I wiped my eyes and tried to be cheerful, but the tears would | This, then, was the reason of his long silence, his non-attencome. Willy was all in all to me. CHAPTER 11. THE evening before his departure, Willy came to say farewell. He asked me to walk with him to the old oaks, and, taking his arm, we went out into the gathering night shadows. Oh, how dark and gloomy it was! a dead March night-cold and black. We parted! I, cold, shuddering and foreboding; he, striving hard to infuse some of his own hopeful spirit into my desponding soul. Willy would write to me often, very often, he said, perhaps by every mail; and oh, how anxiously I waited the arrival of the first letter. I passed much of my time with Mrs. Graves at the cottage; for we both had a common treasure abroad-both felt the same commingled hopes and misgivings. That was a pleasant cottage at all times; doubly so when the apple trees were loaded with pink-streaked blossoms, and every west wind that blew cast corals and pearls from their bending boughs all over the green grass. Mrs. Graves was a calm, quiet woman, hiding beneath an unpretending exterior deep wells of feeling and fountains of beautiful thoughts; and with her I never felt my absent Willy. My aunt and uncle (for I was an orphan and lived with my mother's sister) often joked me about my pale cheeks and dejected air, and my frolicsome cousin Ned delighted in teasing me about my "knight errant," as he called Willy. tion to my last, long confiding letter written fifteen months before! He had married, too, on the anniversary of the very day he had last held me to his heart and called me his for ever just three years before! Another year fled, and news of the success of Willy Graves reached us. Admired, flattered, he was fast making his way to fame. Still later news-he was coming home. My heart almost ceased beating when I read the intelligence in the paper, and the accompanying remarks on the fame he had won. A long, long time, I sat communing with my heart. From the struggle I rose comparatively calm. My strong will, alone, kept me from sinking beneath this great affliction. My relatives knew but little of my sufferings-pride kept me silent, and when questioned by any one concerning Willy Graves, I maintained a cold, scornful silence. Hours and hours, when all were wrapped in sleep, have I lain upon the damp turf beneath the apple trees, and felt neither cold nor chilliness. And he was coming home-to the House beyond the Orchard. Would his wife sit with him in the old place beneath the sweet apple tree? She lay in my place upon his bosom-why not? He arrived in England. I read the notice with scarcely an emotion; and soon my uncle received a letter, very brief, from Willy, saying we might look for him daily at Springfield. It was a cold chilly night in October, and I went late in the gloaming to take a sort of farewell of the cottage; for, when At last the first letter from him came. Oh, how I treasured Willy came, the key must be given into his keeping. I stole it, and read it over and over again, till every word was graven noiselessly along to the seat which his hand had fashioned beupon my memory! Dear Willy! What tender, anxious in-neath the apple tree, in those golden days gone by. It was quiries he made of my health, pursuits, and a thousand things which drew tears to my eyes. It seemed like seeing him, and I felt happier and more hopeful for reading it. Two months afterward there came another letter. He was in Florence, in the studio of a great artist. His prospects were cheering the artist had pronounced him gifted in no ordinary degree. Mr. Markland, he wrote, was indeed a friend to him, and under his auspices he had been introduced into much society. Thoughts of his darlings at Springfield had kept his heart brave and strong; and then there were many little tender ings written which were of no consequence to any ore 'me. year passed away, and Willie's mother sickened. A short, ne letter from Willy after informing him of this CHAPTER III. to the cottage, and sat in the chair nd ten months had passed since occupied ! Too late to retreat lobserved this, and involuntarily I paused. The stranger sat with his face buried in his hands, and his whole frame quivered as if with strong emotion. The slight noise I had made in approaching disturbed him, and he turned toward me. Merciful heaven! A faint scream trembled on my lips, but I controlled myself, and returned his horrified gaze proudly-defiantly! The stranger was Willy Graves. Mercy!" he exclaimed, passing his hand slowly over his forehead, as if to recall a scattered memory; "has the tomb given back its dead?'' Almost unconsciously, as if impelled by an irresistible fascination, I approached him, and laid my hand upon his shoulder. He shuddered, and shrank from my touch. "Not dead to life," I said, slowly, "but dead to happiness !'' He recoiled as though bitten by a viper. His pale face became even more corpse-like, and he cried in a tone of wild, wondering entreaty, Melicent Graham! are you dead or living?" 66 "I am Melicent Graham," I replied, calmly. "Do you wish to mock me?" A rapid change passed over his face. He caught me most savagely to his breast. 'Milly, Milly-my own long lost darling! Oh, it is indeed my Milly come back to me!" and he passed his hand with the old caressing movement over my hair. With a double effort I released myself, and said, bitterly, "Doubly a betrayer! Go, lest I scorn you! You, whom I made my idol! Oh! that one so true in seeming should be in reality so base !" He looked at me with an expression I shall never forget-80 anguished and grieved. "Oh, Milly! oh, Milly!" he said. "Listen to me, Melicent there is some dreadful mistake in this--for the love of heaven, hear me!" and he caught me forcibly by the arm as I turned away. llowing announcement: He attempted to seat me on the bench beside him, but I reVilliam Graves, Esq.,sisted. Yet his touch thrilled me through and through, and woke all the old love smouldering within me. to Corinna, only "Pray, proceed, Mr. Graves," I said, as I stood up before him. A flush flitted over his face-he hesitated, then fell on his knees before me. "Here at your feet, Melicent, let me confess! Would that I were lying at peace yonder!" and he pointed to the village churchyard. I stood, outwardly quiet, but a very Etna burnt in my breast. | married. My wife is good and beautiful, and loves me pasWith a gesture of despair Willy recommenced: "I need not tell you, Milly, that I did love you better than life, that I do love you now-married though I am-better than aught else on earth! Do not frown and condemn me, Melicent, until you have heard all. Then, as you hope for mercy hereafter, judge me not too harshly! I left you, and reached Italy, the land of my life dreams. My glorious imaginings were realised. I became an art-student. I made rapid advancement, and as the companion of Mr. Markland, and the pupil of Paletani, the celebrated painter, I was admitted into the most fascinating society. But your blessed image, Milly, kept me even from admiring the many beauties who fluttered around me. worshipped at a shrine too holy to admit another idol! I received your letter, telling me of my mother's death, then the other, bearing the intelligence of my father's. Oh, how your words of consolation cheered me! I wrote to you immediately, and, after waiting several months in vain for your reply, I wrote again. No answer came. Again and again I wrote, but received no reply. เ I "I had seated myself to write for the sixth time, when letters and papers from England were brought to me. I searched, but the handwriting I wished was not there. I opened a paper, and, strangely enough, the first paragraph that met my eye was an announcement of your death. For weeks after this I remember nothing; they told me when I recovered consciousness, that I had lain at death's door for nine weeks, ill of fever, and that only the most assiduous care had saved me. I regretted that it was thus: why did they not let me die?'. I asked them again and again: it would have been better.' Those around me smiled, as if they thought me even then deranged, but heaven knows it was my sincere wish! I found, on recovering, that I had been removed from my lodgings to the private abode of Mr. Guillet, the husband of Mr. Markland's only sister, now dead. It was a long time before they would allow me to go out, and in the interval I was tended by their daughter, Corinna. "Mr. Markland strove to arouse me from the apathy into which I had fallen; to inspire me anew with enthusiasm for art; but he might as well have talked to soulless marble! For months my life was one long reverie, in which I lived all over the past, back even to my blissful boyhood, when you were mine, all mine! My Milly!" Mr. Graves paused, and tears, such as only a strong man can shed, burned through the fingers which covered his face. In a few minutes he conquered his emotion, and continued: "Mr. Markland came to me one day, with an astounding revelation. Corinna Guillet loved me! I remember saying that I was very sorry, and then relapsing into my bitter reverie. Mr. Mark land aroused me by entreating me to marry her. Surprised, shocked, and grieved beyond measure, I emphatically refused, and my excellent friend left me in displeasure. "Near the residence of Mr. Guillet was a bluff point of rocks overhanging a small inlet, and to these rocks I often went. The deep, hoarse voice of the waters groaned in unison with my heart, and the rough, black rocks were not blacker than the tempest which desolated my soul. One night I went there as usual; but scarcely had I seated myself, when a light figure, in white, flitted past me with the speed of lightning, and in an instant stood upon the very verge of the precipice! Poised on the extreme end of a frail shelf of rock, which overhung the frightful deep many fathoms below, she stood-her exquisite profile carved white as snow against the black sky, and her hands raised in mute supplication! She was praying. I heard my name upon her lips, coupled with expressions of the most passionate entreaty. It was Corinna! I recalled the weary days and nights when she had hovered over my sick couch like a ministering angel; her unremitting endeavors to make the tedious hours pass pleasantly--the sad, patient look graven ever on her beautiful features-and I said to myself, why not make her happy? It could not make me more miserable! I sprang towards her, and drew her back. "Corinna,' I said, are you willing to give up friends, home, everything, and go with me?' "She turned towards me, her face glowing with inexpressible love, and replied, "To the uttermost part of the earth!' "This was our singular betrothal. In two months we were sionately. She came to England with me, but I could not bring her here, Milly-here, where everything would speak of you! Milly, I believed you dead, and came here this night to find your grave." "And your wife?" I asked, when he had finished. "Is with her uncle Markland in town," he replied. 66 I turned to go away. "Mr. Graves," I said, handing him the key of the cottage, your father gave me this until you should return. Everything is as he left it; and one thing more, Willy-by the memory of our early love, be kind, be gentle to that devoted girl whom you have made your wife." "Oh, Milly, my first-my only love! you shall not leave me," he cried, as he threw himself in my path. "Willy," I said, very calmly, "this is unworthy of you; it is weak-nay, criminal. I will hear no more of it! Goodnight, Mr. Graves," and I tore myself from the arms that would have held me. much of his success in his art. Years flew by, and his fame spread far and wide. I was still unmarried; many flattering offers had I received, but declined all. I was thirty years old when my kind uncle died. It was a severe stroke to my aunt, and it fell not lightly upon me. Four years more, and my aunt slept in the churchyard. I was left alone at the old place, for cousin Ned had married three years before, and was in business. Uncle Graham's will left the house and its appurtenances to me; and immediately on the death of my aunt, I leased the farm and a portion of the house to a worthy man, who, with his wife, took up his residence there. I lived a lonely, dreamy life, fed and sustained by memories of the past. One morning, late in the month of May, a letter was brought to me. The handwriting paralyzed me for a moment, then my pride came to my aid. I broke the seal and read: "WILLIAM GRAVES." Not an instant did I hesitate. I wrote "Come immediately," and despatched my note to the post-office. By the next morning my preparations for my guests were finished. I felt a melancholy pleasure in making all things look beautiful for the eye of the poor invalid, for was she not Willie's wife? care for you, Milly; how can I do so better than by a legal right? Will you-after all you have endured for my sakegive me that right?'' I laid my head in his bosom; his arms fell around me, and I felt no more the burden of heaviness. We live at the House beyond the Orchard in a sort of blissful dream-Willy and I-and the apple trees almost meet above the old homestead. We are old now, but we know that there is a place awaiting us where the mantle of eternal youth shall fall upon us, and fulness of joy shall be ours for ever more! ST. JOHN'S EVE. THIS famous vesper festival, called St. John's Eve, comes on the 24th June, and is celebrated in England and Ireland by the "MY DEAR FRIEND MELICENT-Presuming on our old friend-rustic population with great glee. An old writer says: "On ship, am I about to ask too much? My wife is declining--the St. John's Eve the people make three different fires-one of clean physicians say only country air and exercise can restore her.. bones, which they call a bone fire, the second of wood, called a May I bring her to Springfield, to your quiet home? It is just wood fire, and the third of bones and wood mixed, which is the blessed place she will love, and it will make me happier if named St. John's Fire. In the north of England it is the uniyou consent. versal custom in country villages for old and young people to meet together and be merry over a large fire, which is made purposely in the street. This, whatever are the materials, is called a bonefire. Over this fire they frequently leap and play at various games, such as running, wrestling, dancing, &c. These games are the recreations of the younger ones, while the old ones sit by and enjoy their pipes and bottle. These sports last always till midnight, and not unfrequently till cockcrow next morning. After jumping through the fiery embers for some time, each of them snatches a firebrand, which they re tain; the remains of the bonfire are then scattered to the winds, which dispersing the ashes is supposed to expel all evil. This is probably the remains of some old Druidical superstition, as it will be remembered their grand festivals were invariably accompanied with some human beings who were burned in wicker baskets." Similar festivities to these we have described above are also prevalent in the south of Ireland. Two days afterwards a carriage drove to my door. I went forth to meet them. Oh! how pale and beautiful she was! but so very fragile, that I involuntarily extended my arms, and lifted her from the carriage. Willy pressed my hand, but neither spoke. How delighted Corinna was with everything. Again and again she thanked me for the kind care I had taken for her comfort; and then, like a wearied child, she laid her head on Willy's bosom, and fell into a gentle slumber. Days passed. Corinna seemed to revive. Willy watched over her very tenderly, and I loved her from the depths of my heart, she was so good, so beautiful, so winning. With the cold autumn winds she grew weaker, although we scarcely perceived it; and when October came, with its yellow and crimson foliage, she was confined to her bed. In vain the skill of the physician-in vain all our tender watchings! One midnight we stood around her dying bed. "Willy," she said, opening her eyes from a long swoon, "you must love and care for dear Milly very tenderly for my sake. Put your hand in his, Milly, I want to bless you both together Before my lips are sealed! You will love Willy when I am gone, won't you, dear friend? It would be very sad to be left in the world with no one to love you," she murmured, in a sweet dreamy tone. "Lie down close beside me, Willy, I am so cold! Where have you gone, Milly? I cannot see you for the mists and darkness, Willy. One kiss more-the last! God bless you!" MUSIC. We say AMONG those recreations which are proper, as well as pleasant, Properly to appreciate a painting or sculpture requires an educated eye. Rightly to value a musical composition requires an educated ear. Unless there be some natural defect in the physical organization, we believe that the ear and the eye are The young wife lay very white and still, and we knew that both capable of education; and that all, or nearly all, can apshe was dead. We buried her beside Willy's parents, and two days after her funeral the bereaved husband wrung my hand and bade me farewell. I saw him no more until winter. In the cold January days he came to Springfield, a pale bowed man, with silver hairs threading the brown locks upon his forehead. Those were very quiet evenings which we passed together, speaking never of the past, but of the world beyond the grave. preciate music and painting, if they will. Music is the poetry of sound. It embraces harmony, concord and melody. It moves on velvet wings, waved so gently and gracefully, that naught but onward motion is known or felt. Whatever sound produces the charm of melody in the soul, wakes up all its Æolian strings to breathing symphonies within, unheard, but felt like the spirit-notes of a rapt vision, is music. Whatever sounds, or succession of sounds, make us forget that we are dwellers of earth, and lift us, for the time being, into a world of living harmonies, which come and go, entrance and bewilder, captivate, and hold in trembling delight our mindslike the electric color-dances of the aurora borealis-these are real music. It is a thing to be felt, not described. It is not In March, Willy went back to town, and I was very, very sad after his departure. I was growing old. My youthful beauty had fled the blooming maiden was transformed into the homely spinster of thirty-seven; but my heart was young young as when I had stood beneath the apple boughs and made chains of dandelion stems to wreath the brow of my boy play-sound simply-for all sound is not music. It is a peculiar, inmate. With the first spring flowers Willy came back to me. We took all the old walks together, and returning sat down in the old seat under the apple tree. We were very still, but not with suffering. Willy took my hand silently. describable running together, or blending of certain smooth sounds of different heights, like the gliding together of the different colors of the rainbow. Its presence is tested only by the charm wrought in the soul. When the soul is in ecstacy, occasioned by a succession of "It was her wish," he said, softly, "that I should love and I sounds, we may know that musical numbers are flowing. When a soft sound starts a THE BITE OF POISONOUS REPTILES. tear in the eye, we may know that | Paradise? Sing to the wicked man, sing to the disconsolate, the spirit of music is there. Oh, the rapturous charm of music! sing to the sufferer, sing to the old, and sing to children, for What power it has to soften, melt, enchain in its spirit-chords music will inspire them all. of subduing harmony! Truly, there is power in music—an almost omnipotent power. It will tyrannize over the soul. It will force it to bow down and worship; it will wring adoration from it, and compel the heart to yield its treasures of love. Every emotion, from the most reverent devotion to the wildest gushes of frolicsome joy, it holds subject to its imperative will. It calls the religious devotee to worship, the patriot to his country's altar, the philanthropist to his generous work, the freeman to the temple of liberty, the friend to the altar of friendship, the lover to the side of his beloved. It elevates, empowers and strengthens them all. The human soul is a mighty harp, and all its strings vibrate to the gush of music. Yet all souls are not the same harp, nor are all affected alike by its power. Different nations have different habits, customs, modes of expression, and different words and languages to convey their thoughts and feelings. But music is felt alike by them all. A stirring strain will touch the well-strung souls of every nation alike. All will dance to a note of joy ; all will weep at one of sadness. A lofty strain will bear all to heaven; a jarring discord lower them again to earth. The same masters have made the same music in Norway, Germany, Italy, France, England, and all have bowed before it like reeds before the wind. A beautiful proof is this of the kindred nature of all souls, of the existence of a mysterious link of spiritual union, that binds them all together. And the beauty of this proof is heightened, when we remember that music is the voice of love, and is closely allied to the Infinite. Love speaks in tones of music. Love breathes musical airs. Love delights to pour itself out in song. The worshipper chants his praises in strains of lofty music. The lover of freedom speaks his love in song. The lover of beauty sings its praises. The lover of humanity softly breathes his love-notes in strains of sweetest music. Then how beautiful is its universality! The love of which it is the voice is equally universal. All souls have love within them. It is the all-pervading soul of the universe. Its voice is music. It is breathed in the harmony of the spheres, in the anthem of universal nature. It has been beautifully said that "Music is the voice of God, and poetry His language." It seems to bear an affinity to Deity. An eloquent writer, in speaking of the impression made on her mind by a musical performance, says, "It expressed to me more of the Infinite than I ever saw, or heard, or dreamt of, in the realms of nature, art or imagination." And, again, "Music is the soprano, the feminine principle, the heart of the universe. Because it is the voice of love, because it is the highest type and aggregate expression of attraction, therefore it is infinite-therefore it pervades all space, and transcends all being, like a divine influx. What the tone is to the word, what expression is to the form, what affection is to thought, what the heart is to the head, what intuition is to argument, what insight is to policy, what religion is to philosophy, what holiness is to heroism, what moral influence is to power, what woman is to man, is music to the universe. Flexible, graceful and free, it pervades all things, and is limited by none. It is not poetry, but it is the soul of poetry; it is not mathematics, but it is in numbers, like harmonious proportions in cast iron; it is not in painting, but it shines through colors, and gives them their tone. Every art is the body of music, which is the soul of every art and so in music to the soul of love, which also answers not for its workings; for it is the contact of divine with human.” The human voice is the most perfect musical instrument ever made; and well it might be, for it had the most skilful Maker. That voice should be cultivated so as to sing the tones of love to man and to God. Around the fireside, in the social circle, it should sing the voice of love; and, at the altar of God, it should pour forth melodious praise. Who does not know the softening power of music, especially the music of the human voice? It is like the angel whisperings of kind words in the hour of trouble. Who can be angry when the voice of love speaks in music? Who hears the harsh voice of selfishness and brutalizing passion, when music gathers up her pearly love-notes to salute the ear with a stray song of THE Algalia plant was first discovered in Guatemala and brought into notice in the year 1802. It is nearly allied to the cotton plant, and to the ochra of South Carolina, which latter it resembles in many respects. Like these, it is an annual plant, growing to the height of five or six feet, flowering in September and ripening its seed in the month of November. The seed has a peculiar musky smell, like that emitted by snakes, none of whom are, it is said, to be found in its vicinity. When a toad happened to be bitten by a rattlesnake, it was observed that the wounded animal ran in quest of the plant. The Indians soon made the circumstance public, and wonderful Mexico, as in the province Yucatan. It is stated in the public cures were effected in consequence, as well in Guatemala and papers of Guatemala, that a man who had received twenty-five bites from a rattlesnake, and was carried home speechless, by the application of this valuable remedy, recovered on the following morning. Horses and dogs are cured by it with the the same facility. It is considered there to be a certain remedy for the bite or sting of any poisonous reptile whatever, taken inwardly as speedily as possible after the bite, reduced to a powder and infused for a short time in water or wine, applying the sediment in form of poultice to the wound. The hunters and country people are never without a portion of the seed, which they chew into a paste on being bitten, swallowing the liquid part and applying the paste over the bite. In the cure and prevention of canire madness it is also said country leaves little room to doubt of its efficacy. Whosoever to be specific; and the high reputation it supports in that happens to be bitten by a rabid animal flies instantly to it for relief. IN-DOOR AMUSEMENT FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. BEAUTIFUL little white busts or figures may be made by young people of a very simple preparation, we mean rice cement. Simmer some ground rice in water over the fire, when it readily forms a delicate and durable cement, not only answering the purposes of common paste, but admirably adapted to join together paper and card. When made of the consistence of plastic clay, models, busts and small figures may be formed of it, and the articles when dry are very like white marble, and will take a high polish. In this manner the Chinese and Japanese make many of their domestic idols. white paper, boiled in water for five hours. Then the water Paper paste is very similar to rice cement, but it is made of being poured off, the pulp is pounded in a Wedgwood mortar, passed through a sieve and mixed with a little gum water. Some years ago there was an exhibition called Papyrusium, consisting of some hundreds of beautiful groups of figures and landcolor and plastic character of the material were finely exempliscapes, made wholly of fine paper paste, in which the delicate fied. Love. Love is the weapon which Omnipotence reserved to conquer rebel man, when all the rest had failed. Man parries reason; fear he answers blow to blow; future interest he meets melting beams winter cannot stand-that soft, subduing slumwith present pleasures; but love-that sun, against whose ber, which wrestles down the giant-there is not one human being in a million, whose clay heart is hardened against love. WOULD AND SHALL--There are a good many people in the world who spend half their time in thinking what they would do if they were rich, and the other half in conjecturing what they shall do as they are not. A PURSE without money is better than a head without brains; the first may be filled, the other can't. THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA. A CASE OF CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. THE present estimable Queen of Prussia is the daughter of JUST forty years ago I was in command of a little full-rigged Charles Frederick, late Grand Duke of Saxe Weimer Eisenach, brig, called the Moresco, belonging to Baltimore. We were and sister of the present reigning duke. She was born on the bound for Liverpool, and from there to the Cape de Verde, for 30th of September, 1811, and received at the baptismal font a cargo of salt, and thence home. My crew consisted of three the names of Marie Louise Auguste Catherine. She was mar- men and a boy rather short-handed you may think for a long ried on the 11th of June, 1829, to the Prince of Prussia, now voyage; but sailors were in demand, and my vessel was a little the reigning king. They have two children, Prince Frederick | bit of a thing, and required but few to manage her; besides, I William (married in January, 1858, to the Princess Royal of England) and the Princess Louise Marie Elizabeth, married to the reigning Grand Duke of Baden. She is represented by all who enjoy the pleasure of her friendship as being eminently rational and humane. was young then, and felt myself about equal to the watch of a small frigate alone; and in addition there was the mate, who had come on board of her with the reputation of being as active an officer as ever stepped across a ship's gangway. Mr. ClarkJames C. Clark, I think, was his name-was a young man about thirty, but he had been to sea pretty much all his life. Report said, for I did not know very much of him personally, that he He is happy whose circumstances suit his temper; but he is was a good sailor, but a regular marine Tartar. happier who can suit his temper to his circumstances. This Mr. Clark had the reputation of being a good sailor and |
