty Wilmarth was frightfully beautiful—to a man who knew she was as much forbidden to him as though she lived in one of the fixed stars. It was very pleasant to receive the admiration of such a being; he had not the strength of mind to undeceive her; and Betty went on, making a simpleton of herself, studying, and conversing of such Italian literature as was a terra incognita to the teacher; asking the youth unanswerable conundrums concerning Italian history, which he evaded with what she deemed a delicacy of reticent modesty; and when she saw the slender, sinuous shape of the young exile, and the proud, sad beauty of his face, beside Will Maunder’s burty thews and sinews, his bluff and commonplace honesty of countenance, she grew impatient at the contrast, and wondered at herself to think she had once been almost on the point of relenting and being kind to Will. It annoyed her, at that time, even to look at Will; the sight of him may have been a reproach for her folly; his hearty ways offended her, so much higher breeding there seemed to be in the insinuating air of the Italian; and then his affection irritated her, for slio was on the point of a grand poetic passion, for 'an unhappy exile whose consolation she was to be. And thus the man who belonged already to her prosaic, every-day life, and would have bound her down to it—the life she hail always known, without a charm of imagination, of the unknown or the ideal in it—and toward whom she felt a kindness that might possibly grow kinder, and make her yield one day to his persistence if he were still here to continue it —that man was becoming intolerable, and slie wished him out of her way. And out of her way she became determined he should go.

She couldn’t stroll with Mr. Valerino down a lonely lane, talking nonsense far too high for the youth’s comprehension, but there was Will just stepping over a fence, or lying under a tree, or, very possibly, laughing at her—if he was not angry. AVhat right had he to be angry? She couldn’t go into the church on a week-day, and take her seat in a pew alone, to hear Mr. Valerino practicing in the organ-loft, and making roof and rafters ring and vibrate with delicious melody, blit there was AVill before her, in the porch. “ I like music, too,” said Will. She couldn’t pass an evening with a friend, where Mr. Yalerino was one of the company, but, as soon as tlie time for parting came, the bell rang, and there .was AVill to act as escort and spare Mr. Valerino the trouble. Once, on such an occasion, she gave her arm to the exile, and suffered AVill to stalk on in silence beside them, while she talked a broken lingo of Italian phrases with the young master, which, for the time being, she felt, put Will Maunder entirely outside the pale of civilization. “ I won’t be supervised in this, way!” cried Betty to herself, for her sisters were not of fit age to receive the confidence. “ It’s as bad as having a spy at one’s feet. I can't endure it another day, and I shall tell him so!” And, unfortunately, just as she was irately brooding over these wrongs, her father sent for her, that lie might ascertain her feeling in regard to a proposition he was inclined to make AVill—a proposition to take him into liis business, allowing him an interest now for his work and oversight, and finally retiring in Iris favor. Owing to her mother’s ill-health, her father lmd fallen into a habit of consulting Betty rather than disturb the invalid, sufficiently occupied with her ailments. “ Oh, father, father! You don’t mean that you ever thought of doing such a silly thing!” cried Betty, in free disgust. “And when he pesters me so! I never should have another day’s peace in my life. You might just as well put me in prison, with a spy and master over me. Oh, no, indeed! Give him anything, but send him away. Start him in business in Australia, buy him a farm in the AVest, but don’t, father, pray don’t keep him here.”

And Betty’s voice settled it. Mrs. Wilmarth told his wife’s young stepcousin that he had changed his mind, and had no place for him in his business, but knew of an opening, and would establish him in it, in a Western city. “Is it Betty’s wish?” said Will. And he refused the proffer, and one evening, catching Betty’s hand, as he bid her good-by, and lifting it to his lips with a kiss that burned in upon it, he left the place, and buried himself, unknown, among the Southern mountains with some flocks of sheep. One might suppose that Betty would have been satisfied then. Not she. She was as restless as a bird. Perhaps she missed the pleasuro of having Will behold her conquests; perhaps she missed the adoring slave; perhaps she missed the constant, tender service. A month afterward, when Mr. Valerino drew his lessons to a close, and betook himself to other fields—vexing and mortifying her, it may be, but not grieving her a particle—she certainly missed the old friendship and sympathy, the kindness in which she could confide and with which she could advise; and little Betty Wilmarth’s black lashes were wet with tears that she could not account for, and that surely she never dreamed she should be shedding because Will Maunder was away. She had reason, presently, to miss that kindness to some purpose. Her father was that same year thrown from his wagon; and he lay but partly conscious for weeks afterward, and for months he never left his room nor quite recovered his intelligence. In those weeks and months unfaithful clerks and bookkeepers enriched themselves and impoverished Mr. Wilmarth; and when he finally recovered, it was to the wreck of what had once bid fair to become a great fortune. “If Will Maunder had been with me,” said Mr. Wilmarth, “ strangers and hounds would have had no chance to fleece me! ” It was true. Betty heard it with a shiver. She had thought as much many a time, yet had put the thought away; but now, her father declaring it so seemed to make the fact sure. And why was not Will with her father? For no reason but that she had in reality driven him away. If crying would have brought him back, Will Maunder could have sailed to Betty on a flood of tears; but, tears being useless, Betty scorned to shed them. She had no idea where he was, except for the vague rumor that spoke of him as sheep-raising somewhere in the Carolinas. If she had, having sent him off in her prosperity, she could not call him back in her calamity, So she

braced herself to bear her trials as she might, and to bear them, as she sometimes said to herself, in a way Will would have approved; and she laughed bitterly at herself to think of the sentimental idiot she had been, and of the innocent young Italian on whom she had poured out the burden of her vain fancies; and her clear dark cheeks reddened redder than their wont at thought of, the light in which the clear-headed Will must have held her infatuation. And then the long war broke out, and in all its course no word of Will. She was sure that his blood must be stirred. She looked for his name in the bulletins, in the promoted, in the dead and missing, in the discharged, in the forlorn-hopes; she longed to do something for him, now that it was impossible—to encourage him, to help him, if she could only once find his name. She never did. And when at last peace was declared, there came through the obscure channels in which all such news runs, not verified, and yet too authentic for disbelief, the report that he had been a conscript of the Confederates, had fallen in his first battle, and had died in hospital. And her act had killed him! Betty Wilmarth sat down that day in despair. For what had she been born, when, out of her she had wrought such evil as this? A murderess —that was what she was! The murderess, too, of the best friend a woman ever had. By a whim, a mere whim, she had brought disaster and ruin on her family —she had brought a strong man down to his grave. And then, her thoughts getting too much for her, Betty would start up and walk for miles, to walk off the horror that oppressed her; the horror that Itiade life seem not worth living; that made life seem impossible to live, and yet did not dare to die. Nothing was any pleasure to Betty now. Her father’s affairs had brightened; they had retaken their old house; her mother’s health was restored; the girls had come from school, content and happy, and ready to take Betty’s scepter where she dropped it. But she was pleased for their sakes —for herself it made no difference. The color had forsaken her sweet cheeks at length; her eyes were dim with her long crying; she sat for hours together staring straight before her, conscious of nothing whatever but that she had been the death of Will Maunder.

How she missed him now at every turn! the ready smile, the tender word, the helping deed, the admiring look, the persuasion that she could do nothing wrong! If he were only here in her trouble, he would clear it all away, as a strong west wind blows the clouds. But, no; she would be having no trouble if she had not sent Will out of reach; she would see him again neither here or hereafter, for the place where Will Maunder went with his white soul would be no place for his murderess. How strong he w-as in those dead and gone days! how generous, how brave and true! and all for her it might have been. And she had been blind till the need of his daily care had made her turn and look; and now it was too late. AVlien the first snow- storm of winter came, and she remembered that it was heaping his unknown grave, the cold terror of it chilled her marrow. All the gay Christmas season that he used to like so much she sat in darkness. She forgot her father, and all the need of household cheer, and it was only when she saw the pitying faces down-stairs that she resolved to forget herself, her sin, and her grief, and help them all to gather what sweetness there was in this life she had found so bitter. And she made her New Year’s gifts ready, and helped her young sisters decorate the rooms and the simple table they could spread, and lent them her dainty ornaments that she used to value so, and that now, at 25, she ivas done with. It ivas a great white snow-storm, though—j-a fierce, driving, drifting suoavstorm—that wrapped earth and sky Avhen that day daAvned, beginning the CA'entful year. They would be friends indeed who adventured through it. The girls and their chosen comjianions, nevertheless, were just as gay in the parlors as they could have been in the sunniest of Aveather, imagining arrivals, and, Avhen nobody arrived, recemng each other in turn, as if there Avere a procession of callers at the door. They Avere none of them so sAveet, so willful, so charming as poor little Betty had been; not one of them had the dark, rich beauty that belonged to lier yet; they never would have the train of gallants at the door that used to cross its threshold for Betty’s sake. She wondered Avhat they found to laugh at; in all the wide sad world there Avas nothing at which she could smile; the very blowing of the gale, the whirling of the siioav and sleet through the Avliite, cold heavens, seemed only to answer her own misery. She sat in the little side parlor off' the others, staring through the AvindoAV Avith her Avild and wretched gaze, though, for appearances, a book lay open in her lap. Her thoughts had gone upon their long flight; and, after the first grate and jar of it upon her, she heard nothing of the laughing and twittering, of the suspended music, and the opening and shutting doors. The joyousness of the day, like sunshine breathing through storm, was nothing to her; she noted none of the fragrance of the floAvers, none of the gay cries of tlie echoing voices; her thoughts were under that snow-heaped sod with Will. It seemed to her that if she could only once see him, and see him alive, the very relief would kill her; but, oh, hoAV hard it Avould be to go if he were in the breathing world! She longed for him back with fresh longing to take the stain and burden off from her; and then she longed for him back that he might just put liis arms round her and take her, that she might rest in his presence. Why had she never loved him till he was lost? And now he would never know it. “Oh, Will, Will, Will!” she pried—and cried half aloud, all unaware—“ if you only knew lioav I loved you! If you only forgave me—” And there the words Avere stayed by a pair of bearded lips, the arms she had Avearied for were about her, her head was pillowed on a breast. Did tho dead walk ? Did the grave surrender then? Had he come from heaven to take her, to forgive her? AVas it AVill—Avith her father, Avith her sisters, croAvding in behind him ? Had he ne\ r er died at all, but gone back from hospital to sheep-farm, and only come at last, draAvn by some wild magnetism in tho strength of her longing for him ? The questions surged through her mind as the snow-flakes surged outside; and then it seemed that he must be some great accusing apparition, come only to destroy her; the world was reeling blackly away from her, and it Avas, maybe, nothing but the kisses on her lips that held her firm to life, that called her back to light and joy in AVill Maunder’s arms, on this one New Year’s in a thousand.— Harper's Bazar.

A piece of Annie of Austria’s skin wall soon be in the market. Her body was burnt in a church she founded, and the piece of skin is said to have been taken from her arm in 1800 by a physician, and preserved in her family until now. The Texas Legislature has passed an act requiring all railway trains to stop not less than five minutes at any station,