Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 6, Number 41, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 8 April 1876 — Page 1

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6.—No.

Erow

V**

THE MAIL

A PAI'ER FOR THE PEOPLE.

Twelve Pages

THE WAY WE OHO W OLD. A broken toy a ta*te that held away A yearniug child-heart tram an hour of play A Christmas that u« Christinas Idols bronght A tangled leswm, 'Mil of tangled thought A homesick boy a *enl»r gowned and wise A glimpse of lire, when lo! ihe curtains rise hold over fold, And hares the picture, like a boundless sea The world, all action and reality—

Ho we grow old.

A wedding, and a tender wife's cairsA prattling babe life parents' life to bless A uome of joys aud earns in equal part A dreary watching with a heavy mart And d?*nth's dark angel knocking at the gate And Hojc and Courage bidding Sorrowwait

Or lose her hold

A new-made grave, suid thru a brave return To where the fires of life triumphant bum— Ho we grow old.

A fortune aud a gtua'rous meed of fame, Or direful ruin nud a tarnished uarae A slipping off of week and mouth aud year. Faster anu faster as the close draws near A grief to-day, and with to-morrow's light A pU-abure that tramtorms the sullen night

From had tq.gold

A chilling winter of nuchanglag storm A spring replete with duwua and suusets warm— tto we grow old. Old to ourselves, but children yet to be, 1 the strange cities of eternity.

O Jr4 -A-

THE LOST WIFE.

UV BELLA Z.8PENCKR. Author of "Tried and True," etc.-,.

CHAPTER I.

Ob, my Father, be merciful!" The agonized prayer was wailed «ut In tho silence and gloom of a lonely chamber, and the fitful flashes of light from a grate where the half smothered blaze played over the black, smoking coals, revealed but partially the half prostrate form of a lady from whose lips tho piteous lamentation had issued.

She was sitting upon the carpet, ber arms crossed upon a chair, and ber face buried upon them. A dress of deep black fitted closely about a slender form, and tho loose sleeve falling away, gave the gleam of a snow white arm through the fitful light but neck and shoulders were vailed in amass of long dark hair that flowed over theni and swept the floor. Heavy sobs and low quivering moans followed that audible cry for help and pity, aad then the moans gradually ceased, and in a little while she wept softly, quietly, as if relief had come to au over burthened heart, and tears wcra gently washing away its stinging bitterness.

Half an hour passed, and the blaze burned brighter and more steadily. At last the bowed head was raised, and it was a strangely sweet face that was revealed, as with one tiny white hand the lady swept back ihe "mass of rich hair that had fallen over it and become wet with that rain of agonized tears.

The brow was low, broad and full—a perfeot type of intellectual beauty. The eyes large and shadowy—soft ana lustrous now In the m!st of tears still hanging upon the long lashes—in oolor like a violet, changing to black almost, with each phase of straying thought. The cheeks were rouud and full, yet very delicate in their contour—the lips full an 4 arched like a bow. The chin delicate, but bearing that unmistakable stamp of firmness so plainly expressed in that feature of the face. There was a deep crinnon burning now upon the cheeks, and the dark lines under the oyos spoke of suffering. But, with the traces of suffering upon her face, you see enduronoe and meekness in the ex-

residon of the beautiful mouth, and the and eyes are shadowed with a high And lofty purpose.

Ah, mor she sighed once more aloud, and with a mournful, thrilling softness in her voloe. "It Is hard, but it is right, 1 fcel. Ah, Edward, I may never again look up proudly in yonr fart ana call yon mine! 7hat bright dream has passed like a golden flood of sunshino behind a cloud that may never scatter, and henceforth, unloved (would to God I could say tm/ovino) I must meet life alone and unaided. No, not unaided," she added, and a beautiful light broke over the face she slowly lifted upward "for Thou, oh my Father, who hast teen into the innermost depths of my heart and kaoweth Its struggles to follow after the right, will aid me through life, even unto death—though all others forsake me."

The lady rose to her feet with another deep drawn sigh. She was not tall, but about medium size, with a form and movements of indescribable grace. A watch rested in be* belt a plain, but elegant brooch fastened the mourning collar about her white threat and a plain circlet of gold banded the third finger of her left hand. Her whole appcaranoo was that of an elegant, refined, and high-minded woman struggling with grief, wrestling with pain, but .slowly, surely rising above these influences, through love and Faith.

She took up the poker, stirred the now glowing coals until every corner of the chamber glowed with the bright light they sent out. and then gilding softly to the bed, she drew aside the heavy curtains and revealed the form of a child sleeping upon the pillow. It was a sweet and touching picture, and a mist once more gathered over the lady a eyes as she gazed down upon the ohiid with its round, softly flushed chee* iwwtled In one dimpled hand, and the light Mhinimrrings of felr hair lying forehead. The tiny lips ware dighUy parted, and tho little

pearly

teeth just

peeped from beneath them the breath came softly and regularly to the ItaUminc ear of the mother, and the long lashes sweeping the baby's cheeks, seemed serenely to vail tho clear orbs which on opening you inay find aadeep, dear and beautiful as these were wont to be, which are now inWy with unshed tears. Mother and child are very

•only oue is a fairer type, because ia a •miniature form of beauty.

Oneepowthe lady sighed heavily,and gently dropped the eui^ains, gliding back to the fire, and dropping her forehead upon the inantlo pleeo as she nrtirmured:

Only for hor! only for her! it would be less nard So young, so tender, so beautiful—oh Cod, could I ever bear to see her sufler. To grow up obscurely perehaneo beneath tho blighting shadow of snspicon—to come at last to what Miser)/ Ah, Heavens, let me not think of ill For. myself, I should not mind poverty nun toil, but for her I shrink from it as from a pestilence. Have I done right, to take her from all that could brighten youth and life, to expose her, perhaps, to suffering, lusiUt, everything, that tno poor and nelplc&s love to endure? Oh, my heart is torn with conflicting emotions—my brain racked with conftision Father In heaven! am weak and powerless! Help me!"

With clasped hands and bowed head she prayed with passionate *fervor, wrestling with the terrible forms of evil that beset the pathway where sho was advancing, pleading for light, for strength und guidance, till once more the shadow was lifted, und her face grew calm.

A sharp cry frojn tho bed bro.co tho silence that followed, :ind going to it, the lady took tho child in her arms and sat down in a rocker which she drew up before the grate.

My baby woke soon," she said gentlv, as "she folded the long white nightdress over the dimpled fe^t. "Why can't little Ada sleep?"

The child's eyes were wide open and fixed on the glowing coals as it in deep thought. For a moment she s.it unheeding, aud then turjjgU ,licr Avc^^(4: denlv to her mother.'*

V*" «u *-t

.. Vr JlJ-i rt .-«*• vrpn'roy darling." Ada see papa!" se.kl the child, with trembling eagsrness. The lady's cheeks, lips and brow grew asheu, but as tf determined to hide the spasm that had struck a chill to her heart, from human eyes, she choked down the quivering gasp that rose in her throat, and asked 90ft ly:

Ada saw papa? Where?" The little creature's face lighted with an intelligence beyond her years, and closing the starrv eyes she laid one soft, dimpled cheek in her hand, and the tip of a tiny finger over her forehead.

The lady smiled sadly. Ah, mamma understands. Her little girl dreamed she saw papa."

Yes, Ada jeamed," nodded the child delighted at being so readily understood. Then she added:

Mamma, where is papa Ada wants to see papa." Again the lady'3 lips grew even more deathly in their hue, and ber frame shook as if with an ague, but she did not speak. "Oh, mamma," the little one persisted, "Ada wants to go to papa! Take Ada back to papa!"

Ob, my baby, how you torture me," moaned the mother, hiding her white face upon the child's shoulder. "Mamma cannot take you to papa!"

But Ada wants to go back to papa. Do take Ada to papa," pleaded tho little girl with a quivering lip.

My child!" faltered the lady once more, "vou do not know what you ask. Papa is far, far away—and oh, God! all unworthy the love of his pure little child! Oh, Edward, Edward, this Is some of the fruits of your work! Not I alone must suffer, but the little one whose fond, pure love ought to have kept you true to us both. Oh, lleaven forgive you! Ob, God! help me to forgive him!"

She roee and placed the child in the chair, and with quickly beating heart, tightly locked bands and corrugated forehead, paced the floor back and forth in strong agitation. She was too weak In the heavy struggles she had endured, to yet rear an Impenetrable barrier of flrmnees between herself and her sorrow —to establish a self-control.

Ada's eyes followed her mother's form In wonder and grief, forgetful of all save the scene before her. A great throb of pain swelled the little heart, and the lips parted with a low, sobbing err, which brought the mother back to her side, and catching her to her bosom, she folded her there with remorseful tenderness, and strove as only a mother can to hush the sobs that quivered through the room with pitlfnl pathos. baby! my precious baby! I had no right to make you feel what I suffer! Oh, I will try with God's help, to shield you from the consequences of the step ihave taken. Oh, strrcly, surely, yon were ne\M destined to drink the cup of sorrow from vour Infancy! God forbid! My baby! my baby! I will, I rnwrt shield you

Thus murraming,with loving intensity she kissed and ennwd her, till the HtUe girl grew quiet, and once more sat up in her mother's lap, her tearful eyes fixed in childish wonder upon her pale, troubled face.

Bat gradually tbe little orbs grow heavy and the curly head wink upon ber boaom, while the lady sat still and mote. When slumber had Completely wrapped the child's transient «ief In oblivion, the mother softly laid her upon the pUlow once more, and theft with »low, thoughtful mien, paced back and forth through tbe ehamoer.

Heavily the hours dragged along. The rain "beat against the window pauee. and the wind surged drearily around the building with bravy, monotonous sou mi, but the pale, silent woman whose footfalls woke no echo on tbe thick carpet, heeded neither. Nor did she heed the loud clang of the town clock as it tolled the midnUht hour. Wrapped in her own thoughts, she never paused in that slow, monotonous walk until tbe tire had died out of the gmto, and the great city grew qnlet, a* If for a brief space of time its mighty heart had ceasedIts pulsations.

Then, with

a cold shiver, she threw

herself upon

the

bed beside the sleeping

babe, ami sank into a troubled slumber.

CHAPTER II.*.

INifia, Miss Ptirand leave* as todav." there wfr a shade of trottble ln the clear brown eyes of Madeline Clifton as she common lest ed this little jrfew* of information to her tether, who had Just taken his seat at the breakfast table with tbe morning papers beside him.

The old Doctor looked across at her with some surprise. "(ioing to leave to-day, yon my love. Whaft that for

«SBSi

'v SafeSSl

117*7 L'dward she said surprised,"! nerer knew that you had a cousin living-1 thought that you had not a relative in the world," Mrs. Clifton gathered the little-one to her bosom and murmured

Madeline sighed a little sadly, but smiled quietly as she returned To get married. Surely you have not forgotten that I told you of the lact more than tw® weeks ago, and now the time has come for her to leave, and her place is still unsupplied."

Bless my soul I I did not remember anything about it! Why didn't you remind me Going to marry, eh! Well, well, I suppose we must give her up, as there is no help for it, seeing she is going to marry. When a woman fixes her mind upon that important event of her life, there's an end to their usefulness.

I declare, I do not see what we are to do without her," returned the daughter seriouslj*. "She seemed to understand us so well, that I am afraid we will never find her equal, and for tbe children's sake more than my own, I regret it."

To be sure it's bad but never mind,

cMldrwe'll"^oon get

anoVh'erTl'bope

He took up one of the papers and loaked at the advertising columns. After running his eye down them lor a few moments, he threw tbe paper aside and took up another. Here, after a moment's search, his eye rested thought-

I'll see, I'll see," he muttered. "Perhaps she will snit." What Is it, father?" asked Madeline, pouring out a second cup of coffee for him as ne laid down the paper, thoughtful still.

An advertisement for a situation as

foverness.

It is a lady at theM

louse, who ia in want of just such a situation a9 we have open. It remains to be seen if she is just such a person as we want. I will call there to-day."

So the aubjoct was dismissed, and a lively conversation ensued, in which others of the family took a part.

It was a pleasant circle that had gathered round tho table In thecheerfullittle breakfast room. Dr. Clifton himself was a hale, hearty man of fifty very kind and benevolent in his nature—a thoughtful, tender, and generous friend, and a devoted father. The happiness and welfare of his children was abeve all other earthly considerations. Of these he bad three a son of twenty-flve, who had adopted his father's profession with fair prospects of success a daughter, Madelino, of nineteen, wise and thoughtful beyond her years, and the pet of the household, Kate who was about twelve,and as great a tease as ever lived, yet impulsively affectionate and generous in her nature. Other children no had had, but death bad cut thom oft In their bloom, as it had also his gentle and noble-mind@d wife. Mrs. Clifton had died scarcely a year previous to the Introduction of tbe family to our readers, and tbe blow was all the more severe because of tho two Utile orphan girls whom they had adopt*d, and who. more than their own children, neoded her tender care and careful training.

One of these was the only child of a niece of Mrs. Clifton's, wlio, In dylug, bogged that she would receive and rear ber a«f ber own. The other was the daughter of an Italian lady around whom tbe direst misfortunes seemed to accumulate until death relieved her of a burthen life could not sustain.

She had married In opposition to the will of her relatives, and with hor proud young English husband, bad sought a nome in America, where they might establish more congenial relations, ffcarcoly a year paseod, nowever, before a sudden misfortuno swept sway the little fortune Mr. Montes possessed, and shortly afterward be wss stricken down with a fever and died, leaving his widow and Infant almost utterly destitute.

Poverty, toil, and illtieas combined, bowed the naturally delleate, tenderly reared woman to the earth, and in hef sorest distress, Doctor Clifton had been called in, and his

great

benevolent heart

became Interested in tbe helpless mother and child. Mrs. Clifton entered into bis generous plaus for their aid with a spirit of humane love worthy to be classed with bin, aad they gave her a home where she was kindly eared for.

But day alter day she drooped and fhoed away, and at last died brokenhearted. She had written to her relatives, informing them of her condition, but the cokl reply they returned only served to hasten the termination of a wretched life, and her discarded, helporphan daughter, foil dependent mpon the charity of ber mother a benefoeior*. They tiki not dsmnror hesitate to aeeept the trust the wretched woman bequeathed them In dying, hot with a loving tenderness rare and beautiful.

TERRE HAUTE, IND., SATURDAY EVENING, APRIL B. 1870. Price Five Cents

I accept this little babe in the spirit Oue has taught us who said, 'Inasmuch as you do it unto one of these little onps yo do it unto me.! My own will not lie more tenderly cared for than this my little adopted daughter,—God helping me," and Doctor Clifton clasping the oold hand of the dying mother, said earnestly:

My wife has spoken for both of us." So the sufferer was comforted in her last moments by the divine love of two noblo hearts.

Mary Staunton and Agnes Montes were nearly the same age, Agnes being but a little more than a year Mary's senior. So the three little girls ranging down from Kate, twelve, eleven, and ten, were no light responsibility but Dr. Clifton declared it great blessibg, and he called them his jewels.

just' And this was the circle that gathered

as good," said the Doctor cheerfully. "I I around the breakfast table on the mornought to have attended to the matte.r before, but its not yet too late. Let's see."

ing in which we introduce them to the reader. Dr. Clifton, Jr., had sent down an excuse, saying he would breakfast later,' and he was ousy, and Miss Durand baa a slight headache, so that tbe little ones felt at liberty to break through the restraint their grave brother and governess' presence imposed upon thetn, and chattered like magpies when tbe Doctor bad thrown aside his paper to enjoy his coffee and their soaiety exclusively.

Papa," said Kate, "won't you come and take us out riding with you this afternoon We are not to have any lessons you know, and it will be so nico. Just see how brightly the sun is shining."

Yes," put in Mary, "and see how the rain drops have frozen upon the trees. They looa for all tbe world just like little cfiamouds jingling up and down on tbe twigs.. Ob, bow beautiful tbe woods must look!"

Madeline glanced but of tbe window through whioh the trees to which Mary alluded could be aeon, flashing in magnificent beauty beneath their load of ioe-)ewels and the Doctor with a genial smile upon the animated and expectant faces of his daughter and niece, turned a look upon Agnes who sat eating her breakfast quietly.

What does my Aggie say?" he asked. "Does she want a holiday too, and a ridoT'

Without lifting hor great lustrous black eyes from her plate, the child answered gravoly and respectfully:

The holiday I shall nave anyway, as Miss Durand Is going. As for the ride, I am not anxious. I shall like either to go or stay as you please, sir."

But I had rather see less indifference, my little girl, and that you should enjoy It as other girls of your age enjoy such things."

There was no response, and Mr. Clifton sighed as he Inwardly compared the grave, singular character of the Italian

gappy

irl with those of tbe two laughing, children who were merrily and joyously discussing the enjoyment in store for tbem.

Well, good bye. pets. I gueee I'll have toitiveyoa all a ride this afternoon. Here, come kiss me, and I'm off."

Kate sprang up with a bound and caught him round the neck. "Ob, yon dear, dear, good papa! I wont tease you any more for a week!" and with a dozen impulsive kisses upon his bland, happy fece, she sprang through the door and np the stairs like an antelope. Mary came next with loving and childlike grace clasping his neck as he stooped to kiss ber, ana she too went op stairs. Agnes rose quietly. There v* no feeling'in tbe large eyes she lifted to his no loving pressure from the red lips she gravely bad np for his oaross. But with more tenderness than he bad shown either of tbe others, be drew her for a moment to his boooxn and softly pre—ed his lips to hers.

Dont forget to see about thegbvetness this morning the first thing, papa," Madeline requested as ahe came round to his side, nappy like the others of his children, to reoalve the accuatomed token of love at parting.

My daughter, had yon not better accompany me in my seanft ?w I caunot, indeed, father. There are so many things to look after to-day, I cannot be spared. I most not risk my reputation as housekeeper, you know,' sbo added playfully.

I can't see now you could in looking np a governesa for your little sisters." said the Doctor in reply, but be added

It doesn't matter, I'll attend to tbe affair myaelf for yon have enottgb to do anyway. Good morning, my love." fin prensed a kiss upon her pure cliw

brow and was gone, wblle she turned to her dutieB with a quiet steadiness much at variance with hor age. Her mother's death had wrought a wonderful change in her, developing her at ouco into a quiet, strong, almost self-reliant woman. No one would have dreamed she was once as wild and thoughtless a* the heedless, impulsive Kate, whose rattlebrained disposition gave ber gentle elder sister so much care and yet before tbo groat olllction which had laid a heavy band upon happy family, Madeline was even mote wild than she.

Ah! how circiuubtances change or develop us. Doctor Clifton drove directly to the before entering upon bis round of professional visits. Ilo went into the Clerk's Office, examinod the register, and found the uaine of Mrs. O. Meredith, St. Louis, Mo., and sent up his card.

There was a shade of earnest thought upon his brow as he sat waiting in the Ladios' Parlor for the lady he had called to see. His children's happiness was of too much moment to allow him to place a person over them whose influence could prove injurious, and he was aware of tho difficulty be had to meet in seeking for an instructrosH now from among total strangers. Even tbo best judges of human nature are sometimes deceived, notwithstanding evidences ilattering or derogatory to a character which they may seek to understand. Who was this lady, and what would be find her? He had been induccd to believe that he had found what he desired from tbe advertisement. And yet what could advertisements say to reveal the true character of a person He sat lost in thought aud speculation when tbe door opened and a servant announced:

Mrs. Meredith," and at once retired. Doctor Clifton rose, and the slender, dark-robed figure of tho lady glided to meet bim with a grace and quiet ease as pleasing to the fastidious eye of the old gentleman, as was the sweet pale face and clear soft voice that greeted him. With a dignified, yet gentle manner, ahe accepted the seat he placed for her, and motioned him to resume his own, saying:

You have seen my advertisement?" Yes, Madam, I have In this morning's paper, and wishing to engage a person qualified as you claim to be, I have called to see vou about it. I presume you area widow," glancing at her black drees, "or more likely an orphan. tor you look very young

And suppose I should say yon were correct in saying both," she answered with a sad smile.

Then, Madam, I should say you are very unfortunate Indeed. You are from St Louis?"

Yes, sir, directly." You have lived there No, sir, a different part of the world I have called my home when prosperity and peace allowed me such a haven. But circumstances have changed all things in my life. I am alone—not helpless, I trust, but self-dependent. The past is full of pain—let' me-forget it. In the

future

irosent I only seek to find the way to advancement and usefulness." There was a little that could be read in the calm, sad face before bim, and tbo good old Doctor felt not a little puzzled and awkward In proceeding. But after a slight pause in which he vainly tried to read something of the feelings passing within the mind of the strangely fascinating woman before him, he said interrogatively:

You of course bring references?" She turned ber large eyes upon him with a clear, full gaze, and fpswered frankly f,

No, sir, I do not." Why, Madam! excuse me, but will you allow me to ask you bow you expect to obtain a respectable situation without recommendations? Perhaps you have friends here? Or—"

No, sir," she interrupted, with gentle dignity. "I have no frienda here, and I am not surprised at tbe astonishment your manner expresses at tbe step I have taken toward gaining a footing in a good family without r? fere noes. Bat let me toll you franklyt sir, that my ability to perform any duties I may undertake, and my deportment must be my passport into any family where I may be so fortunate as gain admittance. My greatest misfortune in my loneliness. None need tear me. Ioome from a good ftunily, and till now have never known tbe need of self-depen-dence. But as I said, fortunes ehange, and I am making my way forward now, blindly, perhaps, but earnestly, trustfuily. If you will try me you will never have need to regret it. This ia all I can say for myself."

Her manner was peculiarly earnest and frank, and the fiice was now lighted with a pore, truthful and Innocent expression that won tbe Interest of the man before her to an intense degree. But generous and benevolent as he was, Doctor Clifton waa not ene to work blindly where the welflare of bis children was concerned, and he would at once have cut abort the interview as useless, but for tbe strange interest that drew him toward the young and desolate being before him.

But, Madam," be said, "do you not know you have undertaken an almoat Impossible thing? You bring no reference*—you tell us nothing of yourself to guide us to a kuowledge of your character, aad yet you ask us blindly to receive you into tbo bosom of our families and place our dear little ones in your hands Pardou me," be continued kindly, adbing her flue crimaon painfully. "1 do not apeak to wound vou, but to show you tbe position you have taken, fort really do not think you can oomprebend tbe light in which you plsce yourself by so extraordinary a step. You will find your path fall of thorns aad difficulties at every turn, and be doomed at last to disappointment— perhaps worse. You will nuet with anklndness and rebuft I am not trying to discourage yon in what you may deem right, believe me, Madam but I aay in aff kindness that you cannot get along thus in a suspicious world.

One small band bad crept up OVer the crimson forehead while he waa speaking* and now shaded the eyes from which tbe tears were dropping silently. The oid gentleman looked at the slightly bowed figure with oorapasstonate kindness, and slowly firing took a step toward the door.

She looked up then, and with a little quiveriag gesture, aa if self-control waa b*»yond further effort, said appealingly:

Oh, sir, 1 do know the diflkmUtee

cjifafn*.

+«*W

you mention, but for my child's sake I would *brave everything I have a tender, delicate daughter for whom I must labor, and lean endure anything for her sake. Is there no hope of proving my personal worth—for oh, sir, 1 do not deserve scorn or blame—only pity, as there la a Father in Heaven who knows my heart this moment!"

Poor woman How little you know this world," exclaimed tho Doctor. "My child yf*u are a very novice, and are not fit for that you would undertake. You are but a child at best, yourself, and have a little one you .say to care for. Now come and sit down here and tell me frankly bow you expect in your youth and beauty to meet a cold world, and hanging a vail betwoen your life and it, ask it to accept you without suspicion and unkinoness. "Everything will go against you in your hoiplessnoss. And if yon give no confidence, how cau you make friends? There are those who will pity you because thoy we'you alone and helpless but they will not trust you, because they know nothing of you."

There was Rnch an air of fatherly kindness in his manner as he seated himself in a chair near ber, that her woman's liesrt went out to him as a little child's in love and confidence. But there was a feeling of shame that held her mute for several moments until the Doctor's words won from her Hps that which she had it in her heart to tell him. '•Come," he said, "tell mo something about yourself, and If I can, I will help you, for I sincerely pity you, and would gladly aid you out of this unpleasant position, cannot, however, even to spare your foelingx, leave yon blind to tne exact extent of tho error into which you have fallen."

I will tell you," she said tremulously. "I feel your kindness, and see that I am almost helpless alone. I had never thought to breathe to mortal ear what I am going to tell you, but your age and kindness win my confidence. I ask your assistance, and after all, it is but right that you should know in whom you take an interest, painful as it is to me to tell you."

Then followed a brief sketch of hor past life, recited sometimes In sadness, sometimes with tears and anguish. The Doctor listened with rapt attention, and when she had done, he took her hand respectfully.

Lady you have done well to confide in me. I can and will befriend you, for I know you have spoken truthfully. My sympathy you have to an entire degree, for your sufferings have been severe. But now I will leave you, and this evening will call and speak with you further. Rest assured of my assistance, and try to be cheerful. Consider me vour friend." "Thank you!" murmured tho lady through her tears. "And oh, believe me, sir, you will never find me ungratoItal."

He pressed her hand kindly and took bis leave, and then she went to her room and burying her face among the

Kuely.

llows of hor couch, wept long aud

When evening came Doctor Clifton returned according to promise. He looked a little sober and thoughtful, but was kind and respectful in bis manner. Mrs. Meredith met him with some restraint. She had not got over the painfull struggle of the morning to reveal that which had cost Iter so much. But his manner soou dissipated it. There wa3 but one thing that brought a trouble now to both.

Mrs. Moreditb, we will give you the situation we havo if you find yourself competent. You are at liberty to try it. and if you fall to please us, we will find you something else but what will you do with your child?"

What will I do with my child she repeated. "Why sir, oan I not have her with me?"

But yfi\ cannot care for a little one and at tne same time discbarge sohool duties. Have you not thought of this before

Yes, sir, but I always thought to have a nurse and keep her near me. I could not bear It otherwise."

There I think you are mistaken. Do not undertake too much, lest you foil in all. I think your boet plan would be to pot ber out to nurse. There is an old lady living lathe same block with ourselves, who will take ber if yon are willing, and as I have known her for years. I can vouch for the tender care the obild will receive. I have thought of everything, and in my desire to aid you have looked into matters of most importance. What do you say to the proposition?

Mrs. Meredith was silent for some moments. Her way seemed bard indeed, and she would have instantly rejected the idea of patting with her child, giving her pure, Innocent charge into tbo haada of strangera but now, plainer than aver before, ahe ssw tbe difficulties of her way, and could not reject tbe only hand that offered her assistance, when another might never be offered in the name

You must make some sacrifice for the sake of your child, Mrs. Meredith, said her benefector, tired of the delay.

I know it," aha answered, "bnt sir, I cannot have her go out of my sight. She is all I have, and it will be tbe sole joy in my lonely life to rear her rightly —to prsaware ber spotless, with God's help, from Ihe world. How oan I answer for her fature if I fall to plant in her the principles that are to sustain bar through fife. Doctor Clifton, a mother's eye should never leave her child, and I cannot let mine go from me."

Bnt it ia better for both yourself and little one, and I would not advise it, did I not feel it so. Do not act hastily. I offer you a situation en the strength of yonr confidence, which snotber would not give, and you will be placing more obetaclea In yeur own way than you are aware of, if you reject it."

Sir, I am folly aware of the truth you have spoken, but I feci it my duty to keep her with me. If you cannot allow me to take bnr with roe under your roof, then I fear I must took further, and truat in God for aid, for I cannot, a [Qmfmued on Skxond pa?#.]

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goodness. But ougU ahe to let her child go from her sight? For her only, she sought to labor this was hor sole motivelnlife. She had expected difficulties, hut she had never intended them to separate her from her child, where every hour she might not watch over and trsin her mind as only a mother can and every Impulse rose up against it.

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