Rensselaer Union, Volume 11, Number 25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 March 1879 — MADGE’S COUSIN. [ARTICLE]

MADGE’S COUSIN.

Madge was sitting upon the hearthrug, pulling to pieces a white camellia, and excusing herself to her kind old guardian by saying it was “only Jack’s.” “ My dear,” said Mr. Selwyn, walking up and down and stroking his gray beard in perplexity, " I want to talk to you about Jack.” “Oh! please, not now, Papa Selwyn!” She called him Papa Selwyn when she meant to be coaxing, and that was nearly always. “ But, my dear, that is all nonsense. I must talk about Jack some time. Yesterday it was, ‘Oh! please don’t— JOayJlfladJUL.acbingf and the day before— ‘ Oh! please don’t, I want to go out with Gerty.’ Come, let us face this afl'air.” And sitting in the easy chair behind her hassock, he drew up on his knees the hand that held the broken flower, and proceeded to lecture his unmanageable charge on the endless subject of “Jack.” Madge was a charming charge for any kind old man’s heart to have. No one could look into her large gray eyes without seeing the great warm heait, whose tale they told every monjpnt; and yet the bright,squick glances and the saucy set of the lips showed that Madge had a will of her own, and wit and cleverness enough to carry it out. This lecture on Jack was the same as many others had beeu. It consisted of two parts, the first being devoted to proving that she ought to throw her own whims and pleasures aside, and, as a dutiful girl, fulfill her dying father’s request and marry her cousin; and the second was aeulogium on the many good qualities of Jack Hawkesbury. “Do, Mr. Selwyn,” laughed Madge, after he had been making out that even Jack’s awkwardness came from an oyerpliltJof go<>d nature; “do throw linn at Gerty’s head as youThfow“him at mine, and I shall make him over to her, and they will be happydor life.” Gerty was Mr. Selwyn’s own daughter, and at the mention of her name a strange expression crossed his -face, which Madge could not read. “Throw him at Gerty’s head!—what words you use, child!” he exclaimed; his annoyance for a moment escaping his control. “ I wish you had half Gertrude’s good sense. You fancy Jack thinks of her—is that it? He is the soul of honor, and as far as it des pends on him yiTCffather's wOrd will be kept.” “ Oh! Papa Selwyn, don’t be vexed with me; I am so sorry!” and her face was hidden-on hislarge-tough hands in a burst of sorrow,, quite childish in its passing intensity. “ Cheer up, my darling girl,” he said; “ you made a inisthke—that’s all. Why, one of these days you wifi forget poor Papa Selwyn altogether, when you fall in love with your cousin.” -- _ ;... “That I won’t!”, cried Madge, with all the strength of her hot heart. All her life, qyejj 90 far back as her childhood, she had dreaded the fate that bound her to Marry her cousin. When Jack Hawkesbury came on the soime and stayed on visits at the house, she disliked and ridiculed him without mercy. Another, one like fair-haired Gertrude for instance, might have accepted the inevitable and been happy; but Madge’s active and independent nature made her rtm against fate. And now there was only one mohth left before her twenty-first. birthday and the betrothal.. Often she told Gertrude she wished he would go horn®" and stay there; and Gertrude would only laugh, with a deeper tinge of color on her fair face. The girls went out but little, an arrangement against which Madge often rebelled, believing it was in some way Connected with the safe management of the marriage with her cousin. But there were two pleasures in prospect now, an afternoon’s boating with Jack and a friend of his nnd Gertrude, and a party that the Ponsonby-Jonoses were going to give, to which the Selwyn family were sure to be invited. First came boating. Ah! that over-memor-able day—how many years it would take to make Madge forget it! There were four in the boat that passed, with the measured beat and ripple of Jack's pair of sculls, along by the reedy shallows and green wooded banks of the upper Thames. The two girls shared the cushioned seat at the stern, their white/woolen shflwls guarding them from the chill of the autumn wind. Gertrude was watching the shores and the running ripples, thinking in her quiet, hwy-going way. Madge, bright with excitement, was talking—not with Jack, but with Hie dark-bearded, trav-el-brohxed man, who was resting from his turn at the sculls. He Was charmed with the way she chatted end listened to his.tales of half the wohd,. with a refreshing absence of self-conscious-ness. What would he have said if he had known the thought that strove for entrance into her'heart? Oh! if Jack —awkward, blundering, good-natured Jack—could be changed into this' stranger that she called timidly Mr. Fitzallan, and Jack and her guardian At last there was ,a pause In the Talk. She gave a deep pigh, prompted by a sad longing to do irigbb, a vague fear, a first suspicion of the change that was coming over her impetuous heart. “Are you cdld, Madge?” asked Jack,

pulljrig away and bending W his *roi* stroke. “ Keep your shawl wailabont your shoulders. And, my dear girl, look to your steering. You have been sending the boat into curves like a cork-sofrew-r I did'ndt dvahtdo disturb your tete-a-tete." ‘ ' 4 Poor Cousin Jack! She drew tjie White filiawl closyly round her, chilled Uot byxtfe wind but by<a dudll'Xi pangof remorse,’ the foundation of which was very small, but enough to trouble her 1 ' .VZ'HI What need to tell the imrer history of Madge’s life during the next few weeks? Moro and more she longed for freedom. Fitzallan was Staying m the ceighlwrhood and Was frequently at the house, and in the thousand little incidents of everyday life she knew he carddfor her, and hdneSt J ack grew yet thore distasteful in her sight. In due tifoe came the seoond promised pleasure. The family that distinguished the name of' Jones by the prefix of Ponsonby gave their party. Madge was in her glqry that Bight. One looker-on called her charming; another, the mother of fair daughters, admitted“her expression was charming, but voted her features plain. Mrs. Ponsonby-Jones, weighed, down! with, bright-colored silk and jewelry, said in her finest tone that Mr. Selwyn’s ward would be quite a femme d'esprit. Madge had no lack of society, but she kept u place in the conversation for Jack Hawkesbury, and her love of mischief was gratified to the full by his making of it what he called “ a hawible muddle.” But the trivial triumphs and pleasures of the night were long forgotten by Madge before she lost one remembrance of a scene that passed in the conservatory, where the music was hushed by heavy curtains. And there was only the soft light of a few dim lamps among the masses of blossoms and dark green leaves. She'had lost the flower from her hair —one of her favorite camellias—as she said, “ with a darling biid,” and Fitzallan had promised, with Ponsonby-Jcnes’ permission, to get her another with a darling bud too. She had placed his gift in her hair, and she sat near the dewy glass, saying it was cool there and she would rest. Fjtzallan stood at a little distance, penknife in hand still, swinging carelessly the fan-like leaf of a dwarf palm. “If this were nearer, I could fan you,” he said. “ Thank you; I am tired rather than hot.” Never in her. life before hud Mttdge been so serious or so troubled as she was now, in the soft light among the cool plants, within the sound of the half bushed “Will you do me a favor?” she inquired, raising the gray eyes that shone for a moment with liquid brightness. “ You have only to name it—l sm at. your service.” His manner, unromantic to a studied dcgiee, made her feel all the more safe in taking heart to speak, while she gave • him at the same time in generous measure that most precious offering to which every noble-heai ted man entitles himself—a woman’s respect. “I have seemed very happy to-night, Mr. Fitzallan,” she began in a quiet, low tone, the torn leaf trembling in her hand, and the color dying out of her face, “ but I am in great trouble.” “Indeed! I am sorry to hear it.” He drow a little nearer, listening attentively and helping her now and again by a word of encouragement.. —Her stoxy was a simple one. She? was to be married next month to her cousin, Mr. Hawkesbury. She had dreaded it all her life, but it was her fate. And then, the respectful and almost paternal demeanor of her listener, she made the frank confession that she disliked her cousin just because she was forced to marry him; and to this she added such a childlike entreaty not to be thought “too bad,” that it must have nequfrej more than ordinary self-control for Fitzallan not to say something that* Would have allowed' the scene to be-* come a tender one; but this he seemed 7 determined to avoid, and so in her simple way was the sadly perplexed girl that was pouring out her heart’s trouble to hinu “ Will yon speak for mb to Mr. Selwyn,” she said, “as you-are an old friend of Kjs ? I cannot repsoit as then, do, but I Want you to try. if there is any, way of release, for me. .Fray forgive meif I am'wroug in asking yptir foterforence, but 1 am very wretched”—; here came a burst of tears that must* have tried the listener sorely— 1 * and! myself have so often spoken to Mr. Selwyn, and it is of no use. He always says my father’s will must be carried out; and oh! how I wish I could do it.” “It must- be done, if possible,” Fitzallan said. “But it would not be yoqr father’s will to mar the happiness of your life or to put you in bondage.” “Oh! if Selwyn would only speak like that,” said the girl, sadly. “Well, I shall have a talk with him,” said Fitzallan, “ and do my best for your happiness, though I would be sorry to injure Hawkesbury’s prospects. Let us go back, now; there is a new piece beginning. That is one of Rubinstein’s, is it not? I need not say you have done me a favor In granting me your confidence.” With that he drew aside the heavy curtains, and they returned to the dazzling light and bewildering music and movement of the balhroonu After that night Madge waited in anxiety to hear the result of Fitzallan’s parley with her guardian. Three days passed and a note came from him, only a few words, sayitag that he had succeeded at least so far as to win a promise that the matter should be considered. But Madge saw little good coming of Mr. Selwy n’s “considering” what seemed to ;bc decided irrevocably long ago. ' -* At last it was the eve of her birthday; t6-morrow would be the dreaded day, and that very morning Mr. Selwyn haitsaid to her- gravely .but tenderly: ". “My child, fthfW been the work of many years for me to see to the fulfillment or your father’s last wish. He yvas my bast And dearest friend. And his life was a sad one. At least his Hying will must be done. But I propiiseyou happiness—l do, indeed.” But beyond that day Madge was unable to be»r her heart’ A; burden. “ I must tell him everything,” she thought. In the afternoon tfvilight, some time after Mr. Sfelwyn had returned home, she found,, him asleep in his arm-chair itvthe dark dlning-rodm. But little daylight came in between the red curtains', and it was only tire glow of th 6 fire that showed her Ills white when he was in thpt chair, and she woke hiih by stealing her hand into his. “Who is it—Gerty? No, Madge—my little Madge that is to b« so patriarchal to-morrow.” >

Papa 'Selwyn,” she fibjjfm,'ndT giving him time to joke any more lest she might not be able to disclose all her troubles. “ I want to tell you sometbibg, and you Wfi’kilfn iqffery, MU yqn, no matter jvh He took her face between his hands, and the fire flashed up and showed lifoi Ijow earnest it waf.y T ' ’xLC quite sure,’-’ ne said, “ pothIrig can make me anything but as deeply ift tqve my seccpnd daughter as a poor ql<v fellow like ’ nyfi tan be. Why} Omid, flam untied of cloud all day because to-morrow —as soon as ,lp-morrow—l can be Papa Selwyn no more, and Madge will *l>e thinking about nobody but her couiim” . , i a “No, indeed!” cried?‘Maoge,’ impetuously, “you will be Papa Selwyn always—always; arid I don’t care for my oousin a bit.” ‘,|i But her gu>rdian shpok h>s head grAVely... J, T |is .. * / “My dear, you will marry your cousin.” The firelight had died down low, and Madge had courage enough to blurt out with an effort the sow lyords: “I can’t marry Jack, Because I ought to love my husband, and I can never care enough for him. Or, if I uHist be.engaged to him to-morrow”— here there was a great sob—“ Mr. Fitzallan is very good and kind, and I don’t want to hurt him— but—but— he must go away.” Her head sank upon his knees with the great effort of that request. “My pooxjchild.i 1 he said. “ Ikpow your secret. Bravely said! my little Madge, my bonny girl! You have had the truth out ana done fiobly. You are worthy of the man that is to-haveyou, and that is saying a good deftl.’/ Then raising her head gently, he badp hdr listen, for he was going to tell a secret in return for hers. When she heard it she waited with wide, wondering eyes while he told it a second time, for she could not believe in her joy. “As you know, Madge,” he began, “ most people in this world have more cousins than one.” _ And theri he went on to explain to her that Herbert Fitzallan was a very distant copsin, and that it was to him her father wished her to be married. Fitzallan’s father had been the companion of his labors, and Herbert himself had been laved by the dying man as a son, for Herbert was twenty when little Madge wafi.au orphaned baby of four. “ You ask what about Jack, then?” said the old jnan. “ That was my clever trick upon Madge. I never said you were to marry Jack. I told you of your father’s wish. I brought Jack here, the only cousin you knew; aud I praised his good qualities—which are fine enough, lean tell ydu t and‘appreciated by a young lady not far from here. 1 knew that wayward heart of yours, and I knew that a woman should not marry without real love, and a great store of it, too. So I left my darling open to the idea that Jack was to be the lucky fellow; and she did just what I and all sensible folks expected—almost hated Jack and her doom. Then I took care t hat the man you wqre meant for—who, my dear, has' the beet and truest heart in the world—shoqlH come in the way just at the right time, and show an interest in you. So have I not succeeded, and made my Madge choose her father’s choice with her own free heart and will? As for Fitzallan, he is all impatience for to-morrow, and he would have told ybu the secret at that ball the other night, when he says that he was’pnt to a desperate trial, but he had promished me never to disclose it till wo were qtfltc 'sttrenf success. Well, - are you happy now, Madge?” “ My dear, good second father! How .can I love you enough?” was all { she pould say when she felt his arms round her in that moment pf fulfilled desires, and his lips pressed to her forehead in fatherly affection now that his long sb; licitude wfcis at an end and his hard task well done. That very night Madge, scarcely able to realize her joy, was bbtfbthed to Herbert -fitzallan, who, when opoe the secret’wag disclosed, would anotheri hour. '*"•*» . “Have I not waited yqars?” he Said. “AH my. time-abroad 1 was waiting, and then I came back and found my Madgjj more than I had ever dared to Mii‘|ge in her new freedom did ■ dot forget poor Jack. Indeed, she was almost m trouble about her qnkindness to him when she heard that he had wen only playing a part, bearing all her teasing, and being purposely ungracious ignenever she grew kind. But Gertrude consoled her effectually on that score by telling another secret after her kiss of congratulation. ; ; > “ Jack Was indeed doing his best to carry out the plan,”j?he saTd; “ and he was often grieved about you; but, dear r yqu must congratulate us now —not us. Jack and I made it up between us months ago, and we had many a quiet laugh about you.” So Madge herself accepted the ring and*worejjer golden fetters by her own free will after all; nor was there ever a happier ap-more willing captive. As for ’FitzAlktin, if he was not' another Afthfo', fl? the girl's fancy had prompted her to callhim, he Was “ blameless” as the Prince of the “Idyls,” and far more blest; and if he reigned over no realm he was at least King of one brave and tender heart—a kingdom wide enough to satisfy his desires, and a prize which time proved to be well worth his yevs of waiting.— Castell's Magazine.'

—Ben Butler tells this story of a war incident white he was in commandht New Orleans : A Colonel up in the Bed River region made application for a furlough, which was refused him. Soon after the Colonel left hia command without permission, and went to New Orleans, ~w>ere he was arrested arid put in irons as a deserter. Upon an intimation that he wished to make an explanation Butler had him brought to his headquarters. “ Well, , sir,” said the General, stfrrily, “ what have vou to say, in explanation of your conilactP”. •• Well, Geiferal, there are two Jews Up who have some cotton they want to get-through my lines. First they offered me SSOO, which I refusetjl. Then they offered ifte SI,OOO to let them take ft throngh the lines. Then $5,000,. and: $25,000, and at lastthny offtered 1 9100,000; and I tell you,';) General, they f'ere getting so near my figures I thought I’d better leave.” —Up on the Canada bqrder it is al.that a shrewd Vermonter lures Jarmers to bring him butter from the Dominion,offering a fancy price there* for, and then as soon as they have oroesed the lino informs on them and brihgs about the Confiscation of .butter and vehicle. i, V Never Rive Tip the ship. Dr. Bull’* X’nujrh Sjrup may cure you, as It has done other*. Ji* costs Uttle.and can never harm, Pries, cents. ' GkassiiOpfeks sing in the hop era.