Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 3, Number 11, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 14 September 1872 — Page 6

NONDESCRIPT.

[The following remarkable production is litiYlnK a great run 0 Th* iinld wife *at In her Ivied door. lintter and eggs and a pound of cheese) A Uiing «he bau friKjuently done before

And lier uptwtacLeii lay on her aproned kbees. tjip piper he piped on the hill-top high-

Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese,) Till the cow said "1 die," and the goos-ed "Why

And the dog said nothing but scratched for fleas. s. The farmer he strode through the square larm yard

Butter and eggs and a pound of chtese,) lilt last lrew oi ale was a trltle hawThe connection of which with thi plot one sees. The farmer's daughter hath frank blue eyes

Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) She hears the rooks caw in the windy skies, As she sits at lier lattice and Bbells her peas.

The farmer's daughter hate ripe red lips (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) If yow try to approach her away she skips

to

Over tables and chairs with apparent ease.

The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) And I met with a ballad, I can't say where,

Which wholly consisted of Hues like these. She Bat with her hands 'neath her dimpled chocks (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) And spake not a word. While a lady speaks

There Is hope, but she didn't even sneeze

She sat with her hands 'neath her crimson cheeks, (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) ttlie gave up mending her lather breeKS,

And let tue cat roll In her best chemise. Khesat with her hands 'neath her burning cheeks, (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) And gazed at the piper thirteen week*

Then she followed him out o'er the misty leas. Her sheep followed her, as their tails did them, (Butler and eggs and a pound of cheese) And this song Is considered a perfect gem,

And as to the meaning, it's what you please. $•':/

[Overland Monthly—September.]

Little Edith Murray.

One bright, warm spring-day, I sat at at the open window of my chamber, waiting the appearance of the parties to the suit of Edith Murray vs Gordon Murray—divorce on the ground of habitual drunkenness—Bet lor ten o'clock, whon I heard a timid rap, which I felt was that of a woman. I arose and opened the door.

Is this the place, please, sir, where the case of Mrs."—and then the voice faltered—"Mrs. Murray is to be tried?"

It is. madam. Are you the plaintiff? I beg pardon—are you Mrs. Murray "I am," she replied.

Will you walk in and sit down? It is not time yet by twenty minutes." I came early on purpose, for I would like to see you, Judge, before hey—1 olore the people come. I hope I do nothing improper."

Bv no means, Mrs. Murray. Come in, mid bo seated." Thero onteml a medium-sized woman, who led asix-year-old, blue-eyed, gold-ringleted child, aspretty as I had seen for many a day. The mother—the likeness between the two doclared the relationship at first sight—was a sweot upocimen of tho best typo of English beauty—fair, full, and lustrous bluo eyes, and rich, copious hair of the color Lander called ''pellucid gold." She was trim and graceful in figure her costume neatly and tidily arranged, in which appeared the testimony of a lormer well-to-do life and a threatened poverty. As she sat down, I felt assured from her whole carriage and address, I was in tho presence of "u woman who had been nurtured in a cultivated and gentlo society. •'I hope, sir, you will attribute it to my ignoranco if 1 am doing wrong in soeing you bofore the case commences. I am, in a certain sense, a stranger hore but from what I see and have heard of you, 1 feel nuro I can talk frankly to you. Indeed, I am In sad need of a friend." Her voice trembled and died away in a most touching silence, and lier big, bluo eyos mirrored a pining and unhappy heart.

If 1 can serve you in any nianuer I will bo glad to do so." I said. She bowed, and did not immediately reply. Nho lookod away with a far, distrait look, as if she was wandering back through the gone years, perhaps to a happv childhood and as I regarded her aiul the littlo face of the child, who lookod up to her mother in half wondor and half loving sympathy, my heart was touched in a moment—indeed, without usiug too strong a phrase, thrilled with a strange compassionate tenderness—and 1 felt as if I would do any thing within my powor to assuage her grief.

You are very kind. I am English wo —that Is, mv husband and I—are both English. \Vo came here from Aust ralla a year ago. He is by profession an artist—a painter— a person of great cleverness, with a highly cultivated mind, and by birth a gentloinan. He Is afl'eetlonate and gentle, and, but for tho ouo besotting vice of drink, which is the cause of all our woes, there could not be a kinder and cotter husband. Wo have a little home hero I purchased from t(oine savings but he has now ceased to labor, and wo must soon come to want. I have an only brother, who, hearing of Gordon's condition, has but recently come here. Ho is trying to nursuade mo to abandon Gordon anu go to England with him. The price ol his aid is the prosecution of this suit, and a legal separation from my husbaud—poor, poor Gordon I can not part with him. It will break my heart to leave him and see him no more for, notwithstanding his vice, I love him." She ceased, and bent hor head over the little one, and indulged in a transport of tears. "Oh! if ho will ouly promise to drink no more! Even now I'll forgive him, and back to him. I can notglvohlin up, 1*1 len and intemperate as lie is.''

Another pause, another swimming of the big, violet eves, and then they closed upon that little world of tears and woes.

My brother had this suit eommene©d, not I," she resumed. "But aiuco then I have thought that perhaps it would frighten Mr. Murray, and would bo tbo moAUfi reforming aim. And, a as sh* r«i!«i her hand upon tho head of her »\veot child, I thought Gordon

Murray a brute to place so pretty and si true a wiio in such an unhappy strait. I have inquired of you and if they did not say that you are kind aud that your houio la blest, I would not have come hero as I have done. If there is any thing that exalts a man and opens his heart, it Is the posesaion of a happy homo. Please think whether you can hslp me in this sore trial. It is, perhaps, odd I should appeal to you, a ttlrauger but I am impelled to do so by an inward monition I can not explain, lean expect nothing from toy brother for he doesn't like Gordon—never

did like him—and has "been trying to separate us ever since my father death when he came into the property. His animosity precludes me from going to him in this my deep distress. In the names of your own wife and little ones, let me appeal to you to help—at least,

to advise

and counsel—me. Please

do." And again, as I looked at her beautiful face, I thought Gordon Murray a fool and a brute. I explained to her the law governing silch cases, telling her that if tho suit wont on to judgment, the divorce was absolute, and that the parties were then rehabilitated to their lormer condition, asifthev had never married.

But," interrupted she, can we marrv Ugain, and be just the same? Ob yes that can be done. The law doesn't prohibit that. If you will tell me how I can aid you—in what way —I will use my best endeavors to do so."

Ah, sir, I am at a loss what to say. I scarcely know where to turn—what to do. I know 1 am unhappy, and I came here supposing that you could suggest soinothing."

I must confess I was deeply interested it the woman, and racked my brain how I could serve her. Her sweet, sad face the big, blue eyes I have spoken of full of tears, through which gleamed a gentle and pure expression, and her soft, tearlul voice, all touched me deeply. I told her to let the case go on, and afterward I would consider what was best to be done.

I had scarcely uttered these words ere the door opened, and there entered the plaintiff's attorney, her brother, and several witnesses. I found Mr. Dalton—the brother—a person of very gentlemanly appearance, comparatively young, and evidently a man of intelligence and position in the world.

The defendant did not appear. Le was in default, and so the taking of the proof went on without him. The wife sat apart some moments evincing much in-erest in the proceeding, and again falling away into dejecticn. She roused herself when proof was being made as to the unfitness of defendant to have the custody of the little child—their only one—wno was then playing about the office with the joyousness and rapid movement of a sunbeam, and in strange and painful contrast to the depression of her mother.

Do you or do you not consider th« defendant a proper person to have the care and custody ol the child asked the attorney of the witness. "I certainly do not," answered he. He is all the time in liquor, and passes his time in the grog-shops. He shouldn't have the care of the child he's a low fellow."

No, no that's not true—not just," broke in the poor wife, starting to her feet with excitement, and approaching the tablo where I and the witness sat. Her brother moved forward, expostulated with her and vainly endeavored to pursuade her to sit down. And the little child stopped short in her play, and, looking at her mama's excited face, ran forward, seized hor by the gown, and then buried her dear faco among its folds. "No, sir, no—not low. You do not know him. Except that one fault ol drunkenness, ho is all that is good and kind. Never— never, even in his intoxication has he spoken an unkind word to me, or done an unkind thing. Let him come here and promise he will drink no moro, and I'll forgive him, and go to hiiu. and cling to him as long as we live. No, sir," added she, addressing me, "he's not low and don't, please let that word go down tbor6

Her brother again tried to soothe her, but she was not quieted until, at the witness' request, I expunged the obnoxious word.

The proof sustained the allegation of habitual drunkenness, aud it was complete in all other respects.

It didn't take long to finish the case but I determined to withhold my report until I had seen Gordon Murray. I had a hope, that, as he had not yet got into the low stages ot inebriety, when all shame is lost and callousuess supervenes, I might, by a gentle and Judicious course, saye him, and make his sweet wife happy again.

I had tried a score or two of such suits and while I bad frequently been touched by some little incidents of an affecting character, brought out by the evidence, never before had my sympathies been so excited as in the present case. The evident superiority of the wife, her abundant and clinging love lor a worthless husband, her education and refinement, the sprightly beauty and winning innocence of the child, all consecrated by a nameless sentiment and sadness, not only profoundly moved me, but gave me the zest to know hor history—their history. I hoped, too, I would bo able to savo them from the shipwreck that was imminent, if not inevitable. As suggested, the brother was not fit to bo a peacemaker, simply because he desired to soparate them forever.

The second day after the conclusion of the case, when I was on my way home after business hours, quite contrary to my habit I turned into Commercial Street from Montgomery and to the well-kn as I came vis a-nis to tho well-known club-house, I saw a female, with a child, emerging from a door over which hung the three gilded balls of Louabardy. I* was early twilight, and I had no diffl eulty in recognizing the sad, sweot face of Mrs. Murray ana her little Edith, crossed the street and joined her.

Oh, Judge!" she said with a treinu lous voice, "I am deeply mortified that you should moot me hero. I needed mouey for him, which my brother mustn't know, and I pledged a parcel of paltry trinkets, that I will not, can not, in my sad circumstances, wear."

I told her that I regiotto 1 most deepher necessities, and fe^ sorry she had not come to me.

Ob, thank you but I could not go you. I have no right to go to you. Because, for my owu wants, I should not hesitate to go to my brother. I have heard of some pressing necessities of my husband, and it is to relieve him I have pawned tho jewels, not myself. You will appreciate iny vexation and humiliation at being compelled to resort to such means to procure money." And, notwithstanding the darkness was rapidly filling the street, she drew her veil over her face, as if by that act she could hide from all the shame of her visit.

We walked to Kearney Street and along toward Market, unheeding all the surrounding—evsn the surprised exclamations of little Edith, as she saw the newly lighted gas-lights, revealing to her wondering eyes the fairy worlds in the shop-windows. As we went slowly on, I told ber I proposed to find her husband, and that I had determined to us® every effort to win him from his vice and depraved haunts, back to herself, their child, and home. After I h:td unfolded all my plan, she bade me good-by: and her trembling hand and broken "God bless you!" adequately revealed her profound emotion.

The law made It my doty to file my report within ten days but I determined to overlook ihit requisition, and to be guided by circumstances. I rather doubted the eflfisct on him of a ju­

dicial separation, fearing that it would retard, if not absolutely defeat, a reconcilement.

The next afternoon I had nothing especial to detain me at my office, and so I started to find Mr. Murray. I had been directed to a certain tap-room he frequented, on Stockton street and I had, too, a fair description of him. I was told he bore an unmistakable earmark a deep scar on his right cheek. I found the place, easy enough, and passed into the bar room. To afford me leisure for espionage, I ordered a glass of beer. I saw no one there at all, much to my chagrin but observing

ertigu tucio, uwvuoo** suggestion was a la bonne heurc, for, I entered, I saw a man seated at the opposite side of the table, with a piece of

paper

before him,'upon which he was drawing—evidently with no purpose, but led idlv along by the wauton ya-

faries

of a restless and capricious mind. watched him closely, and iu a few moments he raised his head and there, sure enough, dropping from under his hat far down the cheek, was a scar. The table concealed most of his figure, allowing me to see only hiB head, arms, and shoulders. His face pretty plainly indicated his hislory for the past few months and yet, there was no bloated appearance—uothfing of the repulsive incarnadine and pustulous outbreak which declare the ultimate stages of the inebriate. At a glance, a gentleman would have recognized in him the kinship of his own order. His head was small, covered with thick, curly hair, and well poised npon a^ pair of broad, brawny shoulders his complexion florid a full, dreamy, hazel eye, that indicated a pensive, imaginative temperament, a small mouth—so far as his brown mustache disclosed its contour There was that about him—that air no Me—that would have arrested and en gaged my attention anywhere.

As wo were the only persons in the little room, I drew up to the table, and putting my glass down, picked up newspaper, the better to enable me to prosecute my observations of my vis-a vis. He did not notice me, at first, «so far as I could see, bnt continued his drawing. However, he soon commenced to eye me askance, yet with nothing rude or sinister in his look and expression. I resolved to break tho si-

Excuse me, sir but as I love com panionship when I drink, will you join me?"

He raised his head, gazed at me one moment, then dropped his eyes upon the paper and resumed his occupation

Perhaps you didn't understand me Shall I have the pleasure of drinking with you?"

He lifted his look to mo again, and this time his soft eyes were full of the melancholy that lies close akin to tears. '«Pardon me," he said. "I heard, but I could not answer, for your invitation invoked a spirit I have long tried to ex orcise and my silence was that of one who anxiously watches a contest between an evil angel who would destroy, and a good angel who would save me Do you remember—to mo it is tho most pathetic and intelligible part of 'Faust' —where Margaret, tempted by Henry, exclaims: 'Thine am I, Father! Save me, ye angels!" Well, oven as Marga ret sinned and repented, have I sinned and do repent. Please tempt me no more."

How gladly I hoard these words, aud saw the presence of his better angel, to whom he appealed!

He thrust before me the piece of paper on which he had been drawing. "See here!" said he. "This aperture is Tartarus and the shadowy figures within are the souls of drunkards, damned. This group is made up of characters such as Hogarth drew with such terrible energy and warning in his 'Idle Apprentice.' There—there, that wanton is Idleness these are the bon-vivants that allure and ruin. Here, to the right, is a home, covered with vines and, standing at tho open door, is the lovely genius of that home, who watches the child there, tumbling among the clover tufts. Above the

roof_here,

?el—who

away up, and stretching

along the infinite sky—is the simulacrum of a temple. That represents heaven, for which every happy, Christain home is tho nursery." "And this figure you call the genius of the home," said I, pointing to it "whose is it Is it a likeness, or a fancy sketch?" I recognized it and and the child as the portraiture of Edith Murray and her littlo one. "That? No it is not fancy. It is the face of one whom I believed an an-

was an angel to me—to whom

am idebted for the best happiness of my life, and whom I have rewarded perfidiously. She was my wife a day or two ago."

W

hs? And why not now—sho is not dead?" No not corporeally dead. But when slio asked the law to separate us she died to me. Whether the court absolves us or not, she aud I meet no more. That is r.n infidelity I deem no less dishonoring than if she had run awav with one of our sex. In a word, Bir, fell into bad habits, neglected my wife, spent her substance treated her, to bo sure, with cruelty—rascally, if you please—but, in all this, there is no excuse for publishing my sin through that trumpeter called the Law, and asking that she and ber child be separated from mo, because I'm an habitual drunkard—for so the paper reads, sent to me by that same Law. That one offense—crime it is—excepted, Edith Murray is an angel. But it has had one good effect for, by the Lord God who jndgeth all, I will never drink again"—and the table reeled under the blew he gave it, by way of emphatic invocation.

But perhaps I can give you such an explanation of that suit as will change your views, and prove that she does not deserve your censure. I can, I am sure, convince a sensible man as you are, that she has, at the worst, commited only an error of judgment." "And who are you, that knows so much of me and miue asked he, impatiently and angrily.

I am the Court Commissioner, before whom tho case is pending and I go further than you, who says yonr wife ireuan angel: I add, she i«." "Strange!" said he. "I had a presentiment, the first few momenta I saw you, that in some inscrutable manner

?eave

rou are to effect my future. But let us this place: it is odious to me. I: is redolent with impurity, and vice, and ruin. I must go." He rose on the instant caught up the drawing, with a nervous clutch, and, thrusting it into his pocket, strode rapidly through the bar-room to the street. Tossing a dime upon the counter, I hurried out, and. with Gordon Murray, turned toward Washington Square.

As .we walked on, I purposely avoided all farther allusion to Edith and the divorce but led him away from all such matters by cheerful observations on the city, its growth, and colonization. When we reached Meiggs's wharf, after making an appointment to meet him at my chambers the following week, I bade good*by to him. But, before I left, he said to me 'freyy•' .•w-W

I note your remarks as to tho divorce suit. I will seo you again in reference to it, and hear what you may have to say regarding my wife. Bo assured, I shall do nothing rash or unkind. You'll find that Gordon Murray is no longer the fatuous sot he has been. Good-by."

The next morning Mrs. Murray, with Edith, came, with a faco full ot impatient interest.

Have you seen him?" Yes." And I recounted all that had occurred the day before. She listened with an eager face and when I related the incident of the drawing of the home, herself, and the child, she seised my hand and wept, in a transport ©f joy. But when I went on relating his resolution to drink no more, and the evil effects of the suit, her face blanched, her bands worked with a restless twitch, and sho fell insensible to the floor. In a little while, however, she recovered but her distress was lamentable to see. "Ob, you don't know him. He will keep his word inviolate he will neither drink any more, nor seo me. My brother? my brother? you have done me pn irreparable wrong. The hateful suit! I must stop it. Please destroy all the papers at once."

Madam, 1 will seo your attorney, and arrange with him to discontinue the proceedings. I beg ot you to be calm, and not to take so melancholy a view of the situation. When your husband learns all—and I assure you he shall be informed of every tiling—I feel sure that he will fully excuse you. I feel convinced, by something I can not explain, that you and Mr. Murray will soon be re-united." "God grant it!" said the poor woman throueh her tears. She was so nervous aud sick that I begged her to go home and get some rest, and finally persuaded her to do so. As sho left my office, I pitied her with all my heart lor, with her suffering, there was so much of patience—such composure and dignity—as to win me completely to ber interest, although I felt that Gordon Murray had good reason to fortify him self iu the stand he had taken.

It was my plan to keep Mr. Dalton ignorant of the proposed discontinuance of the suit, ana of my endeavor to reconcile the parties, rather than to separate them and so, when he called to see me the next day, stating that he desired to leave lor Los Angelos tor a fortnight, I was delighted.

I hope, sir," said he, "that, when I return,* a divorce wiil be formally decreed, for I am not well, and desire to return to England withoutdelay, with my sister and her child. She needs rest and change, and 1 shall take her to Los Angeles with me. Edith I will leave with a friend of my sister during our absence, for the necessary caro of the child will fatigue her, and be an unnecessary tax on her while so weak."

The next day, Mrs. Murray called to advise me of her brother's invitation to her to go to Los Angeles with him persuaded her to accept it, stating that it would aid my plan materially. "Leave Edith at the house with the sevant your brother has engaged, and with no other custodian. 1 will persuade Mr. Murray to go there and his return to his old home, with its influ ences and all the tenderness coming from the child's presence and affection ate ways, will do mueh to sudduo and soften him. By all means, go, for the good results tire absence of you and Mr. Dalton promises."

Unwilling as sho was to leave Edith and the place that held her husband, she was finally persuaded. A day or two afterward, they left on the steamer, proposing to be absent about three weeks or a month.

They had been gone but a few hours when Mr. Murray entered my office, and I was delighted to seo the pleasant change made by a few days—a change that had improved him toaremarkable degree. I tnen told him the history «f the law-suit—the arrival of Mr. Dalton, who had by some means, but, I assured him, not through his wife, neard of his bad habits the suit he bad instigated, not Mrs. Murray her sufferance of, not her consent to, the proceedings, with the hope some good might grow out of ti'em her vindication of him when the witness used the word low, and her discontinuance of the case. I advised him of her departure, and I assumed the responsibility of it, and ot Edith's being left behind—for him.

I'll send for her," said he, "and take her to my room. I dissuaded him from that, on the ground of the child's comfort and health, and I was glad to see that my wishes had the desired effect, for he promised he would return to his own home that day. "But," added be, "so soon as she comes, I will leave. I see much in what you say to palliate Mrs. Murray's conduct, but had she loved me as she should have done, she would have per .ished rather than consented to tho in famous proceeding set on foot by her brother. He shall answer for it."

I mildly suggested to hiic that he bad placed his wife in an anomalous position—had abandoned her, and that her sufferings had uunerved and almost overthrown her.

In looking at this matter," said I, "would it not be well to remember how far you are responsible The duties of husband and wife are reciprocal, and, to my idea, equally binding. If you, through a bad habit, became incapable of supporting ana comforting your wife, there is much excuse—ay, much to praise—in a brother doing wl».at the husband fails to do."

You speak a sad truth, and yet few men would have the boldness to utter what you have done. Your hand, if you please! No man is more ready to atone than I for any fault—crime, if you please—I may have committed, will esteem it an honor, as it will certainly be a favor, if you will oome to see me."

The following Sunday I determined to visit Mr. Murray, who lived in the northern part of tho city. I had purposely, for a few days, left him to himself, feeling that the weakness and depcndonce of the dear child would have a strong and controlling influence to restrain him from a relapse into a vicious course. I was not sanguine as to his resolution. But if he baa only that one passion to struggle with, I could have believed be would arise the victor but to stifle a habit of drink, in the face of what be regarded an inevitable. overwhelming disappointment of all his domestic hopes, or, to use his own language, the infidelity of a wife id consic

he bad idered august and superhuman in her love and purity, called for the exercise of amoral courage I scarce gave him credit for. His little girl I rightly deemed a dear little St. Christopher, who would beer him in safety across the turgid stream and I felt that in her presence every reminder of bis wife would rather serve, with their tender perfume coming from the past, to subdue all harshness rather than to exasperate him.

It was a sweet afternoon in March, and, as it had rained the previous day, the air was filled with a delicious freshness. The sky was clear, except that from the apex and clinging to the flanks of Tamalpasis,' were a few cir­

rous clouds but all the heavens else were ono unbroken sea of azure, along which I saw processions ot wild fowl, which swepf through the infinite distance toward the north. Not a breath of air stirred the waters of tho bay alone moved in that grand, onward" swell, so full of power and .energy, anon breaking with a sullen dash upon the sanded shore.

There is something peculiarly sympathetic in ourselves with Nature, and we do not appreciate how much our moods depend upon our suiroundings. On tho day in question, the unusual beauty of the landscape—its tender charm and exquisite beauty—had the effect of softening me, and, as I entered the little gate which admitted me into the yard where Mr. Murray lived, I felt for him a throb of charity and good-will I had never experienced before. The place, too, enhanced that tenderness for everywhere about me I saw a hundred evidences of a refined and intelligent hand. The garden was carefully cultivated and arranged with graveled walks, little parterres rimmed with box and concentric circles of daisies and soft-eyed pansies, and along and running throngh the latticed streetfence, the purple pendents of the fuchsia hung like jeweled drops from tho ear-like leaves of the geranium. On the front of the cottage, clinging to verge-board, and running about the cornice of the deep bay-window, clung an English ivy. its broad leaves shining with a rare polish, and from the angle of the house swung the coral tubes ot the honeysuckle. It was plain to be seen that Mrs. Murray's hand had not tor some days touched many of the -plants, which, in her absence, rioted with an abounding exuberance of joy over the borders, trailing leaves and blossoms along the garden-paths, and

throwing out soft, exploring tendrils to whatever they could cling. An Englishwoman's home is always burled among vines and flowers, and her chief delight and occupation are their culture. Even there, under so many untoward circumstances, that national trait displayed itself, and any one in passing through tho garden felt a tender presentiment of the owner's delicacy and feeling.

I pulled the bell, and soon Mr. Murray opened tho door, who extended his hand and drew me in. We passed through a vestibule into a small draw-ing-room where were several pictures and, while all the appointments were plain, there spoke in every thing the presence of refinement and taste. Beyond, was still another apartment, looking upon the garden, aud which was then used as a studio an open piano furnished ono side a small etagerc the other, on which were a few books in the centre was an easel, and near it a.small table, full of pigments, a palette and a maul-stick. On the easel was a small landscape, almost finished, on which Mr. Murray was working when I came, and naturally I halted before it I was surprised and charmed. It was a lake, with a flowery strip of foreground, lapped among hills. On the right were dense forests that came down to the tarn, and threw quivering shadows tar into its silver depths. In the perspect ive, the purple mountains bore up va pory masses of summer clouds, and above stretched a charming bit of crimson and green sky. In the loreground there was a clump of trees crowning a mound, from whoso base shot far into the water a heathery point of land and, to the far left, the lakelino ran along the edge of hill-slopes, bright with thesweet verdure of spring. It was a gray landscape, and yet replete with a delicious tenderness that touched one lrom its happy similitude to Nature.

The artist watched me closely while I examined the picture, evidently wondering whether I was a competent crittc, and, if so, whether I admired his work—its composition and handling,

Is it a fancy sketch No. It is a bome-scene I brought away in my memory, and dear from association. It proposes to reproduce a little loch lying within sight of Wethlatnb, in Lancashire, near which shewhore my wife—was born and lived I commenced this picture the day I came here, and this occupation and the society of my child alone reconcile me to the sad reminiscences that belong to this house."

He sent the painting to me, and it is an exquisite gem I prize highly. It hangs near me now ft has hung within my homo ever since. When I placed it hero, the glad sunshine and a sweet voice filled tho house with gladness. Now, the sunshine comes as of erst, but the voice is heard no more.

Just as the shadow was falling across Gordon Murray's heart, as he alluded to his absent wife, and touched upon a time when, peihaps, nothing stood between them, the door leading into an inner room opened, and the blue-eyed child—the boaming little Edith—burst into the room, and, without heeding me, ran to her father, climbed to his lap, put her white armsaround his neck, and hid all his face with her golden hair. That little incident re-assured me as to his steadfastness of purpose as to drink, and I ceased to tear for him.

I remained there all through the twilight, listening to the sweet prattle of the child, and watching with great interest the tenderness be manifested for her. And when the darkness came, and the skies wero kindling with tho tremulous light of the stars, and before he led Edith to bed, the darling droppod to her knees beside her father, and, folding her hands upon his lap, lisped the prayer she had been taught in happier days. And when the soft, earnest voice rose out of the darkness, asking God's blessing on the house, and praying Hiin "to bless mamma and bring her safely back to papa and ine," I bowed my head, and felt that if the angels do really weave crowns from prayers, how superbly beautiful must be that woven from Edi plication!

Have you been in England at length Inquired Mr. Murray. "Yes." "In WarwickshireV*

lothing iu reply, for I was sar all ho might say of him Do you paint no asked.

eager

.to

of himself.

"I love your art with much of an artist's enthusiasm, but I have no practice in it." .,•

It is a glorious occupation, and yet, only, those who have reached distinction in it have a recognized social status," he replied. "I have accomplished nothing as yet."

Have you been a regular student in painting?" Ay bred to it. I am a Oantab, and left my alma mater with a Bachelor's

Sown.

I entered Holman Hunt's stu-

io, when he and Millais and Rossetti associated themselves as that celebrated trinity from which emanated what is called pre Raphaelistn. I then went abroad passed three years in the German and French schools and, returning to England, started at onco for Ambleside, in the Lake District, whero I remained some months making stud-ieS-M

Excuse me is not that the district whero your wile was born I asked. It is and there I first met her. One day I had been sketching tho heights of Loughrigg Fell, when I saw a young girl, attended by a groom, engaged in doing the same thing. I had a dozen or so studies to make of it, and it seemed as it stte had as many. Her sketch, one morning, was blown from her, and landed near me. I was some distance below her of course, I picked it up and looked at it. It was clever, but not faultless and when I handed it to her, I took the liberty ot pointing out some errors in drawing, and suggested changes. She was very young, and, as I heard, the only daughter of a wellknown gentleman of the neighoorhood. I saw her several successive days, and frequently examined her studies. One day, she was descending the slope leading down from what is called Blea Tarns, driving herself in a small wicker phaeton, when her horse suddenly took fright and dashed at a furious rate down the steep, winding road. It is a wonder she wasn't killed for sho had lost her reins, and, on one side, the road hung almost over the valley below. Fortunately, I was on a spot where the way widened. I stopped her horse and this scar upon my cheek is the memorial of that rescue. Well, you can easily guess that it was Edith I had saved. After that, I saw her almost every day and, when she resumed her sketching, you may be sure I was near her—first, instructing then, laying asido pencil and portfolio, we bunted mosses and lerns along the Brothay whore it leaped among the hills, and—well, well—we slid into tender touches of the hands, and then, to lips. In good time I told her lather all. aud, like the Lord of Burleigh, ho said I was 'but a landscape-painter,' aud refused me his consent. My father had, In the meantime, died, leaving mo a small fortune and Edith would have, from an aunt, a competence on hor coming of age Her governor still obdurate, I persuaded her to elope and we were married. Ho never forgave ber and, on his death, loft all his fortune to Mr. Dalton, her brother, who Is here now.

England was no place for us and so, getting our moans together, we sailed for Australia. There, Utile Edith was born and there commoncod the habit of drink, which came near wrecking mo. The sooiety of fast young men, races, and cards, soon disposed of all my means and to savo mo, to separate mo from my evil associations, my wife

Eave

ersuaded mo to come hero. What I been since my arrival, tho testimony of the suit has fully informed you,"

Ho slopped abruptly, and wont to tho piano, which he touched with a rare skill. Ho commenced with a plaintive minor air, as if ho repeated on the keys the sad disappointments of the past fow months and then he wandered off into an obscure world of melody—capricious, fantastic, and even wild—but always pathetic, as if each note was stained with tears. He improvised the whole performance and yet I never heard music before so full of the wail and pathos of a breaking heart. I no longer wondered, as I sat in the darkness and listened to his fingering of the piano, that Edith Dalton had given her heart to the young and impassionate artiste.

It was midnight before I reached my home. A few days after that visit, Mr. Murray came to seo me, with littlo Edith —for tbo two were insoperablo. I noticed that the child drooped—was not vivacious as was her wont, and, generally, seemed indisposod, I called his attention to her condition, telling him that her languor and hushed face Burely indicated febrilo symptoms. IIo left me, promising to call a physician the next day, if the child was not «ocidedly better. The second day thereafter, I received a note from him, besoecbing me to come to him at onco. I started on the instant and, when I reached the house,he mot moat the door informing me that the child was alarmingly ill. I was taken to her roomfound her in her little bed, slightly delirious from fover. Mo physician had seen her—for Mr. Murray, with reluctance, told me, that he bad not the means to meet such expenses that all the property in the house belonged to his wife—none of which he could sell, espocially under the peculiar relations he held her. I called in my own physician, who pronounced tho child fai rle

Eappen,

lith's simple sup-

When he returned be sat where the child had just been, from which point I could soe through tho bay-window the shadowy forui of Tamalpais, Alcatraz—with its light gleaming over the waters of the bay—and tho great plane of the firmament, sown with silver stars. He and I were long silent, for the hush and mystery of the hour and scene touched us with—at least, it was so to me—an influence and sentiment peculiar to themselves. There was just enough of sympathy with, and intuition of, each other's thoughts and feelings to keep us quiet, both fearing to touch on matters that held so much of pain, and yet feeling that any other subject woula be dissonant and repulsive.

1

Yes in that part of it lying near to where Lady Goaiva redo ana Shakspeare was born."

I mean just there. I was born on that spot, and I love it, too, because it is one of the most attractive in England. I do not feel exactly at home here—because, perhaps, I have but little to look back to, since I came, that Is pleasant and estimable." I said

ronounced tho child far

gone in scarlet fever. By his advice I telegraphed Mrs. Murray, as I bad

romised I would do should anything advising her to return at once. I saw litttle Edith from day to day she was precociously patient—full of tenderness for her father—never uttec: ih

went on with unabated symptoms—indeed, more excerbated from day to day and Doctor M. told mo that ho had grave doubts ot ber recovery. He was fearful indeed, she would not survive to see her mother, who had replied to my telegram, saying that sho would sail tho following day.

At last sho came. I met her at the steamer, and announced to hor that the doctor had lost all hope. The poor woman

was

overwhelmed with distress,

and I could offer her no consolation. What human tongue can utter a singlo word to soften the despair that sits upon our hearts at such a moment—darkling the whole world about us—shutting out all light, even that which, ordinarily, is shed over our bruised hopes from the Star of Immortality I was silent, pressing ber hand in affectionate sympathy.

When we reacnea the house, no one met us. A premonition of evil sal upon all things, reaching out to us from the quiet we encountered at the very garden-gate. Mrs. Murray went on in silence. As she entered the chamber, her husband stood at tho side of the bed whereon the child was—just then performing some offices for the sufferer. She ran rather than walked to her bedside, sank beside it, and passionately kissed Edith. "Dear, doar mamma, I am so happy you have come," murmured the poor darling, as [Continued on Seventh 1'age.]