Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 5, Number 7, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 15 August 1874 — Page 2

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Bio*

«.. ,*L A-

THE MAILfcl

A PAPER

FOR THE

*StoU «•!..-••

!••.

8olv

PEOPLE.

IF I COULD KEEP HER SO

BY MRS. MOULTON

(XflrYork I p«H-n

Jo* a littlebabjr. lyti

W«."t

'KNua keep JOB WIW yoturbt-

cunjfan flogcm, doirnjr* nahine itafeis, caaght from !i*-:i HI asking questions, Upa that can W should*.'**, dimple on ar

Whi r- f'r.

ity

JeW wo

1 all

rWh

.fori

Roguish UtUedam*f^.uviY uxjrisnoMI* fSi-i! i'«r«: i!f, tMlTOr^'"'!" -c alltbetlB"

TOD- OUT «..•.

*ataJ* AMTIE

Bto*. \'es Mromkt*. the dt. Her mcoraeioMl tbeni—wtiat an eager it! Win a Utile ifcuo •*!».,all the neighbor* know Thtw I long to keep yoo, far I love yoa so. Sober little sehooK-irl, with your tUrap of u, And :hgr**elmi'"rt«»cclnyHirjrtuutJed

weary

problems, poring over earns.

Yet with tooth for sponge cake and for gar plows Bee* -i book* of romaaoe In your bed t, Wal in.t up to study with the morning light Anx »a* to ribbons, deft to tie a bow, Full of contradictions—! would keep you so. Hweet and thooghtfal maklra, sitting by my side, All the world's before yoa and the world is wide Hearts are there to winning, hearts are there to break. Has your own, wttyiuiiiAeu, lost begun to Is that row of dawning glowing on your cheek Telling os In blushes what you will not speak Hhv and tender maiden, 1 would fain forego All the golden future,

Just to keep you so.

Ah! the listening angels saw that she was fair, Ripe for rare unfolding in the ops*# air Now the roue of dawning And the cloee-shut eyelids veil the eyes from

ni|w wr IRIP uuKHuiux IU ui« vpiKTiur Now the roue of dawning turtw to lily white id thee' sight All the past I summon as 1 klMJtaer brow Babe and child and maiden, all arc with me now. Oh my heart is breaking bat God's love know— Safe among the angels. He vtH !™ep her *o.

Norman's Return.

A STORY OF YULE.

BY CHRISTIAN REID,

Author of 'Valerie Aylmer,' 'Morton House, Ross Beverley's Pledge,' etc.

Down in one of the lower counties of Maryland, Elliston Manor is situated— a charming, old-fashioned country house, irregular enough to set an architect wild, yet comfortable enough to keep the same architect a willing prisoner within its walls forever.

As everybody well remembers, the Christmas of 1870 was a particularly cold one—so cold that oranges were frozen to solid ice on the trees of Florida therefore anybody with a turn for imagination can forthwith set to work and imagine what this Christmas must have been among the hills and dales of Maryland. It would be unwise to attempt to say how many feet of snow lay above the hard-frozen earth or how thickly ice covered all the rivers, lakes and ponds. Winter held his court royally bat although he blew and blustered with Arotic lury, though he piled snow-drift upon snow-drift, and hung every tree and shrub with icicles that might have been imported from the North Pole, he could not penetrate the thick walls of Elliston Manor, or do other than make the gay party therein assembled draw closer around the glowing fires and appreciate all the more the warmth and comfort within by contrast with the piercing cold without.

On Christmas eve, especially, the old house Mrly glowed with bounteous warmth ana cheer and merriment, and all things appertaining to the thrice blessed Christinas-tide, the thrice-bles-sed season of peace and good-will. In the drawing-room a party of young people and rated hall to the library, where a group of elders were counting their tricks and scoring their honors at whist. As has been already stated, the manor was very irregularly built, but the original plan of the house had been somewhat in the shape of a St. Andrew's cross, and between two of the wings thus formed— both of which were devoted to reception rooms—a targe conservatory was built. The Author end of the grand drawingroom opened directly into this, but the two rooms in the adjoining wing overlooked it by means of large windows, against which the golden fruit of the orange or tin* fragrant leaves of the geranium bru-i wi an Similarly as if they had been tn their distant southern home. The conservatory of Klliston Manor was the "show-place" of the neighborhood, ijwst now was In its glory, being frill broad-leaved tropical plants and richlined tropical i-v -full, also, sweet, subtle fhwi.tn nf warm ., which stoleoverilv iik dreamy irm, only alter a turn beginning to _."rww the lungs with a slight difficulty in .'*piiMU.n. Onedldnt far tor the MQM Of this. I* and thrive in an atmosphere which

out- 1 of wht^h the wwwt was iaear-v--. i, the ws subtly, cottlti iww den under the oee wt

liston l)i —-ser '•-'v fht to say, and shnnn} body toav

death to the human system and heand there tH*eo»*ervatoiy-~dif!fb*i* *•.

even on tins itter night, «t! 'f.i h«a _• rso 1

does not knowt ?—. trh^-w inhK. f»Bl JTOt, -wsO .'!!!•

I l.r I

fit

r*-

eva

urn

I1 to

sr Mia

the frel all

who preferred a game «t flirtation to any of anusetnents current the numerous guests.

"1 sin afraid that waits was almost too much for you," a handsome, graceful man was saying to a slender, dark-eyed girt on his ana, as they turned from the hall into one of the rooms overlooking the conservatory. The first which th^y entered contained several groups of people, so they pawed through a curtained arch to the one beyond, where subdued lamplight and glowing firelight had all the solitfliSe to themselvea, "You look tired," he went on, with a tone of rostra- tendernew in Ms volcv. "It was very selfish and Inconsiderate to keep yon dancing so long."

But yon did not keep me —that is, 1 liked to be kept," she answered, with a smile,

I am a little tired. But it was so delicious! Do you know I out imagine dancing to the Strausa w&itxea until one drojified dead? Their strains are stolen from the fairies, think." "Tbey seem to have set all your blood in a glow," he said, looking at her kindling cheeks andT shining eyes.

Have you not an elfin drop in your vein®? I thought your eyes looked elfish the first time I ever met them."

eager

*dy ing br so—wl-

uestpi de» I WK It i«

i.«ng! ^.

mat

and a

id to 1

re aw nlj *.

WSK

Did you, indeed and the lustrous eyes in question looked up foil of surprise. "Somebody else used to say that, along while ago. It is strange that you should say it too, even if you did not think it." "But I did think it," he said, eagerly. "Why should you doubt it And who was it that used to say so? I am Jealous of people who knew you 'long ago'—that is, long befoye I came into vour life.

This was an old, old friend," said Isabel Elliston, with a slight sigh—"a friend who came into my life almost as soon as knew anything. Have you never heard any of us speak of Norman Benison, papa's ward? It was he."

411have

heard of him," answered Mau

rice Langdon, very gravely. Then, as It were unconsciously, his glance foil on the delicate white hands lying Ullv In Isabel's silken lap. Front one of tiiein came the fitful shimmer of a large opal, that tender stone of romance so dear to poets and lovezs in all ages. "I have heard of him," be repeated again, after a moment. "Even before I ever met you —even when your fhme merely catne to me as that of 'the beauti Ail Miss Elliston' —I heard that you were engaged to a young man who had been TOUT tether's ward, and who had gone, away somewhere—was it to Australia or Jlnuil?— to make a fortune for you."

She started slightly, and a flush like

ijtw

omumiu

It is auite true," she said: "1 am engaged to Norman. I have been engaged to mm ever since this night three years ago, when he decided to go to South America and came to bid us good-bye."

And do you hold yourself bouna by such a boy and girl romance?" asked Langdon, impetuously. "Forgive me if I am impertinent," lie added, hastily, as he saw a change of expression come over her delicate, clear-cut fhee "but oh, Isabel, you do not need to be told how everything in the world hinges for me on this—on your pledge to a visionary boy, who is selfish enough or mad enough to wish to bind you to waste the sweetest of your youth in hopeless waiting, while he follows some vague scheme of fortune at tho antipodes."

Isabel's uplifted hand—the hand on which the opal gleamed with soft, dewy lnstre—stayed any further words on his lips. "Stop," she said, gently but very gravely. "You must not speak in that way of Norman. Whatever else I may be, I am not so tmgrateful as to let anybody blame him for anything in my presence,

Ungrateful!" repeated Maurice Langdon, flushing deeply. "Are there no fortunes and no hearts laid at your feet here at home, that you should bo 'grateful' for the privilege of waiting for a neait in South America and a fortune in Utopia?'

You do not understand." she said. I trust I am grateful for ail love, but there are many reasons why I should bo specially grateftil

tor

Norman's—why I

am bound doubly, trebly, a hundred fold, to keeping my faith to him unbroken."

You cannot be bound in such a manner it is impossible!" Langdon said, with a thrill of passlsnate vehemence.

Only your own heart can bind you, Isabel—nothing elee." Yes." said Isabel, "there is something else. Honor shonld bind as well as love. I knew what you arc going to say," aa his lips unclosed, "but you may spare mo. As I told you before, you do not understand. You cannot understand," she added, with an accent of indescribable pain and pathos. "Yowdo not know how closely/hopelessly, I am bound!"

Nothing is hopeless to love,'* *nld the deeper tones, stirred by a tenderness unrestrained now. "IsaM. my darling, give me the right to free from these chains."

'^S:i^} S8

"Thev are not chains," said r«tb*1. .... .. .. feintly• v,jt proudly, and shedfw aw»»v brandy ever made in Fninoe, rft eager hands that strove to Yet It Is scarcely likely that eVcrt tlic thought of Isabel Elliston's lfistrous eyes would have kept him afoot without the aid of the stimulant during the long hour which yot elapsfed before he turned from tho high road Into a familiar gale u.- and found himself within the grounds of hi*, the misn«r. Up the avenue be plodded, iq. .«nd wearilv, w»H«}gh spent ntlu ntll tbo light* from the honsc

dm h«T. "Yon cannot tell how unI should be if I ermld bfaak my Vorman," shesaid,pt«*t'mst0]v. "I serv to Tb afV oalmifl Mr

myself—1 -iaa by »nt. Rtw «. to «f 1" V. !C,

I i-

i»r

wir 1

inn'.*! v,

Yet, despite these facts, a man is plodding along this road through the bitter cold of a night without prqoedent In the momory of a generation—a young man, well built ana agile of movement, but not by any moans clad for such an expedition as the present. His clothes are well worn, and there is something for-

oai^uwAjf mm uuoii itnv vii wi ^»v """q

the lining of a sea-shell came to her lily- eign, something suggestive of nuidcr

InoUin oho Innbiul tin ifUli a ti/im I abOllt thCHl. IlO ilSLS nO OVefCOflt

leaf skin. But she looked tip with a very quiet and graceful dignity.

but, instead, wears, curiously wrapped about him, a blanket such as Texan and Mexican h(inters carry on their saddles. It is a most inefficlentfprotection from tho fierce blasts which como to meet him and deter him from the dangers of the winding road among tho dosolate hills. But he has a stout neart, and ho keeps steadily on, whelmed now and then in a snow-drift, but bravely struggling through, and plodding forward with dogged resolution, conscious that to pause even for a minute Is certain death

It is slow work, however—terrible work, in fact and after a time fltssh and blood give way. When something more than half the distance between Stamford and the manor has been wearily accomplished, tho pedestrian, whose active steps have gradually grown mora and more lagging, sinks down in utter exhaustion upon the trunk of a fallen tree by the roadside. Ho Is numbed with Cold until he lias lost sensation—lost utterly the aching, painful consciousness of being cold his limbs refuse to move, his mind feels dull and drowsy and as he sits there, fiillen together In a heap, he is lapsing fkst Into an unconsciousness which can know no awakening. But just then a blast of almost terrific power sweeps by, uttering a weird, unearthly sound between a moan and a bowl, and in the effort to brace himself against it the wayfarer wakes to a sense of the iatal peril which besets him. Instinctively his numb hand goes to his chcst and after a time slowly draws forth a flask. It has given him strength and warmth several times before during his painful pilgrimage, but now ho drains it to tho last drop. Even tho fiery cognac with which it was filled scarcely enables him to do mora han rise slowly and stiffly to his feet, lie does rise, however, and movos on, mwrmurin- half broken words as ho does so.

Not so near," ho said—"not so nea»! It would bo hard to have tolled all the way back, penniless and foot-sore, only to die within a niWoof her! So that I keep alive until I have seen her, it does not much matter what comes afterward. My Isabel 1 my brave, lovely darling! Shall I ever forget bow she looked that Christmas eve when she bade me goodbye and 'Godspeed' three years ago It has been a poor speed toward fortune I have made, but it will scarcely matter I come back without a Nbililng—bankrupt in everything but hope—If Isabel only looks at me with the same sweet, wlatftileyes. Ay, howl away!" nsthft Mast swept by again "tho thought of her is bettor to warm me than all the

1 I.

Hi'vtiii jit

whi-iieancome b-

nu.ff^ii.l 1» JU.1 1

»f h. l-

•r?"

l.n v. I I t'i 'I!

]k- tl.

'V »l Ml-

trnt"r

uuitthi iratt awcetl"

iilMteftt

tii

i«g

aad

Mai. w. [1 ledatn

8th*

hmnfj vii sr t'i

oft

th&tl

{'«r «!iP

inwiiut' that hind

and ladies in the in a or galops ply tbei A ioly nigot, ti» wind MsAitluwirt the ralof the hilk among

-als of

Ham as if it •m inflw A*-' ey» f®d ch the

MthM

logs are roar leoce, liwnine, the KOtoton the cruelty of fete, or this Ufo of brigbt flush tn theaofJy gayety uid luxt «tmjmm at whkb he

There a mu

ia UM WKMtai and eoratnt on*.»tuns ynaUnn eve *i wwm re^wek'^'n

.• :in» town (T It: 11

TERKI3 HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

DO NOT TRY MB HKYOXI) MY STRENGTH!

eyes and unerring footsteps in man or beast to keep within its path for not only doec the snow lie several feet deep, but"tho wind has piled many a high drift in which the hapless wayfarer might flounder and go down, hopelessly benumbed. Holp from man there would be none, for the isolated houses along tho road are mostly country-seats, wrapped in their own dignity and only approached by long lanes and ttvpnues besides winch, tiiero are none of them so churlish or so sorrowful that they do not keep high festival on this night, and tho earsof those »'ho sit by glowing fires and pledge tho great feast in liquors spiced and mulled alter old-time recipes are not likely to hear any wild cry for aid, even though it bo sent up at their very doors.

food and rest. If he bad seen laabel it might have been different but although he looked for her eauerly, Hhe was not to be socn. Almost every other member of his family came now and tlien across his range of vision. I lis former guardian passel the window, Mrs. Klliston'* graceful figure was trained for a minute In tho vlstu of an opening dfKjr, CScorgiana Elliston was flirting on a divan scarcely ten paccs from where ho stood, and his old companion, Frank Klliston, was amusing a group of girls at the piano. But Isabel, fair, graceful, stately Isabel, did not conic witliiu tl\o ruxge of those {assionatc eyes.

She

hint, shining out with on toe bitter nltrlil. For

tbe .tn ia M.-i r1 f«0' 't .1*

il I'

•iiaped rnn"'-

I W I rM passing and ladfra. sr H'll. It

ir,

•i •"», gituipH Hefolf 4bewii

A -«*!. tlttkt awfbl exhfh? uad quitted -hand struggle with

yyyorf with a vague wonder that men laughed and Jested? I?e eoold wstroely realise hlniself in the half-fro-wn, hiuf-dlothed, half-starved wanderer dreading toeoler among ttie«e caf p]«wu^»eekeni aad^T^It tetlK man who went away tc make a fortune."

And thks dread conquered even the Mlmal craving ftHrwanaili and

Ho,

at last, he

wearily turned from all the mocking brightness and comfort. "I have no place in such a scene as that," ho thought.,

441shall

servants quietly lot me in, and tell Isabel I am here. If sho issad and anxious about met it she is thinking too much of that Christmas eve three years ago, I may bring her comfort, though I bring her little else/'

Turning from tho window, therefore, he went nls way around tho wings toward the domestic offices. Before reaching them, however, he was obliged to pass the conservatory, the crystal walls of which rose like a fairy palace in tbo clear starlight and snowlightof the wondrous winter niglrt. At sight of it a thought came to the nearly frozen man. Why not enter

theref

will speak now—slie will vindicate her love and feilh. And she speaks. You must not talk to me like this,** she says, proudly.

4*I

111

11'

•M

t!i"

441

go to the rear, make one of the

Warmth must

necessarily meet him on tho thrcshpld— that warmth for which he whs perishing he would be secure from observation, and perhaps he might be able to see Isabel sooner tlian bv any other means. Itwas a tempting idea, and one which he proceeded at once to execute, (folng to the door, his nnmb fingers managed to find tho bolt and slip it back. The glass panel swung readily in, aiul oh the sudden sense of tingling ccrstasy in the soft, warm air which rushed forth! He entered, closing the door behind him, and then was tain to stagger forward and sink down. The warmth of tho scented air seemed to envelop him, the tingling in every limb increased to positive pain, and then, as the stiffness of cold began to relax a little, a drowsiness decjer and more uncontrollable than that which had beset him on the snow-covered road began to steal over him. Seated on one nower-stand, with his head pillowed on. another,and wrapped in adreamy trance, ho might have fallen asleep if a sudden, sharp sound, the raising of a window just over the shrubs which sheltered him, had not roused him to full consciousness.

Tho next moment he started eagerly, for it was

kef

voice, whose every cadence

he knew so well, which was speaking abovj him.

This air is even warmer than tho fire," she said,44but ah! how sweet!" Then, as lie who had come so far and sufferea so rnueh to sec her strove to raise him®.*If with the word "Isabel!" trembling on his lips* ho heard other tones break on the soft stillness,

Isabel," said langdon, who had followed her to tho window, "you cannot think thai. I will bo satisfied to leavo you like this. I might bo resigned to go away from you, and never look in your sweet eyes again, if 1 thought you sent me away because yon loved another man. But oh, Isabel, can I go, Can 1 leave you, when you tell mo that you are engaged to a man whom you do not love?"

A man whom you do not love!" It is doubtful whether the trumpet of the archangel could have sounded more terrible in the startled ears of that man than this short sentence—this sentence which he had come from South America to hear. Ills hand went unconsciously to Ills heart, clutching as if it would elutich away the dart which had transfixed It. lie felt for one horrible moment as if the words had paralysed him, then a stidden gleam of comfort came. It was another who spoke, not Isabel.

cannot ftsleti to

you. And vou aromistaken! I do lovo Norman. lV it is not as he olwuld be loved, if I have suffered myself sometimes to forget that I owe to him, I think that evet might forgive me if lie knew linw linitiv I mil resolU'd tn

niv fijH'i in it Irtish

ii ii ii ii I

••••arj' iost -'.Wii- itibrtf^

he' in' tied—I Isabel was thi i' nfiict whieh wa- ht-r -tn l/-«»gd"ti. that idle had never «'su»«] him well worth winning- ^bosto»l liefore him assorting her resolve to keep her ffeith while be who had oraved a thoosand dangeta and privations to reach this haven sat below them stunned to motion! wis sllenoe.

have told ,v before that this is a morbid sense ol honor," lAtigdou wdd, after a minnte "I tell you now that it is more than that. 1 assert that yon have no more right to sacrifice your happiness in this TIT than you have to commit suidcto. It salekle, Isabel—suicide to all that is best In yon and yon know it aa -11«-1 d. There is nothing which Und y«u like this to a,

v"* g&yv

"•'tv ,£

seifinhi viaionanr advfltifcur*

llufeh!" «id Istfiel quickly. "I have told j»a before t*a*.whateverelaeimay lie, JLamoot sofesUe^!a4M» of gTstitmle ll to let any one speak ill of Norman Denison in my presence."

Yea,** said Isabot, eagerly "yoo can do what 1 asked you a second ago—you must never speak to me Uko thai again. Oh, Maurice"—and her whole soul goemed going out to him—"be genercus do not try me beyond my strength l"

She toUl everything in that pleading cry and there are mauy men who would have pressed on all the liotUer for such a vantage-point surrendered. But although he was a man of the world, Maurice Langdon was not exactly formed of oomnion clay* He never did a more unselfish thing tn btslift .. ad rarely am fftaoeftil on*1, than v. .*n he suddenly i'lid i-.i-i litMl on Isabel hnnK oat, wlU never

i.-' iit down

11'1

III* W

«!«iw ri !,i- tii'i I.i if t!,«» »-?!•!. .. ol ll I' I

And I believe I asked you then," Langdon answered, "what there was meriting so much gratitude in the feet of M^WUtwod to waste your MgiftWyesirs waiting till a man whom you do not love is ready or able to marry

There was a minute's after the scornful, in-

cisivo question was asked. lfc*»eened many minutes to the man crouching below— the IUSUI whose very* heart seenied to stand rail, the ntta waiting, hoping, dread lag, ynt desiring, the answer which mine. Aud after minute it came.

Ywl yon

asked me that

before," abe said, a little coldly. "I did not answer you then, because to do so in t: \*ea a story which ie not all !itv own. And it I answer v.|ti w. it is not because recognlaB any right which you possess to a&k the question, but simply and solely for Norman's sake."

Then do not answer me at all," said Langdon, impetu ously. "I bad rather you denied me any aud every right, than granted even the least for his sake." She lifted her head haughtily, arching her slender throai with a gmeothat lhadnated even while it vex ed him. "Still, I must inflict the story upon yon, and I hope you will not refuse to hear add. "As Norman Deni-

IV' son's friend. have more than onoe spoken of him as a selfish, visionary adventurer. Listen now, and learn how he became so."

I cannot forget that you

Proudly as she had spoken, she paused a moment just here, and the man beneath her—the man who had gradually sunk to a strange, bent attitude on his knoes—glanced up through the foliage and clasped his liands a* if he would have prayed her to stop. He even tried to articulate her name, but before he could \ittcr a singto hoarse sound sbq was speaking again.

It is a strange, sad story to tell you," she said, hurriedly, "but'l think that you can be trusted and even if it were not so, Norman's name must be vindicated at anv cost. You have heard that he was papa ward, have you not Yes. think you .said so. Well, bo was very woalthv—that ip, his father, who died when ne was a mere child, was very wealthy and as Norman grew up, everybody thought ho would inherit large estate at bis majority. He was al ways in love with me, poor fellow! but I suppose I lived too familiarly with him all my life to Ikll in lovewilh him although papa seemed very anxious should do so as I grew toward womanhood. I felt the same affection for him which I feel for Frank, and so it might always have been if tbere had not come a terrible discovery. It'V-speaking a little hoarsely and with difficulty—"it was this: when NOfrnan reached his majority, his fortune was gone. He said that he was sure papa never meant to be dishonest—that it had been squandered in bad investments and things of that kind but all the same he could have re covered it—in port at least. He could have ruined and beggared the whole of us. But he bad the most generous and unselfish heart that ever beat. He told papa he had nothing to fear from him— that he could never forget the kind oare that had been given him and the happy days be had spent under the manor r*of.

I am young, and I can work,' he said. After" all, it is better for a man to be forced to strike out for himself.' And lest you should think, perhaps, that he did all this f»r my sake, I must tell you that I knew so little what a heart was offered nve that I had rejected him but a few davs before the truth came to light. After ft was known, he went away and accepted a business position in the city. There he stayed for eighteen months, writing occasionally, but never coming back until ho came'Christmas eve three years ago to say that ho was going: with a partv of colonists to South America. He had great expectations of fortune, and he asked nae onoo more if I could

f'ivc

hiin no hope to take along. Then twas that I engaged mjnself to him, loving him as I had loved him all my life, honoring him as I had never honored any ono else, ami grateful with a gratitude which made mo wild to prove it by any means. It was a poor means which I took, perhaps, bnt it was all I had, and I gave it freely. I have never regretted it—I never shall regret it. Aud now," clasping her hands and lifting her eyes to tne pAle fkee beside her—"now that von know all, I am sure that you will heed me when I ask you never again to speak to mo as you have spoken tonight. It is not just to him, and yo\i see what ho is and what lie has done for me and mine."

I see," said Langdon, hoarsely, "that lie has bound you by the strongest tie that can bind a generous nature—that of sacrifice. But on, Isabel, am I nothing? You have lioU—you cannot—say that you love him. Is there no hope that I can ever do anything to prove my love?"

ilrT'i ntfi.i ilr.l!' it, I vnil

IT.

U' S!

f-h" ini

M4V YOiM.# 11 no dded, hurriedly, "I i^tst (heih"M l'H)I'i'4* Good-

thvn, :i MI-1J ut

I fh

iiiJtht."

yon nut b-r \Vait but ii be here."

mto

•.'-'t-- "Do

hiiitftnn?

i. listnuM will

She waited 'wli.ie ttie clotsts far and near were tailing tjh S ir «f the nativity and sbo stood ouUtned against the background of light, there were pstnionate hungry eyes, of which she wirt little, taking their last look at her fab toauty through tiie glistening foliage below. *44 Twelve o'clock," said Langdon, as the last stroke died away, and then be held out his hand. "Merry Christmas he raid, with aa aecent for more sad than giy.

Btit Isabel she

n. head. ijjr, 'Happy Chrb^-

Let us ratL.

•^aaprnwucwB^M

sup

JR.

,sP?sfe

SSSftiPlSS

i- 1

'V 4-

sssiiM

,?be.?naTered ^"^7- "Meht-v 1

ment is for the fortunate and the gay, 1 but happiness is for all wbo jstrive tcTdo their duly as it la plaoed before them. -4 Let us rqoice in Him w&o caine to-night, 1 but let us alsoi^ttMWflftlgwr thi He oaaae to suffer and die for others.'''

Then she bowed her bead, and saying,

'Glory to God in the highest, aiid on .earth peaoe, mod will toward men,'" she^paased, like a Mr vision, out of

W her words stayed behind her. In the drawing-room they, were (ringing a Christmas carol, and the chorus floated into the fragrant stillness of the conservatory, bufthe glad tones of rejoicing did not stir the sad heart there an the simple words, *He came to suffer and die lor others," had done. In his moment of utter desolation, the strange, awful sweetness of suffering and of aacriflce-r that keystone in the Christmas arch of triumph—seemed to come home to this stricken soul, so mercilessly shut from all the tender lights of love and home, whieh he had oomo so for, toiled so wearily^o je®ch. His heart seemed rushing forth in a great agony of voleetefig anguish. He clasped his hands and looking up through the glass roof to the glittering winter heaven,bo said fkrewell, and yet again fkrewell, to all the brightness and sweetness of life. For this he had escaped the deadly fever of the jungle for this he had worked his way from port to port across the seas for this he had defied winding snow and icy blasts to keep him from her side— for this! Tiien a wild defiance rase up in him, a wild desire to revenge himself, as he well could, upon those who had wronged and fuined him. But it was a devil's thought, whieh did not tarry long. "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peaoe, good will toward men," sang a voice in his ear, like unto that sweet voice which ho should never hear again. Th he bowed his face into hia hands. "Lord, it is not for such as I to hope to see thy glory," ho cried, "but give, oh give me thy peace!"

And peace came. Not at onoe—not till the flesh WM worn to utter exhaustion by the strong oonflict of spirit—but after a time, iu the stillness of the wondrous Christmas night, a sense of divine calm came to him. And then it was that he desired to arise at onoe and go forth, leaving np human being the wiser for his presenoe but he was weary and he felt that every overtaxed fibre demanded rest. So ho made a pillow of his blanket and stretched himself on the floor (he had known many a worse rest-ing-place during these throe years) for a brier sleep. With the dawn ho would go, he thought. No one shonld ever know that he had been there he would write and tell Isabel that fortune had foiled, and with fortune all hope to call her his.

But tbo dawn of Christinas morning found the tired body for ever at rest, ana the brave spirit for away beyond those gleaming lights of heaven at which ho nad gaxeu through tho miats of passion and suffering so short a time before. Tho flowers bent over, him with kindly, pitying sweetness, while the soft, subtle, deadly heat exhaled from the braziers, whoso existence he had forgotten, did its work quickly and merciftilly. When they fouud him in the bright sunlight of Christmas day, he seemea to have passed from the unconsciousness of sleep to tho deeper unconsciousness of death without one distorting pang. And it was impossible for those who loved him to look on the pale, serene face without feeling—ay, without seeing—that he had found not oniy the peace, but the glory, of God.

HUSBANDS AT HOME.

Much of the joy and misery of home depends on the manner and spirit of tho head of the bouse. Home may be a woman's kingdom, but if she is queen the prinoe consort has the power of doing a reat deal of damage if not usurping too brone and taking the reins of government into his own hands. He may not openly discrown the rightful sovereign, but he may act a worse than rebel's part, creating disorder, and destroying all her beautiml plans and ideals, laero may bo a despot behind the throno more tyrannical than the one who occupies it.

Many a man who appears decently in rabllc is revenged upon society by act-, ng the bruW or bully towards his defenceless wife and children. This immunity from restraint has tempted many a^ man into low habits and harsh, tyrannical ways toward his fiunily, who under, other arcninstances would have been quite respectable and kind. Men who have not the native refinement and no-* bllity of soul to treat a loving wife and defenceless children with more kindness and consideration thai! they show to a1 mere passing acquaintance of the street, are unfit to have a wife and children,, and the placo they sleep in should bo called a sty. Tho true man alwavs goes' up to his home, and while in it lives In the highest and finest and loveliest^ traits of his manhood. Be a beast and, home will be a pen be an angel and it' will be a paradise.

What our. American homes want to-** day is more of the interest, the thought,. the affection of men. Instead of makings them the exhibiting-rooin lor peevishness, bad temper, stupidity, and petty tyranny, or even leaving them to the sole care of women ana then .findings, fhult because they are unsatisfactory, how much better and happier for rill parties would it be if every man would give-' the best of his head and heart to make his homo delightful and holy.

The true home is always on he highest plane of life, and the man finds it"1 not DV uncaging the beasts that crooch t* in his olood, out by unfolding the wrings of the angel in his heart ana brain. A mail's house ifthiseastld let him keep it iu a knightly fashion, with true chi-tf"* valric honor, keeping every vow sacrod,tN and holding a shield like tho panoply of justice over tho weak and small. It is a castle if he keeps iteo let him not make'v/ it a cage, Rattier should he unite with bis wife in making it tho sweetest and 4 bappl spot on earth, and so blessed that iwiihfer will cans for otherheavciu

TUB &IMPLK SEaiiKT:*

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ami BA to do so. unoof tbo clerks will b' «ie a partner, and make a f! ,f tune one of the comp v. tors will own a newspaper and beconto an influential dtison ono of the apprentices will 1m come a master builder tone of the young villagers will get a handsome farm, and live like a patriarch—but whieh cue Is the luckv individual? Lucky! TJiere Im no luck about it. Tho thing is almost as certain aa the rule of three. The young fellow who will distance his com- f' petitom is he who masters his business, who preserves his Integrity, who lives cleanly and purely, who devotes hia leisure to the aequisltion of knowledge, who never gets In delit, who gains friends by deserving them, and who saves bis »pare money. There are some ways to wrtune than this old dusty highway, but the staunch men of the community, the men who achieve some* thing really worth having, good fortune, good name, and serene old age, all go in this road.