Marian Ellwood, or, How girls live
page: 0 (Cover) [View Page 0 (Cover) ] MARIAN ELWOOD; OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. page: 0 (TitlePage) [View Page 0 (TitlePage) ] MARIAN ELWOOD; OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. BY ONE OF THEMSELVES. NEW YORK: E. DUNIGAN & BROTHER, (JAMES B. KIRKER), 871 BROADWAY. * 1859. page: 0[View Page 0] ENTERED according to act of Congress, in the year 1859, by JAMES B. KIRKELE, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New York. JON F. Tnow, Printer and Stereotyper, 8"Broadway, PREFACE THE following pages 'were begun in an idle moment, to beguile the weariness of doing nothing, without any definite aim, or the slightest thought of writing a book. I wrote on because I found occupation and pleasure in doing so, and put down what came into my head, and very much as it came. Gradually the thing seemed to shape itself, and promise to grow into a story, artless in its plot, and un- eventful indeed, but not without a natural progress and termination. I continued it to the end, aun now send it out to the public for what it is worth. It is light, some will say trifling; but perhaps now and then a thought worth remembering may have glided from the end of my pen. I have had no design, under page: 6-7[View Page 6-7] 6 - PREFACE. the mask of fiction, to teach or to moralize; yet perhaps these pages, while they slightly amuse, may awaken now and then a serious thought in the careless reader, inspire better hopes, and quicken a higher ambition in some heart that hides its sadness beneath festive robes and a smiling face, weary of its frivolous life, but not knowing or despairing of a better. I have found pleasure and even moral profit in writing, and if the reader finds half as much of either in reading, I shall be doubly re- warded. THE AUTHOR. MARIAN ELWOOD. CHAPTER I. "Men's hearts! Do what you will, the things won't break. I doubt If even they'll chip." "Men were deceivers ever, * * * * * To one thing constant never." "MNNIE," said Lucy Merton, oife morning, to her friend, Marian Elwood, "Minnie, I have heard so. much of Gustave Waldron's devotion to you, that, relying on our long friendship, I earnestly en- treat you to tell me honestly if you love him." "Bless your heart!" answered Marian, in a round, rich, low voice. "Bless your heart! What put such an idea into your head?" "I repeat my question. Marian Elwood, do you love Gustave Waldron? "My solemn friend, I answer, in the negative, NO. May I now ask your reasons for supposing such a thing possible?" page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] 8 MARIAN ELWOOD "I judged from your own actions." "You did, did you? and they led you to the conclusion that I loved him?" "Yes-I think it a very natural one." "You are not so wise as I have sometimes im- agined you. Know, Lucia Mertoun,that Marian Elwood is incapable of love; but she can, she has, she does, and, I tell you, she will flirt." -"Yes, I am aware of that, and shall soon weary of battling with you for doing so. But now when you know vry well that Mr. Waldron thinks you in earnest you ought to go no farther; you may break his heart." "As if men had hearts to break!" "Trifler! can you never be serious? I am al- ways earnest, I wish you were. I have seen you with Mr. Waldron, and in every glance of your eyes, I have read love for him." "Didn't read right, Lucy dear." "But I did; or if not love, something much like it." "I may have shown some, though I have felt none. I thought you knew that I am a capital actress. No need of a painted mask for me!" "What a queer girl! I never know if you are in jest or in earnest." "It is not often I know myself. Would you like me to tell you a story, Lucy, an 'o'er true tale'?" "What about?" - 'It is my private opinion that you'll know, , nM OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 9 when you've heard the story. Shall I tell it?" "Yes, certainly; I am all attention." "Very well. Do you remember Elinor St. James?" "Perfectly. I met her a number of times, the winter before she died." "We were firm, fast friends--" "But she was much older than you?" 'And that partly accounts for my affection. When I was thirteen and she sixteen-that was about four years ago-we both left school, and, as good luck would have it, we both lived in the same block." "It's two doors above, isn't it? "Three. Well, Elinor and I were inseparable. I was her confidante in every thing. Every act of hers seemed perfection in my eyes, and I suppose she loved me for my devoted, affectionate sympa- thy. Poor Ellie!-After we left school I had a governess, and Elinor was introduced into society, where she met,a Mr. Edgar Snow." "I remember him, I think. Did he not have light hair, and glassy blue eyes? Where is he now?" "I don't know. Perhaps you remember that Elinor was supposed to be a great heiress, while Edgar Snow-who was directly Ellie's most de- voted admirer-was a poor, unknown physician, 'who had some way managed to visit a few nice people. I, who alone knew that Elinor loved him, 1* page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10 MARIAN ELWOOD; could not sufficiently admire her devotion; the onily thing that troubled her, was the fear that he might feel humiliated by the contrast in their posi- tions. She had some influence, and she exerted it to the utmost to bring him into notice and favor. I think he was a good physician, for, though appa. rently all sympathy and feeling, he was, in reality, cold and calculating, and had nerve enough for any emergency, and he soon became quite popular. When they had been acquainted some seven or eight months, Elinor went to Lillystown, New York, for the summer, and I to Beverly, Massa- chusetts. Mrs. St. James gave Snow a cordial in- vitation to spend as much of his time with them as he could. Many were the eloquent accounts Elinor wrote me of their rides and rambles through that beautiful place. I always read those letters now when my courage fails me. Towards the end of August, Ellie returned rather unexpectedly to New York, and about the same time I went to New Haven, and neglecting to send Elinor my ad- dress, our letters missed each other, and went to the dead letter office. I hope its managers were edified by them. Well, in the middle of October, I returned to New York. I went the first thing to Elinor's, and found the sweet, merry-hearted girl of a few months before a fading, fleeting, ghost-like consumptive. It was an every-day sto- ry; Elinor's brother had, some time before, invest- ed all her money in a speculation that failed en- tirely, about the middle of summer. Now, though OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. " her family were rich enough, Elhe had no longer an independent fortune, and therefore Mr. Edgar Snow spent the rest of the summer as the accepted lover of Elinor St. James, and the most favored admirer of Effie Lewis, a new heiress. Elinor re- turned to New York, and the first tidings that reached her ears were the rumors of Edgar's ap- proaching marriage. How did she receive it? ' "The worst way. I would have given him his due, the cold-hearted wretch! But poor Ellie was of a gentler mould than I. Well, she died, one glorious October day, and, by her death-bed, I vowed vengeance not on Edgar Snow only, but on all men. And it is because my power is so limited, that I have longed for beauty and for wit, and have wished a thousand times that my heart and will were of iron, that - might have more power to torture them!? "What became of Edgar Snow?" "I took care of him; his wife died soon after marriage, and I undertook to get the gentleman in love with me; it was desperately hard work, he feared me, and I hated him. However, I won all the heart he had.-I ought to have told you that when Ellie came home from the country the summer before she died, she had not once entered her sitting-room, the scene of so many happy hours. It was a rather small room, leading from the drawing-room corresponding to our library. To this day the books she and Edgar read are page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 MARIAN ELWOOD; there, witn tne marks as they left them; her music, her drawings, her work-box, the flowers he brought her all withered and scentless, all are there, and among them all, her portrait beams out bright and beautiful, the guardian spirit of the place."5 "Well, as I told you,Edgar Snow was fascinated with yours truly. I kept him up th fever heat until the anniversary of Ellie's death, and then bringing all my energies to bear on one final make- believe, I went out driving with him. Coming home, our driver, according to previous instructions, drew up at Mrs. St. James's instead of at our house. It was about dusk, and Edgar, enraptured and enchanted with his third conquest, jumped gayly from the carriage; we walked together across the darkened hall. I asked to be excused a few minutes, and told him he could wait in the library; he kissed my hand, and while I ran up stairs, he walked, unsuspectingly into Elinor's room. What happened there I know not; whether Elinor's ghost threatened him with everlasting misery, or eternal punishment, I confess myself unable to tell. Certainly, such groans as I heard as I once passed by the door, never came from mortal lips before. One of the servants saw him, Balen, haggard, stagger across the hall, an hour or two after. I have never seen him since." "It was a terrible revenge, did you not regret it?" "Regret it? The tears streamed like rain from my eyes, yet I gloried in his misery, I shudder OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 13 when I remember those groans. But it was deserved. He had more heart than most men, or he would not have felt it. Part of my revenge is now completed, the rest is for the present and future to perform.' "Why, you have no more deserted friends to avenge, have you?"' "No particular wrongs; but the injuries of my whole sex. Lucy, while you and I are sitting here in peace and quiet, thousands of our sister women are groaning in fetters worse than those of African slavery." "Their own hands have forged them." "And are they less deserving of our pity that in all devotion they have sought to bind man's brow with flowery wreaths, and that he has rewarded them with insults and tyranny? O that all women were united with me, then these heartless ingrates would be well punished." So you have no faith in men?" 2 "No, haveyou?" "Yes, I think there are few Edgar Snows in the world, none that could deceive me." "There are thousands like him. Do you know one single husband who answers your ideal of a husband?" "That depends-I have two ideals: one is be- yond realization, a heavenly vision that is above, beyond the earth-I scarce look for that, and seldom think of it; but I have another that I certain- ly expect to realize." page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " MARIAN LWOOD; "There! that proves my theory exactly! You have an ideal which nature gave, high and beauti- ful, but you have also lowered yourself to choose among commpon realities." "Well, I know plenty good husbands." "For instance? 'A "Arthur Wyndham; isn't he as generous as ,:.: possible?" "A glorious husband! Because he lets his worldly, extravagant wife spend his money, and drag him from his cigar and arm-chair to escort ,her to the opera and theatre, when she can get no other beau! A glorious ideal of a husband! You will have, or at least desire, another just like him. I wish you joy of it!" "He loves his wife devotedly; few women are capable of inspiring such a confiding affection." "And you are one of them. I would rather lose my right hand than have such a husband, or any, in truth. I hate men! Every one of them! ' "e "I should never have supposed so. I know of no one in higher favor .with them. Why is it that you are so good-natured to them?" "I wish to defeat them with their own weapons." "So you intend to break Gustave's heart?" "If he has one, yes." "And his only fault is loving too well." "Lucy, it is no use to sit there so solemnly catechizing me. When I make up my mind to do on, HowGIRLS LIVE. 15 a thing I do it. No man has ever caused me any heartaches; yet there lives not the man whose heart, if he had any, I would not break, if I could. If I do not lower Gustave's vanity, he will bring down many women's vanity, or their hearts, which is the same thing." -a "You may find some day that the terms are * not synonymous. You may suffer for all this." "No danger. I can no more love than yon marble table. Mr. Waldron down stairs?' Good. Come Lucy." "No, I'll wait for you here. I'll find some way of killing time ", . it page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 MArIAN ELWOOD; CHAPTER II. "Rejected I and with scorn I The flowers of hope Which I so tenderly had nursed, trod down Into the dust by proud, remorseless beauty!" IN a quiet, aristocratic part of New York city, there stood, not many years ago, a large, handsome house, into the elegant drawing room of which, a Small negro boy one morning ushered-a tall young gentleman, at the same time informing him that "young missus would be down in a few minutes," and the gentleman, half nodding an answer, stood carelessly before .a love-sick Romeo, himself. a scarcely less interesting and pleasant picture. The heavy crimson curtains, through which the noon- day sun scarce dared to peep, swept their long folds behind him, a rich background to a bright and boyish figure. He seemed quite handsome, though slightly effeminate, as he stood in a gentle reverie, awaiting the lady's entrance. His eyes brightened, and he started eagerly. forward, as the door opened, and, radiant as the OR, HOW GILS LVE. 17 young aurora, the " ladye of his love," bright Ma- rian, stood-before him. "Good morning, Mr. Waldron," her greeting was most cordial, and he knew it. "You must excuse my toilette," it was carefully elegant, " the result of my reluctance to keep you waiting. And now, having finished an apology I seldom make, but which I consider due to your well-known taste, I am ready to hear the news. Did you miss me at Mrs. Lewis's last evening?" "Even as all nature misses the light. It was nothing without you." "Well, I am glad to hear it; you have ap- peased my-vanity." "It would certainly have caused, even you, to feel some such emotion, had you heard the numer- ous regrets expressed for your absence. AsTor me, I felt like a world without a sun. It is always so to me; where thou art, my beautiful, all is glad and bright; and where thou art not, there all is sad and dark." "Really? You should do me up in' a glass case, and live forever at the feet of so wondrous a being. I shall study my astronomy over again, to learn something of my own existence; for I sup- pose I am another sun, in a small way." "Now, you are latughing at me, cruel one; yet it is no laughing matter. Miss Marian, have you ever dreamed of happiness?" She looked at his questioning, eyes, but it was not her purpose to answeai page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 MARIA. STELWOOD; "Perhaps you are happy?" She smiled sadly: Is any one? Is there such a thing on earth?" "There is! There is!" "I do not think it." "Wouldst see it? know its truth?" "How can I?" "e Speak but one word and you shall see, and I shall feel more happiness than that of which poets have sometimes dreamed." A morning love scene in a handsome parlor, is, generally, a cool affair; but Gustave, once started, told his love in abrupt eloquence, and as he await- ed her answer with beaming hope and eager ex- pectancy, she turned her bright eyes upon him; she was thinking of her lost Elinor, and he misin- terpreted the strange light in her eyes: "You love me!" he cried, with so much rapture, that, for a moment, her lips refused to bid his joy be grief. "You love me! O, God! let me die now!" "As Elinor died," thought Marian, and it gave her courage and strength: "-You are wrong, Mr. Waldron. I do not love you." There was no mistaking the firm, unhesitating accents that so calmly rang the knell of all his hopes. He did not answer for some time, then it was to say bitterly, "Forgive me, that my hopes have colored your words and actions with their own bright hues. Forgive me, that I have dared to believe that in OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 19 one woman, there was truth. I shall not err so again." "Do not," she answered scornfully. "Seek heart, and truth, and honor, and sincerity, among men; of course, you will not fail to find it. But I must beg you, Mr. Waldron, to excuse me now, a friend is waiting up stairs for me. Shall I see you at Mrs. Brown's to-night? Au revoir." He did not speak until her hand was on the handle of the door, then, "One instant more," he cried, with all the energy of despair. "But for one instant hear me!, We are both so young. Cannot years of constancy, and firm endeavor alter your answer?" "Mr. Waldron-- ' "Do not speak so harshy, so coldly; one kind word before we part; remember you doom me to misery and despair, perhaps death." "Do not think by frightening me to alter one word of my answer. You will not die for me, Mr. Waldron, and I would rather be haunted by the hideous ghosts of a thousand lovers, than give my heart or hand away. -I despise all men of mortal mould. I would crush them as the dust beneath my feet. And the day, hear me, Heaven, and the day I feel differently, may I be accursed!" While Mr. Waldron stood surprised and shocked, she bowed gracefully, and was gone. "How excited you are," said Lucy, when Ma- rian returned to her room. "How excited you are! Has Mr. Waldron been proposing?" page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 MARIAN ELWOOD; "Yes." "Yes! And you have-- " "Refused him." "Refused him! How did he bear it?" "O, well enough, in truth, mortifyingly well." "But what did he say?" "Just what they always say." "But I am naturally prudish, you know, Mari. an, and never allow a gentleman to go far enough to propose,-that is, when I can possibly help it,- some of them have so much assurance;-but what do they always say?" "O don't botherme! Idon't know what he said." i" O, very well," Lucy answered, coolly, "I do not desire you to tell me any secrets, so we will drop the subject." "There is no secret about it; he talked about death and despair, of course." "Was he much excited? was he angry? did he propose in form? ' "No, we'talked small talk a little while, looked around the room, and all that sort of thing, and suddenly he told me, and I refused him up and down. He pleaded a little more; and I got very excited and-and-" "And?" "Said some wild, wicked words-" "What were they?" "I dare not repeat them.' "Nonsense! What were they? I won't re- peat them." OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 21 "I believe I said, I hoped I should be cursed if I ever loved. I know Elinor was right in telling me never to trust them-I never will--Evr!" "What a flirt you are!' "Don't you ever flirt, Mademoiselle Proprie- ty?" "Never. I do not mean to fritter my heart away." X "Will you ever be such a fool as to marry? ' "Three months ago, I should. have answered that I would rather lose my eyes than my inde. pendence; but this living alone-with no one to look for, wait for, or even to dress for, is a sad life. Yes, I suppose I shall, one of these days, give up my freedom like the rest of the world. I should make a good wife; I should not exact much love from my husband; nor permit him to overload me with attentions. I shall marry-" , "A man who will give you elegant dresses, and expensive jewelry, load you with presents, all which you will receive calmly, and as your due." "No such thing. I shall, of course, desire my husband's position to be equal to mine, and he must have wealth enough to sustain it. I believe in love, Minnie, but other things must be consid- ered too. You do not understand me; no one does; I do not expect it. I am entirely different from you." "Indeed you are. I don't believe in love; I don't believe men have any hearts; but if I did believe it, I could never talk like that." page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 MAnRTAN ELWOOD; "Like what?" "Why, as you do, about wealth and position. However, it is a soft subject, let us drop it.: I should laugh, though, if some day you should marry a poor man for love." "I shall never marry the man I love, until he is able to support me in the same style I have always lived,". Lucy answered firmly, and Marian said no more. "Haven't you finished 'The Initials' yet?" asked Lucy about ten minutes afterwards. "Not yet. I am dying to turn to the last page, but have not courage. I hope Hildegarde will refuse this cold, calculating Hamilton-yet-it would punish her more than it would him." About half an hour afterwards Lucy saw the tears loading Marian's beautiful eyes, and was not surprised when she threw down the book, and, bursting into tears, exclaimed, "There! I will never read another novel. Never! They always make me wretched! I wish-yes-I almost wish I could believe in them. But I'll never, never read another!" "Are you provoked because they married?" No. I cannot help it,-I don't believe in it,- only for the moment,-I wish,-I had-I could believe in somebody. Oh, dear me! How I do hate men! They are all heartless out of books. I wish they were in them, then the contrast would not be so great. I hate men-but-but I am a great fool,-and shall flirt with as much zest, as OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. .23 though I had never felt all this; so forget it im mediately. Where are you going?" "To take a walk towards home. Won't you come too?" "Yes, wait a few minutes." "Minnie, were you kind to Gustave? You know you led him on." "And if I did lead him on, he was glad enough to follow. And as for speaking kindly, I wished him to feel the rejection as deeply as possible, and I am very glad that something more is done towards that one great end." "Oh, Minnie! Minnie!" "Now, don't go croaking in that style. If I am going out with you, I must dress, and cannot stay for your sermons." "How cross you are! you know I have not the least interest in the matter, you are at perfect liberty to flirt as much as you please. I only speak for your own good. You would be much more admired and respected, if you were still and quiet, but it is nothing to me. I speak to you as to a sister, but as it is disagreeable to you, I shall do so no more." "O yes, you must. Hhave always wanted some one to be really friendly to me, and to tell me all my faults. But our styles are different, and you would feel as unnatural talking brilliant non- sense, flirting with half a dozen gentlemen, as I should sitting with immovable features, and folded hands, gravely remarking on the weather, page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 M hARIAN ELWOOD; with as much formality as if I were a queen at a foreign court. No, give me my way, and you take yours; we are too unlike to be rivals, and too much alike not to be friends." Lucy colored angrily at Marian's allusion to her "style," and made no reply. Marian now pulled down her hair, and after various ineffectual attempts to put it up, threw herself on a lounge, saying, "Nothing goes right with me to day! Go without me, my head aches. When shall you be back? To dinner, of course?" "It is impossible. I have too much to do. I am coming for you to go to the concert, and Mrs. Brown's, to-night. Carrie and Raymond Sibley are going too. At half past seven, remember: Au revoir." "Lucy! come back a moment: I toldGustave Waldron I should be at Mrs. Brown's to-night. Do you suppose he will be there?" "I should not be surprised. You. will not speak to him, of course?" "If necessary, yes; it is not important that everybody should know we are not as good friends as ever." "But it would be just like him to avoid you, and if you appear friendly people will imagine you are the jilted one." "Absurd!" "Not so absurd as you think." "It is impossible." "Not at all; pride can do a great deal. Good bye." OIL HoW . IBLS VE. 25 Marian left alone lounged around the room, took up several books trying in vain to be interest- ed, at last a copy of Eug6nie Grandet attracted her attention, it opened at the introduction of the young Mirliflore Marian read, for nearly the dozenth time, the beautiful account of -that young girl' love; she seemed to see the sweet face of the simple Eug6nie, as she so lovingly superintended her cousin'sbrea&kfast; and wept with admiration, when braving t'ier fatiier's anticipated fury, she gave him all her hoarded treasure. Marian read no fartherthanhisd tar- for theIndies: "So much is ideal," she :said, "so much is a drea, a- lovely beautifuldream; therest is reaL Charlei o1ly acted aiJevery man wo:uld in his place; Theyh'a allalike, these mein, I hate them! Poor EugeniWe some mieauti i days. thou hadst, C^mu -h h-piness in thy heav6enly devotion, repaidjas womans devotion oeer is. :Suoh4u!.illd-b be my.- fate, if like thee I were-tot:lver: Thank H eaventhat t-annota -Thy fate, Eugenie, shall be awyarning tome; -They say it is better to haye l:oved :ad lost, than never to have loved at all; wht ,s yoou, spirit of my lost Elinor?." And riing she took from-their depoa- tory the lettersw stte-byEinor, :she read :and re- read them until the tears their beauty had called forth, dried on her anger-burning cheeksf and the high wrought, fanyt of a imost imagiative -brain, againm lighted her .eyes, and she: went about, her little duties wih ththe -aIm grandeur of a martyr; 2 page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 . N1AIA1N ILiWOOD; CHAPTER III. "She was our queen, our ros, our star, And when she danced-oh, heavens, her dancingI AT a quarter before eight the same evening, Marian took her seat in Miss Merton's carriage. She was greeted by this lady's rather high soprano: "So, Mademoiselle, you have condescended to make your appearance?" "Now, Lucy," laughed Marian,' while she handed her little gloved hand to-Mr. Sibley, and kissed his sister. Now, Lucy, I came right down, and, only staid two minutes in the hall-- "And ten more on the steps with-that ever- lasting Sophie. However, as I never worry my- self, it is no matter for me, but Carrie thinks every moment an age until we get there." "Why?" "Because," answered a childish voice next to Marian, "because Werner, the magnificent Wer. ner, sings to-night, and I would not lose a note for the world." OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 27 "The 'magnificent Werner' has half turned my sister's head," observed Mr. Sibley. "A concert, singer!" exclaimed Marian. "I should as soon think of dying of affection for one of Chickering's pianos.' Oh dear! what a queer world it is!" "What is the matter now?" "Every thing in general, and nothing in par- ticular. Do, Mr. Sibley, say something bright." "I will cry Marian! M}rian! until echo hears and answers Marian! I know of nothing brighter than Marian." "do*" 'Wht is it?"' ".,Your wit." "You flatter me." Thank Heaven!"Marian exclaimed, after a pause. "Thank Heaven! we are here at last, and I am doubly grateful that we are late. What a bore music is, isn't it, Mr. Sibley?" "A dreadful bore?." "Don't talk," whispered Lucy, when they were fairly seated. :It seems as if we had no musical taste, and as I have a very great deal--" "Your face, ma Clere, is much prettier in re- pose, so you may keep quiet.-That- will keep her mum all the evening," Marian added in a low voice to Mr. Sibley. During the short intermission, several gentle. men joined the party, among others, a slight ac- quaintance of Marian's, a dark, stern-looking young page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 8 MAWrIAT ELWOOD; gentlemen, Seymour Scott by name. Marian intro- duced him to Carrie and Lucy, and announced that after two or three more pieces, they were going to Mrs. Brown's. "I had an invitation," remarked Mr. Scott, "but scarcely cared to accept it." "O, you must." "Shall we not have a dance or two together?" asked a gentleman of Marian.. "Perhaps, if you keep on your good behavior." "I am but an .indifferent dancer," said Mr. Scott, "; but can I not receive the same fayor? "Yes, on the same conditions." "Success makes me bold,i' he said, trning to Lucy. "Can I request the same honor from you?" "I am engaged for a number of dances, but will keep the first after supper for you." "Thank you," he said, and left them. "Conceited fellow," exclaimed Marian. "I thought him remarkably diffident," said Lucy. "O, pshaw I you always find men diffident. I wish I could sometimes." "Did you not notice that he was more so with me,-he asked a dance from you as a favor, from me as an honor 2". "You awed him, no doubt. But what a queer idea it is, promising to throw ourselves into that man's arms when we have never exchanged a dozen sentences with him." OB, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 29 "It is customary., "And fashionable, so I suppose it is all right.", I see no wrong in taking the position necessa- ry," said Lucy. "I am naturally very prudish, and if there was any harm in it should see it sooner than you, who are an acknowledged flirt." Marian did not like Lucy's remark, but was prevented from answering. But the concert was over-the "magnificent Werner," with his hand on his-heart, bowed his farewell; the lights grew dim, and then disap- peared altogether. A number of gayly dressed girls were chattering noisily in Mrs. Brown's dressing-room, when Mari. an, Carrie, and Lucy entered. That their appear- ance produced some commotion was very evident; one or two young ladies became immediately ab- sorbed in their toilette; several others began very animated side conversations, a few others eyed Marian with envious dislike; but several, too vain to be jealous, or too proud to show it, rushed for- ward to meet them, talking small talk very rapidly. "'Is that Mr. Waldron?" asked a fair-haired belle, as a gentleman passed the door. 'k No," answered another, Miss Elliot by name, "Mr. Waldron won't be here to-night." "How do you know?" asked Marian. "He is quite ill; my cousin was called in this morning. Sis, will you pin my cape for me? I don't think he is dangerously ill." "I saw him this morning," Marian remarked, page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 MfARIA ELW00D; rather alarmed at his illness. "He was quite well then." ' "They say," interposed Miss Elliot's sister, "they say he was crossed in love, and took on ter- ribly about it. Shocking, isnlt it? Jule, who is that blue, isn't she frightful? "Perfectly outrageous," answered Marian. "Who said Mr. Waldron was crossed in love?" "O, everybody." "Everybody," in a young adj's vocabulary, generalty:means nobody at all. "'I don't: believe a word of it," observed Miss Simpson, the fair-haired belle. "If he loved any- body it was one who returned his love--I wis/h I could make this curl stay in its place! I hope Gustavewon't die. - liked him so much." "To die ofa brokenheart," sighed Carrie. OlMen don't die of broken hearts nowadays, that is an old-fashioned disease that went out with brave knights, and lovely ladies. Men have no hearts now," said Marian. - "But women have," answered the younger Miss Elliot. "I think when God made Eve he gave her all tt heart., Men are such selfish, exacting, interested creatures! Mtinnie, do let me look at your bracelet. How perfectly elegant! Your papa is the best man in the world. There'is a set at Tiffany's that I am dying to have, but can't until I am married; if my husband refuses, I will sue for a divorce. ' "I would," answered Marian. In the drawing-room Marian heard many regrets OR, How GIRLS LrV2. 31 expressed for Mr, Waldron's absence. Far from feeling vain at this proof of her power, she almost regretted- it, and it was only by Again and again repeating Elinor's injunctions, that she could stifle the upbraiding voice ofher conscience. While debating whether her course was really quite as womanly as it seemed, she turned and saw Mr. Waldron standing in the hall, so much in shadow, as scarcely to be recognized even by her -sharp eyes. As soon as he 8aw he was perceived, he walked bravely into the drawing-room, without, however, even glancing at Marian. I have been looking for you everywhere," said Mr. Scott, joining her at this moment. "I have come to claim my polka, shall we have it now?" I am engaged for this. I will dance the next but one with you." "iut I feel like a child promised a new toy, Give it to me now." "I am sorry, but can do no better," Marian replied, as she lef him. Mr. Scott immediately crossed the room; where a small pale young man awaited him. "Devilish fine girl," he said. "Ye-es, rather," answered Mr. Scott. "Talks pretty well, confoundedly sharp though." "You, weren't with her two minutes, how could you tell?, ' "By her manner;- besides, I have seen her before. Don't you want an introduction, old boy?" page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] MARIATN EWOOD; "She'll expect me to make love to her, won't she?" "Of course, all the girls expect that.' It's desperately insipid work," answered the shorter gentleman, yawning. "I tried the little one with her. Merton,-isn't that her name? Nice little thing, can't talk at all, and as vain as possible. Who is this dark-eyed damsel, any how?" "Old Elwoods daughter; you know he and my fathes were partners down in Wall street. He is a rich old fellow, too." "Is this the" only daughter? Has she any money?" "Some western lands, and the prospect of an old-fashioned New England residence." "Not bad; I'm sleepy, too sleepy to do my- self much credit. That little one bored me to death." "Miss Merton? I am engaged to her for two dances." "I like Miss Elwood's looks. Suppose you introduce me. I say-she won't expect me to dance, will she? Dancing is such a bore! "And, Dick Lester, you are another.-If you have a good chance ask her about Miss Merton.' "Yes, on condition that you do something for me. You must know I have already existed through one dance with -Miss Merton and am engaged to her for the next. As you are so all- powerful with the ladies, suppose you make her OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 33 break her engagement with me, and if I swear at you afterwards, you'll be able to bear it. Now,) he said, mentally, "that'll pull down Scott's vanity, Iam sure. I certainly made an impression, and she won't give me up, though he thinks she will., By this time the permission to introduce Mr Lester was -obtained, and the ceremony was quickly performed. Mr. Lester seated himself by Marians side, and after making a single remark to prove he was not dumb, quietly composed himself to be entertained. At this moment Mr. Waldron, looking very pale, placed himself opposite to her, by the side of Lucy; Marian did not see the sympathizing smile with which Lucy greeted him, nor hear her expressions of interest and regard, but she saw that. he was most remarkably gay d and, apparently, marvelously pleased with his com- panion, while he seemed wholly unaware of her presence. - This new proof of her theory's truth did not exactly please her. Mr. Lester seeing her eyes rest on Lucy, thought this a good opportunity to perform his promise to his friend, and Marian1 praised Lucy warmly, notwithstanding herincipient ealousy. Mr. Lester having stretched his lazy legs, now danaged to sacrifice himself, and escort Marian on slight promenade. A movement among those in 'Ont, obliged them to rest a moment, very near lucy, and her two admirers, Mr. Waldron and Mr. Cott. . , "I cannot,'" she heard Lucy say to Mr. Waldron. * w I# page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 84 MARIAXN rEWOOD; "Or, at most, only this once, and foryou. I would not for apy one else."' As Marian moved on she heard her repeat almost exactly the same words in a low voice to Mr. Scott, too low for Mr. Waldron, who was on the other side and not listening to her, and only heard by Marian, who so well accustomed to Lucy's voice, distinguished every word, and it certainly did not tend to prove the prudishness of which she so much boasted. Just as Marian's partner came to take her to the dance about to begin, Mr. Lester, with indignant surprise, beheld Mr. Scott with a look of triumph lead the fair Miss Merton from her seat. "The confounded coquette," he thought, "I could have sworn that she would have stood by me., As soon as the dance was over he crossed to Mr. Scott and Lucy, to soothe his wounded vanity, if hQ could. Lucy was quite alarmed at the vehe- mence with which he upbraided Mr. Scott, and perfectly charmed with the coolness and courage the latter displayed, while quite delighted to have her hand for a dance so warmly contested. , It is perhaps unnecessary to state that she satisfied both gentlemen-of their power, and each believed she would rather have danced with him. Meantime, Marian, tired of dancing, was seated in a large arm-chair, talking very gayly with several gentlemen. At a little distance Mr. Waldron was very busily looking over a book of illustrations. Once when two of the gentlemen had OR, HOW GIRLS LVE. 35 left her for a moment and a chair by her side was vacant, he arose, walked a step or two towards her, then turning hastily, left the room, and did not return again. As they were about leaviag, Lucy, leaning on Mr. Scott's arm, said to Marian: 'I am corling to spend to-morrow evening with you." "I am glad," was the answer. "You must come, too, Carrie, it will be very pleasant. Lucy looked at Mr. Scott, Marian understood her, and turning to him said: "I should be very happy indeed to see you also. Can you not induce your sister to come? We were at school together, she may remeniber me. We shall have quite a nice, cozy time," Ie promised, highly delighted that he was so soon to meet his- charming partner. Sheequally pleased, talked about him half the way home. "Did I not make an acquaintance nicely with his sister, an ugly young thing, to whom Ihave never spoken a dozen times?", observed Marian. You are a good manceuvrer; I wish I were, that one would think I had no tact even, but I have a great deal; yet to mancuvre, especially for - gentlemen, is:very repugnant to me; I could not do it ifi Wished. But I am naturally prudish, and cannot possibly pay gentlemen the compliments you do," answered Lucy. "Pardon me," answered Marian angrily, "your * * 'a page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 MARAar, MLWOOD; prudishness, of which you do so well to remind us, seems to have deserted you altogether; and if your memory is as good as I have so often heard you declare it, you may remember it was at your suggestion that I acted as I did."' "My suggestion! I was never more surprised at any thing in my life than I was when you turned to invite Mr. Scott. Independent and peculiar as you are, I was perfectly astounded to hear you so cordially invite a comparative stranger to your house. I couldneer, never, never have done it. But I will not quarrel with you, you said truly that our styles are different." "Thank God that they are!" was Marian's re- joinder. "After all," she thought, when she reached her room, "after all, the world is full of deceit;; ,men deceive women, and women return the compliment. I believe the only difference is that men are true to one another, while women Who could have believed that of Lucy! Forever lecturing me on my conduct, and acting so herself. the coquette! I believe that is the difference between a flirt and a coquette; a flirt smiles on all alike, a coquette flatters each one individually. And, Gustave not even to speak to me. I have become ,so accus- tomed to his attentions that I hardly know how to live without them. But Elinor was right-yet it seems so mean to act so-but they deserve it. Elinor was right, wholly right.! That Lucy! Well, I'll never believe in anybody again, man, OR, HOW GEI V. 37 woman, or child. And so now Gustave is paying attentions to Lucy; which will he find truest? Truest? Am I not true But I will not think of it. They are all false, and must be punished. Those foolish, sentimental girls, an hour ago sigh- ing and blushing round me; how little do they know of man's perfidy and their own future misery. Thank Heaven! I am wiser. 'Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise.' What am I saying? Oh, that my beauty were as bright as the morning star, my heart and will of sternest iron, that I might repay them! The enchantment is as great and blissful as it is false andfleeting. Yet I shall ever be free!" page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 38 MAIA3 ELWOOD; CHAAPTER ITV. "The Spirit of Beauty lives, and breathes, and les,' In a home more pure than all morning skies, In the innocent heart itloves to dwell When it comes with a sigh or tear to'tell Sweet visions that flow from a fount of love To mingle with all that:s pure above." IT was impossible for Marian to conceal her in- dignation at Lucy's ungenerous conduct; and it was nearly two weeks before her coldness at all diminished. Her unwonted politeness and formali- ty were apparently quite lost on Lucy, who met her with as much cordiality as ever, and laughed and talked as though utterly unconscious of Mari- an's marked reserve; this irritated Marian, and her anger found vent in several very sarcastic speeches, which were received by Lucy with a "don't be disagreeable, my pet." Marian was vexed at herself that she could not, under an appearance of equal friendship and unconsciousness, repay Lu- ey for her ingratitude; but Marian-strange mix- tute of art and nature, of dissimulation and candor -could in no way act such a part. For years she and Lucy had been " intimate," each was as much at home in the other's house as in her own, and OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 39 Marian missed her very much. One morning, about two weeks after this their first misunder- standing, Marian suddenly determined to go to Lucy's house, and learn whether she was really the simple friend she seemed, or as deceitful and artful as Marian half suspected. She was never long about any thing, and in an incredibly short- space of time she was on her way, trying to excuse Lucy, and beginning to believe she had misunderstood her in regard to Mr. Scott, and half repenting her suspicions and coldness. In this amiable frame of mind, she reached Lucy's steps, and was about to ascend when Gustave Waldron met her; she bowed gracefully, he colored vividly, bowed con- fusedly, and she ran up the steps to 'avoid speak- ing; she was sure he had intended calling on Lucy, and this not tending to restore her confidence in Lucy, she would have left only a message and gone home, had not Mrs. Merton appeared in the hall, and seeing Marian,-immediately insisted upon her entering. ' Lucy is in the drawing-room," she said. "Carrie Sibley is spending the day with us; you must take off your things and do the same. No answer; I insist upon it. Mr. Seymour Scott, a young friend of the family, is with them, and I must run back to chaperone them, not that I think it necessary, but it appears better." . "But I really must not stay," began Marian; "my mother-" "Will know you are here. So, say no more. page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 MAIARaN ELWOOD; Will you cp)me to my room to take off- your things? How did you enjoy yourself at Mrs. Brown's? A nice little woman, quite aristocratic, too, notwithstanding her plebeian name. I don't quite like the appearance of Lucy's having gone without a married lady.,' "O, pshaw! every body does it." "Not the very elite, I think. Mrs. La Roche never allows Eugenie to go out without a married lady, and Mrs. La Roche is very aristocratic." "But Mrs. La Roche has not been ten years in the United States, and Eugenie is a perfect doll- baby-afraid of the sound of her own voice." "It is a French custom, I know, but I like it. It makes a division between the best families-the real aristocracy-and-the parvenues whose daugh- ters are ashamed of their mothers. We need some dividing line. Let me take your hat. Not, my dear Minnie, that I am undemocratic, only that *I am far, far from being a socialist, or having the slightest socialistic tendency. But to return, I like Mis. Brown; her parties are decidedly rechereAhs. Lucy is so wholly free from personal vanity, that I do not mind the numerous compliments that are made to me for her; Lucy's pride will not allow any to be made to her face, and I have been told by several that Lucy was considered by, far the handsomest lady present. You were there, did you think so?" "Oh, of course, she was the star. No one else could be even glanced at." OR, nOW GIRLS LIVE. 41 "So Mr. Waldron said to me, and Mr. Scott said the same to Carrie. I cannot, sometimes, help wishing young men would be less profuse in their praises to our friends, though .Lucy is too wholly free from personal vanity, for me to fear their effect upon her. Shall we go down? You will find smaller pins on this cushion. Mr. Scott is evidently much pleased with Lucy; but, sweet child! she is utterly unconscious of the fact, and I must beg you not to mention it; her perfect in- sensibility, unconsciousness of her own beauty and power, is so charming, that I would not have it destroyed. I have made inquiries about Mr. Scott, and I find he is a nephew of J. Worthington Scott, who, you may remember, married a second cousin of a French Count, with a very unpronounceable name. This Mr. Scott's mother was a Fairfax, one of the first Virginian families, and is connected with the Seymours, as his name would suggest. He visits the La Roches, the Elliots, the Wheat- ings, and, in truth, all our best families. His father is immensely wealthy. Are you ready? His family is in every way highly respectable and well connected, his brother having married an El- liot, and his eldest sister is engaged to--, Marian was never more glad to see a human face than when her entrance into the library cut short Mrs. Merton's eloquent account of Mr. Scott's connections, relations, and ancestors. Mr. Scott closed a book he had been reading, and bowed page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 MARIAN!ELWOOD; rather stifly to Marian:;: Carrie pressed her hand warmly, Lucy kissed her affectionately. "Your mother left me no choice," said Marian, "but would have me come in." "I should-never have forgiven her had she not," answered Lucy. "But you must not let me interrupt your reading, Mr. Scott. You were reading when I came in, were you not?" "Yes." "Then let me entreat you to go on. When 1 have found some work, in Mrs. sMerton's basket, I will be quiet as a mouse." "How have you been.? Why haven't you been to see me?" asked Lucy. "I have beeri angry at you," was Marian's frank reply. "I am very sorry, and am wholly unaware to what cause I owe your indignation.'? "To one not, at present, worth discussing." "Nothing but a silly girl's imagination, I amn sure," interposed Mrs. Merton. "Lucy is too kind- hearted to offend any one; and I am confident, Marian, any unpleasantness between you, must be your own fault. Mr. Scott, will you finish that, canto? Though by no means the best inChilde Harold, I can never hear it read often enough." Mr. Scott complied with her request, not seeming to notice Lucy's suppressed yawns, and desperate endeavors to appear interested; when he had finished, Irs. Meiton remarked that OR, ow GIRLS LIVE. 43 "there was a very great smoothness in all Byron's poems, a tingling music that she liked." "What strength and vigor he puts into those dry Spenserian stanzas," exclaimed Marian. "'The castled crag of Drachenfels.' O! how I should like to go to Germany!" ' "You were some time in Europe, I believe, Mr. Scott," asked Mrs. Merton. "Was it lately?" "Nearly two years ago." "You studied there, I understand? "I finished my studies in Paris and Germany." '"You remained some time?" "In all about two years." "I presume you visited London, Paris, Rome, Naples, and Venice?" "Only flying visits. Much of my time was spent in Strasburg. I was some weeks in Venice, and two months in Munich." "Beautiful Venice! City of Song! It fairly makes my heart ache to hear of all those places, and yet not see them," Marian said. "You may,"' remarked Mrs.- Merton. "I have never had any great desire to go to Europe, I like my own country very well; but as everybody goes, I suppose Lucy and I must too." "It is a good fashion," laughed Marian. "O, that my father and mother would follow it! But, Mr. Scott, do tell us about Venice; is it all we- we imagine it? "I was full of romance when I went there, but was not disappointed. It is a lovely city." page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] " MARIAN ELWOOD; "I rather think I should prefer to visit a hand- some city, and that I imagine Venice is not," Marian said. "You like" castled crags,' gigantic mountains, frightful precipices, and roaring waterfalls," sug- gested Mr. Scott. "Exactly; your penetration surprises me." "Venice has lost much of its grandeur, I pre- sume, since the days when the Doge wedded the Adriatic?"This came from Mrs. Merton. Very much," answered the gentleman. "Were you ever at court?" asked Lucy. "Where?" In Paris, or London?" "I never had that honor." 'Did you see Abbotsford? and, better still, Kenilorth Castle?" asked MissSibley, who had been reading Sir Walter Scott's Kenilworth. ' Yes, both." "Do you claim kindred with Sir Walter?" inquired Mrs. Merton. - "I wish we could, but cannot." "How did you feel when you saw Kenilworth Castle?" asked Carrie. . "I cannot describe my sensations, as I stood among its ruins, and as a stone fell from under my feet, I thought that perhaps the stately Elizabeth had once pressed it."- "And you preserved it." "No, it was too much trouble. In truth, my visit to Europe did me but little good; I was young, OR, HOW GIRLS LrVE. 45 and much more interested in old folios and libraries than in any thing else, besides being so disgusted with the arrogance of every shallow-pated boy, whose father had permitted him to make the tour,' and who returned home about as wise as he left." "You are severe." "Not unreasonably. I went to Europe because from my earliest- youth I had had a passion for travelling and for books. I went to study, to in- prove my mind, not that I might talk of dukes and counts, marchesas and princesses.' "You have certainly made your observations instructive and interesting to us," Mrs. Merton remarked, intending a compliment. Marian fairly trembled with -her efforts not to laugh, which Mr. Scott saw; he colored angrily, but made no reply. "One question more," Marian said, as soon as she could recover her voice. "Were you in Madrid or Cadiz?" "I visited both, and saw many more black eyes than I shall see again, or soon forget." "You are an admirer of black eyes?" "No," he answered, with emphasis; "the German type of beauty pleases me best." "Now we are even," Marian said, gayly. "Carrie, come sing for me." "How do youlikehim?" asked Carrie after they had sung a little. "Not much, he is so taciturn and conceited. I page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] " AEIAN ELWOOD; was thinking all the time that getting information out of him, was like unravelling crochet' work that has been tightly and unevenly made; don't you know, how after ever so much trouble, you start a; thread, that goes a stitch or two, then hitches, you pull and pull, then it goes again, and so on to the end, if you are patient, like Mrs. Merton. I am not patient, so I throw away the crochet work, and shall make no more attempts to unravel it." "I think he is in love with Lucy." "I should not be surprised. See! Mrs. Merton has. gone away, evidently on purpose to leave them ttete-tete. So we must amuse ourselves here." -WhichI. am very glad to do, for I want to talk. I am very blue, and shall feel so much better for a talk with you." "Are you 'in love' again? "No, no. Why should-I love? it willnever be returned." "Nonsense! Some one will come one of these days and love you as truly as ever a man loved." " But I am so different from other girls." "Y ou are exactly like all others: very senti- mental, and up like a rocket." . "No, I am not :-beauty, wit, and grace, all that renders woman attrabtive, and secures man's affection, is denied me." "Mrs., Merton has been talking her usual non- OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 47 sense about Lucy's wonderful attractions, I suppose, and you were goose enough to believe it, when you know very well she is not as good-looking as either of us, according to Byron, who in a poem to my namesake says: 'Would'At thou, see the secret chain Thathinds us in your humble train, To hail you queens of all creation, Know, in a word, 'tis animation.' Now, Lucy hasn't the least approach to such a charm." "Mrs. Merton, thinks her perfectly beautiful. O that I were! -then I could hope for love; but now no eyes brighten in answer to my smile; no kind heart beats in nison with mine'; no one cares if I am well or ill; no one loves me or ever will. I am so miserable-Oh! that I were beautiful t" "And if you were, you would not be loved. Were you all that a woman can-be-; wete you stately, glorious, as sparkling as the. hampagne you would' be pledged in, as brilliant as the flashing ball-room lights; yet, I willventure to say that for that alone you would never be loved--always sup- posing there is such a thing. The painter might dream of you in his lonely studio, perhaps' gaze with rapturous ecstasy upon your idealized image as it glowed upon his canvass, suggesting visions of immortal fame. Perhaps when the midnight stars were up, half a dozen dreamy poets might seize their pens to write of you: in 'thoughts that page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 e . iARIAX MLWOOD; breathe, and .words .that burm,'.. r, 'words that ,breathe,-and thoughts' that burni, hich is it? I never can quote poetry. Bat, evenonis d os imouz to s- to: the 'dreamy poet's', you: might be :their muse, their inspirer, scarcely their: lady l:ve. I dotnIt mean. .your /being 'bIeautifil wou, d prevent your,' being lvedionly say i oftl'6f isil not win love. -Y o . , ,Your i -t ; ': ;' d say, love you, mdst' beaUtjful arrie i iove you, and long to call you mine. I love you youf r bloom. ig cheeks, yourspa rkti eyes, 'andi statea y step, :as I love my favorite -horse for his gracefl form andglossy idesbut Ilve i yve m ioreor mnoteT bgautil Van he*! It isnothingto me if hyou bayh hieart, Q1 iSjAt, ord inrtellect:oi but;know you are :'eauif ,xeeedingly and that: I love ou. o e:w wouli you -,fanoy illingup a misc laneous oollcati of beautie?"? I - ' " ,fYou'make hngs sotnad aso,'queer i-f:. I' I'am ever loved, 1itshall be for mysef? by a man of hon. or and; intellect, hose warm ahd -generious heart wd l'find mia ifeea friendr an a companion." ,.,4Admirably. asp!oken! a ]:!'.ut, am.: eie, if you want-t tat" you:: must, gie up 'sentimentality; 'ind somet hinWg iwhicht you like ;bSetter:' stil-ahy novels,. I wjsh oi:.crle :,hea 'my umothe r talk aboutfhoveliS;. St 1,says ; and I .,nowit, that there is -:no6ievil : hiLch :b ghts- the ;.energies o: young :Amrieiae girl more than this." e' . ' HW tioXt. - ;?dnar:if\a . lik, *. e': -t . " "How! -,I Wmonder,if a girl like either. of' us, OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 49 who spends her time in greedily devouring bad grammar, and morbid sentimentality, living on the exaggerated emotions of impossible lovers from year to year, is either fit for intercourse with re- fined and cultivated society, or capable of inspiring the love and esteem you talk so much about?" "But I don't read many, and no bad ones, only those everybody reads, and they have no effect upon me; I forget them as soon as read." "You may forget the actual incidents, but the impression is not lost, and it enervates you; women have feeling enough, what they want is strength, courage, energy, and novels don't give that. They are any thing but bracing. I have any number of faults, but, thank Heaven, I never read one of this sentimental class that I do not feel keen remorse for it afterwards." "But men like us better for our weakness." And because they would not have you strong enough to master them, firm enough to rebuke them, you would destroy all that is good in your soul, and for the poor, paltry boon of their love, crush out your better nature, and consent to make yourself lower than they!" "'But I want some one to love me-I am so weary and lonely. I would do any thing to be loved." "Would you? Then, Mademoiselle, when you go home to-night take your ' selected novels,' and put them ini the furnace; then vow never to read another without your mother's approval. After- 3 page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] 50 MARIAM ELWOOD; read, study, and learn that which will keep you in continual intercourse with high and gifted minds. Do not think of love until you are twenty at least, that gives you four years to make yourself worthy of a good husband. Then if you meet with one worth loving, (and that you will not, she said in- wardly,) one who has elevated and adorned his mind; who has studied nature, and learned its deepest and holiest beauties; who has turned the pages of the Past, and gathered the knowledge of good things from its dim recesses; who has felt the loftiness of virtue, and the loveliness of truth; then will you know the sympathies of noble hearts; then wind around your gifted husband a chain of mighty love which no power can break, and if ever the arm of true affection is- thrown around you, and cultivated intellect feels you its sympathizer and friend, then, Carrie, I am sure you will bless the day you roused yourself for thought and. ac- tion." "Do you do all this?"Carrie asked, after a few minutes' silence. "'No," answered Marian, slowly and mournful- ly, "for I have no hope of such a reward to aid me." "Why? what do you mean?" "Never mind. Sing something," "Don't you want to be loved, don't you expect to be?" "Do you think I care for that which the meanest kitchen girl scarce prizes, and the want OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 51 of which the veriest beggar has not always known?" "Have you then no dreams, no ambition?" ( Yes, my dream is to be beautiful, because beauty brings power, homage, admiration; be- cause I despise men, and their slow, weak, false- hearted affection. By beauty I could triumph over them! I would they had but one heart, that it might writhe at my feet. I would be beautiful, because I would not walk among the common of the earth. But I am only Minnie Elwood, nothing brighter nor better;-and Mr. Scott is going, we must go back." "How do you like Mr. Scott? Mrs. Merton asked of Marian, after he had gone. Marian re- peated the remarks she had made to Carrie, all which Mrs. Merton very naturally attributed to jealousy. "You are wrong," she replied, with a conclu- sive air. "You are wrong. He has remarkable talents, and is very well educated, not in the least conceited; his manners, so far from being disa- greeably reserved, are really quite easy, though with a little hauteur, acquired, I presume, by his intercourse, while abroad, with aristocrats and no- bles. He was presented at court in Bavaria and Austria, has dined with any number of dukes and earls, so, of course, we cannot be surprised that he has brought back. to his native country an air of haughtiness which, I imagine, with those he likes he quickly lays aside, as I see nothing of it now." page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 MARIAN2 ELWOOD; "Now, I like a haughty gentleman, if he keeps it up well; but a man who has dined with titled foreigners, has been in no better company than if with gentlemanly Americans," said Marian. "And perhaps not in as good company," sug- gested Carrie. "More than likely," Marian answered. "But I am glad, my dear Mrs. Merton,"' she added, that you like Mr. Scott, as his father and mine were once partners3 and are still fast friends, and I introduced him." "That cut went home, whispered Carrie. "She can't boast of him to us any more." And Mrs. Merton was silent. Now go we to prepare a home for Marian far from the heartless city, and when the weary winter- months have gone by, when the cold spring winds have had their brief sway, and the generous hand of sunny-eyed June has dropped a few blossoms even into the lap of the dull land dusty city, we will come again for her, and take her to the wild woods, nature's free and favorite home. OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 53 CHAPTER V. "There is a spot where Freedom's morning beam Bursts every cloud.--My words now turn to thee, Thee, MASSACHUSETTS I home of liberty." "His eyebrow dark and eye of fire, Showed spirit proud and prompt to ire." " IF thy name Mary, maiden fair?" NATURE was in a generous and glorious mood when she freely lavished her loveliest and grandest blessings on the "Old Bay State." Who that has ever ridden through Massachusetts' romantic roads, wandered in her shady groves, mused beside her low murmuring brooks, or watched some glorious sunset gilding the hill-tops, and throwing long folds of glory over the fields and rippling wa- ters-who, Massachusetts, that has ever seen thee, loves thee not? Amid the numerous gems that bind the haughty brow of this glorious eastern queen, there gleams none brighter than a tiny brilliant, shining, flashing with all its might in an obscure corner, half hidden by a great, big, irregular diamond, that is deter- mined to monopolize the whole world's attention: this little jewel is Westoiville, a long drive from page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 MAEIAN ELWOOD; the goodly city of Boston, but such a pleasant drive that no one minds it, save, perhaps, the plodding stage-horses, insensible to beauty, that six tines a week go over the ground. It was a very pretty place-Westonville ;-one little church pointed its white spire up to the deep, blue sky, anumber of cottages, surrounded by the loveliest possible gardens, nestled lovingly around it, while like grand people at a country festival, some larger, finer houses stood at a distance, beautiful in their solitude. The largest of all these latter buildings, was a yellow brick house, with projecting windows, and balconies beautifully adorned with early green, clustering vines; .it had a great old-fashioned entrance, a heavy iron knock- er, all old style; indeed, it was the proprietor's boast that it was none of your new-fangled ginger- bread fixings, this house of his. No ; it was a substantial, comfortable dwelling,'where a man has room enough for his friends, if they are willing to live in a Christian manner, but if they wish for the "flesh pots of Egypt," why*--they won't find them in Mr. James Weston's house-that is certain. Mr. Weston-the proprietor-found nothing su- perfluous about his house and grounds, unless, indeed, a fair Hebe, that, in some strange mood, he had placed in a rose-covered bower, at some distance from his mansion, and all the summer day she pours sparkling water into a never-filled basin at her feet, and during the moonlit summer nights, you can see her white form through the shadows, OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 55 and hear the gentle falling of the water as she works at her monotonous task. Mr. Weston's ancestors were the founders of Westonville, and he was the great man of the place; families like his are, unfortunately, fast fading from the country: perhaps it was for that reason that the good people of Westonville clung with reverence to the last of the Westons, a tall, strongly built old man, with stern, dark eyes, and lordly air. He was an old bachelor; had seen much of the world in his youth, but had lived now for years and years in his antique yellow house with no other inmates than his patient housekeeper, the equally patient gardener, and a little maid of all work. Mrs. Martin, this queen of housekeepers, deserves something more than a passing notice. She was small in person, but in kindness and patience she was great indeed. The hand of time had stolen many a youthful charm, but had failed to destroy one atom of the honest good nature that in her early youth had made her a universal favorite in her native Westonville; she was neat, orderly, economical, systematic, and most rigidly pious, but her most laudable virtue was her never- failing, -all-enduring' patience with Mr. Weston. Once only,-and she often shuddered at the remembrance,-she undertook to suggest to Mr. Weston that with a little care he might avoid the numerous accidents-such as inkstands losing their equilibrium, which ruined chairs and carpets by the dozens,-but Mr. Weston, in answer, had page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 MARIAN ELWOOD; addressed words to her which silenced forever that worthy woman's complaints, and extinguished her last hope of his reformation. "Mrs. Martin," said Mr. Weston, one morning, to her-"Mrs. Martin, if it would not seriously inconvenience you, I should like you to come to my library as soon after your breakfast as you can. I have something I wish to tell you." "Yes sir," she answered, and straightwaybegan to wonder and ponder what this unusual summons could mean. Mr. Weston, she noticed, appeared gravely important, with a shade of dignified 'an- noyance. With memory sharpened by her fears, she recalled every action of the past few-months, but her conscience acquitted her of -any word or deed which could have brought about such a strange and portentous request, and it was with a trembling hand and a foreboding heart that she knocked at Mr. Weston's door, and as she sat trembling on the edge of one of his chairs, her usually calm face wore a look of undeniable distress. iMr. Weston, anxious to put her at her ease, began as far-from the subject as possible. "' Mrs. Martin," he observed from the depths of his huge arm-chair-"Mrs. Martin, pray be as com- fortably seated as possible." Then there wasa pause. "I presume," he continued-' I presume I 'do not err in saying that we have had a cold, late spring?" "Very cold, sir." y, OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 57 "I may say an uncommonly late, unpropitious spring?" "Uncommonly late, sir.' "So much so that I presume, Mrs. Martin, you have been considerably delayed in performing your usual household duties?" "Considerably, sir," she answered, wondering slightly what all this introduction meant. "I regret very much that it is so, I assure you; for you understand, Mrs. Martin, that disagreeable as the rubbing and scrubbing to which you annually subject this house most unquestionably is yet I am the last man in the world to complain of a necessary annoyance. I was always so. But I am happy tq observe a favorable change in the weather, a change, you understand, that bids me hope much for nature's growth, and, allow me also to observe, for your house cleaning." "Yes, sir," answered Mrs. Martin, perceiving she was expected to say something. "Yet," he continued, in a deep, solemn voice- "yet cold and bleak as are our New England winds, severe as is our New England climate, yet have we reason to be grateful to a kind, overruling Providence, which, in consideration of no merit of ours, has not cast us on a rougher, bleaker, far less grand and beautiful shore. You understand,-Mrs. Martin, that as an older person than you I have seen more; I have spent several winters beneath a cold Canadian sky, many in Maine and Vermont, and I may therefore, I presume, not be convicted of 3* page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 MMARIAN ELWOOD; presumption, in saying that I know something of rough and cold climates?" "Not at all, sir." ," Yes, Mrs. Martin, I have lived much in cold and changeable climates. I consider myself as well able to judge of the weather as any man you may happen to know. I have a very large organ of observation, very large indeed, it has been univer- sally remarked. In truth, you understand, a great deal of tact, observation, and pliancy are necessary to get through the world well, and it is to these qualities, that I, in a great measure, owe my success. But to return, I have invariably noticed that a mild winter such as we have had, is followed by cold,unsettled weather, but once the spring or summer fairly sets in, it is mild and pleasant :-you will soon see that I am right. Have no fears then, Mrs. Martin, for your ability to give our house all the renovation it may need. But it was not to speak of this only, that I have trespassed upon your time and patience. 'You are aware, I believe, Mrs. Martin, that I have a sister, much my junior, named Mary, who married a New York merchant, a Mr. Henry Elwood, a rather wealthy, pretty intelligent, but a proud,. stern man. Now, you understand, my sister Mary was a good girl, a very good girl indeed-sometimes, it is true, a little wiiful, but in the main a stanch, honest New England girl, a thorough yankee, and as such, I considered her a world too good for iEwood. I told her so repeatedly, but she would not listen to OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 59 me; I opposed the match, I considered it my duty; ,but I opposed it in vain. I saw she was deaf to the voice of her own1 interest, so I washed my hands of the whole matter, and as she would not be guided by my age and experience, I said no more. She married; for some years I heard nothing from her; after that time a cordial invitation to visit her in her new home, joined to a desire to witness her- reported happiness, induced met go and see her' in New York. I found her very-little changed, living in elegance and gayety, and with the excep-- tion of a little foolish anxiety about her children, very clear-sighted and sensible. She has but two children, a son, I presume to be about fifteen years of age; a daughter considerably older. I do not know her exact age, but as my sister writes me that it is some time since she left school, and that she has been considerably in company,'I presume, you understand, that she must be quite grown up, probably about twenty-three years of age;--how time flies! I have this morning received a letter from Mrs. Elwood, and it is of its contents I wish to speak to you. "My sister writes me that Mary Ann, her daughter, has spent the winter gayly, and in good health, but that lately she has grown nervous and low-spirited, and she is not willing to go to a watering place, wisely thinking rest far better for her. I have no doubtt that is all imagination; my sister spoils her. Mrs. Elwhod implores me in the most urgent manner to have her daughter page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] 60 MARIAN ELWOOD; spend the summer here, hoping the country air and judicious management will bring her back to her accustomed health. I think it requires nothing but common sense to see, you understand, that the girl has stuffed herself with candies and ice-creams, danced all night, and slept all day, read trashy nov- els worse than poison, until she has lost her health and spirits. However, she will soon learn that we have no lazy, lounging, die-away dyspeptics here. She will soon come. In the mean time, every prep- aration, necessary for her comfort, can be easily made. I desire no luxury for her, no pampering to a silly girl's vanity; let all be plain, but comforta- ble., Should you require other assistance than Catharine can render, do not hesitate to procure it but, you understand, Mrs. Martin, my niece is in no way to interfere with the position you have so long and so ably occupied." Hie made her a grave, formal bow, and with an old-fashioned courtesy she left the room. Sadly she left it; sorrowfully she bent her steps to her own "apartments," for deep melan- choly sank into her heart, and- clouded her brow; with the prophetic eye of grief, she saw her dearest rights invaded, and her "household gods" demol- ished, by the fashionable hands of a city lady. Her unpleasant meditations were interrupted by meeting, in the hall, Dr. Augustus Emery, a young physician, but an old favorite with the people of Westonville. "Good morning," he said on meeting her- OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 61 "Good morning, or, in fashionable Hibernian phrase, 'the top of the morning to you, ma'am.' But," he added, noticing her unusual dejection- "but in plain, downright Anglo-Saxon, tell me where has flown thy ready smile, bright as the beaming of a thousand stars? where thy joyous welcome that was wont like manna to revive my desolate spirit? Where are they now? And why is gloom upon thy brow, and sadness in thine eye? "You are so funny, doctor," Mrs. Martin said, by way of answer to the doctor's rhetoric. '"Yet it does my heart good to hear'you." "But what answer are you to make to my anxious inquiries? Hasten to relieve my sus- pense." "I am so worried- "What can have so disturbed you? The squire, has he suddenly betaken himself to his long home? Has Kate burnt, spoilt, or in any way damaged the mince pies you have so long promised me-or--" "Worse than that-I should not mind-- "Worse than that!" interrupted the doctor. "Let me think; the squire, has he fretted, fumed, worried, scolded, or been angry? Has he over- turned another bottle of ink, or spoilt another car- pet? Come, ease your mind; I am sure this fear- ful secret cannot wear an aspect of deeper woe, than do the calamities I have mentioned." "I'll try," she replied, while, hat in hand, the page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 MARIAN ELWOOD; handsome doctor balanced himself on the banis- ters. "I'll try-but if Mr. Weston knew-but it is no secret, only that he would perhaps rather tell you himself-he always likes to be the first to tell any;news." "I will listen to him with just as much sur- prise-" "But that would be the same as a falsehood." "O, no, because, you understand, he, likes to be the first to tell a story, because he enjoys the surprise with which it is received; now, if I mani- fest as great an amount of astonishment, he will be just as much delighted." "Well, I don't know-I suppose he'll tell you himself." "Now, open thy heart; be no longer charged with a secret that hangs heavily upon it. Speak! Speak or--I-go!" "Well, Mr. Weston's niece, from New York- he says-I should not mind so much-only she is very genteel, I suppose, and-" "But what has Mr. Weston's niece to do with us2?" "That's just it." "Certainly." "Ikknow nothing will be nice enough for her; I know these city ladies so well." "She is coming here?" "Yes, sir; didn't I tell you?" When is she coming?" "I guess in a week or two." OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 63 "A young lady coming here! Why, that's jolly! And the squire, what says he to this new arrangement? I wonder if she's good-looking. Have you ever seen her?" "Never. Poor fr. Weston! It will be such a change for him. He will be worried to death with all her airs and fussing. Think, doctor, he has always had every thing his own'way, and his niece will have her way, or she is no relation of his. And then Mr. Weston, who scarcely sees half a dozen ladies a year. They will quarrel all the time, I am sure." "I hope so! But it is glorious,-Mrs. Martin! I prime! The very best joke of the season! Our old rusty, crusty squire, accommodating his lengthy strides to a New York lady's gentle pace! Jolly! It is the' best thing I know of-only rivalled by your mince pies, which, on the word of a medical man, are beyond all praise."' "Fine day, squire," he said, five minutes after- wards in Mr. Weston's library. "Yes, doctor; or, to speak more truly, I take your word that it is; to me it seems very gloomy and unusually dull." The doctor laughed, "Mademoiselle?" he asked. "Mademoiselle who?-Has Mrs. Martin been telling you? Just like these womenkind-can n4ver keep any thing to themselves." "Don't be unjust to Mrs. Martin; I saw your unusual depression; was it strange I guessed the page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] " MARBIN r3LWOOD; cause? For there is never in this world any bother, fuss, trouble, dejection, vexation, wrong, or anxiety, but some feminine is at the bottom of it." "I ought to resent that by every law of gallantry." "But you are compelled by every law of truth to admit it. But-hang the women! only as a reward for my 'cute guess, you might tell me a little about Mademoiselle." "There is nothing whatever to tell; nothing that would interest you. I have a sister married in New York, she has an only daughter. and like most mothers with only daughters, she cannot see her for a moment quiet, you understand, without being alarmed; and iy sister imagining her daughter is losing her health, has desired me to take care of her for the summer." "You are not to leave Westonville!" "O no, I have no such intention, my niece spends the summer with us." "O, the mountain comes to Mahomet?" "If you choose to take it so." "Well, but hang the women!-any news, squire?" "I have done nothing more than glance at the papers." "Well, how gets on your auto-biography?" "Steadily, steadily, but surely." "How soon will it be finished? I long to see it fairly launched forth upon the sea of life. Even now I imagine the consternation of the little fishes, OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 65 and the big fishes, the whales, scorpions, sharks, and sea serpents, that fight ,in literature's turbid waters, when like a leviathan your book will come among them." "Well, the day is at hand; but doctor, you understand I shall not give the world a book unworthy of myself, if any care, labor, or attention on my part can avail me." "A noble ambition, squire, but the world needs your book now." "It is mostly written. I shall speedily send it out into the world like Noah's dove, and if it is not received, I shall take it back,--not mortified that it was unsuccessful, but disappointed that the world was not yet able to appreciate it," "Bravo! It will be the book of books! This niece of yours will give you a capital chance to study female character." "Pshaw 'Women have no character; insipid dolls, the whole of them!" "It won't do to say that when she comes, which will be soon?" "Yes, in a week or two. May and June are much more pleasant months in New York than they are with us; I imagine our chilly winds and half-filled trees will surprise her. In truth, you understand, nothing but the imperative commands of duty and fraternal affection would induce me to have her come. In my time I Was-well-I was- simple enough,-but now-the flirting of fans- tossing of curls-and flashing of eyes-will-well- page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] " MARIAN ELWOOPD; you understand-I am tired, have outgrown a relish for such things." "All humbug, squire. Nature meant you for a lady's man, and all, your art cannot undo her work.' The squire curled his lip, butnade no answer. "I suppose," continued th: doctor, "Miss- Miss--" "Do you mean my niece, ' Miss Elwood?" "Miss ElwoQd, I presume, is just at the age to be sweetly interesting, and fascinatingly beautiful?" "She is over twenty, I believe." "That is jolly! preserve me from bread and butter girls of sixteen and eighteen. I like a w6man who can stand on her own two feet, knows her own power, and can use her mind as well as her eyes. I like a sarcastic woman, keen and cutting." 'Preserve me from such a woman!" "I like a flirt, if she is proud and determined.', "You have never met one, that is evident." "True, but I hope to some day; the worst of it is, these women are never popular; a woman with a smattering of intellect is almost invariably neglected for ,a little simpering, insipid girl. I wonder what the reason is?" ' "Why, witty women are too fierce, learned women too tiresome, proud women too over- powering, and a flirt too despicable." "Well, I must now bid you good morning." "Good morning; remember me to the ladies.", OR, nHO GIRLS LIVE. 67 "I am confoundedly glad," soliloquized the doctor, on his way home-" confoundedly glad we are going to have a respectably educated female here at last. I wonder what this girl is like. I hope she is pretty, smart, and cutting-a real woman of the world-I hate sentimental people. I hope she has a pretty name; the squire has told me the history of his family often enough for me to know her mother's name-hang it!-I wish I could remember-let me see-one's name was Ellen-yes-Ellen-horrid! but very likely if she gate her name to her daughter, the latter has changed it to Helen; Helen-a sweet, pretty name, suggestive of balls, belles, beauty, love, and elope- ments! Helen-a right pretty name, on my medical honor-yes-Helen it must be;--and I don't care if she does have a shade of romantic sentiment, after all-I have too little to allow our conversations to smack strongly of it-yes-Helen -but-no-his sister Ellen is the sharpest faced one, who married Deacon Lester; what was the other's name?-Julia-Jane-Emily-no-Louisa -Caroline--Margaret-Mary-yes, Mary-I know -she married a New Yorker. Yes-Mary, that sweetest, loveliest, dearest of names. That must be hers. Squire Weston told me she was like the Westons; so she has hazel eyes like the squire, but larger, soft, and loving; brown, wavy hair- I hope no curls-a week or two-Mary-what a lovely name! I like the confiding, innocent, unworldly' character that bears that name. We page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68 EMAGIAN ELWOOD; will walk here together at evening, and I will sing 'Highland Mary.' I must practise a little first;-- already I feel 'there is one Mary-one Mary in the world for me.' ShallI have any rivals? Let's see-there's Melville-she'll like him at first, I know-and if he should take a notion to flirt with her-he is handsome-but-I have more knowl- edge of the world. James Elder-but he is a world too natural to please a New York lady Any other?-King--but he never takes with the ladies-probably why, he never tries;-she will scarcely notice him. Miller? his name will finish him-well-I'll try-I'll tell the girls to be the first to call on her. Melville is the only one who will enter the lists-perhaps, after all, it will be better for me to have a rival. 'One Mary in the world for me. ' OR, How GIrIS IVw. 69 CHAPTER VI. "Long expected-come at last." "Gus! oh, Gus! she's come! she's come , cried the doctor's youngest sister, ab6ut two weeks after the conversations recorded in the last chapter, "Who has come? ,- 4"Miss W eston--Miss-oh, what is her name?, "Miss Elwooda--did you see her? Is he pretty?"h "I couldn't see her face could you, Almira? "No," answered the ster addressed, with an ffiectation of indifference, " because I did not care o look.,: . "' pshaw! Ilooked--and Mira, did you see" he whiispered lowi and her brother heard nothing ut "like a hoop., "Yes," answered Mira, aloud, "and so I did. ot care to look at her face. I shall not visit "Perhaps it is the fashion,, suggested the first. "No fashion, Jane, can ever justify a woman in ty thing so absurd and ridiculous.,' page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 MARIAN ELWOOD; "What is the matter?" demanded their brother. "O nothing, nothing," Jane answered, hur- riedly. "I objected to her style of dress," answered the straight-forward Mira. "I think she will care very little for your ob. jections, for she probably knows the fashions as well. But to what do you object? I demand an explanation," said the doctor. "I cannot give it. If you persist in going to Mr. Weston's, you will probably discover to what I allude. Restrain your curiosity." "I have no curiosity, strange to say; for if any thing would make a man curious, it would be the manner in which you act. Did you see her face, Jennie?" "No, she had on a thick veil; but if you are so anxious about her, why don't you go to Mr. Weston's just as if you did not know she were there. Then you can see for yourself." "Perhaps I shall. So, you can't tell whether she is pretty or not?" "No; but she is not graceful-she nearly fell down every step she took, and Mr. Weston had to hold her." "Sweet Mary," thought the doctor, "I must walk with her before her feet have become ac- customed to our stony roads. Halld! King! Hallo " A young gentleman passing the window, turned OR, HOW GIRSl LIS . 71 at the summons, and shook hands with the doctor, bowing to the ladies. "Where are you hurrying?" asked the doc- tor. "I am on my way home. I have just come up from Boston." "In the stage? "Yes." "Did you? Wait a moment, I am going your way. I'll walk along with you." "I shall be very glad of your company." "Well, then, we may as well start." Mr. King raised his hat gravely, and joined the doctor. "Been up to the squire's lately?", asked the latter. "Not for quite a long time. I have been in Boston about a week, and was quite busy the week before. Is he well? "Quite well. Perhaps, as you have been away, you have not heard there is a lady there.", "I knew she, was expected." They walked on some time in silence; at last, the doctor observed, at the same time diligently beating the grass with his cane: "This lady, young or old, whichever she is, has just arrived, I believe.?' "Yes, she came up in the stage.", "In the stage?" "Yes; something was the matter with Mr. Weston's carriage, and rather than wait for it page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 7N2 IMAR IA ELWOOD to be fixed, she insisted upon coming up in the stage." "Then you saw her." "Only for a few minutes; it was quite crowded, so I went outside." "Is she young?" "Quite young, I should imagine; not more than seventeen." "Good! Handsome?" "Bright looking, quite so. Melville admired her so much that he insisted upon remaining in- side." "To look at her?" asked the doctor, quite vexed at Melville. "I suppose so; he seemed to find it a very agreeable occupation." "She must be" a blonde, if Melville" admires her," the doctor observed, inquiringly. "I don't know, really. You know I am not a professed admirer of the fair sex, and though Miss -Miss--" "Elwood." -"Miss Elwood was certainly very nice looking, I did not notice much more." "Doctor," Mr. King said, after a long, long si- lence, "I called on your uncle." "Ah I What did he say?" "That' you were mistaken; or, at least, were too discouraging." "My dear fellow! answered the other, draw- ing his companion's arm through his,-and neither ORB, tOW GnuL Lrv. 73 spoke again until they reached Mr. King's board- ing house. "Well," said the doctor, "I quite envy you for having seen Miss Elwood. I am bound to flirt with her if he is good-looking. Suppose you, and I, and Melville serenade her to-night." "She might not like it.7 "Yes she will; only I am afraid Mr. Weston will take our heads off.' " "Or empty a bucket of cold water on them," said the other, laughing. "I won't risk it. :Good bye; take good care of yourself.", And'the doctorleft, humming One Mary in the world for me;, while Mr. ing en- tered the house, apparently hinking of any thing but a lady. \ ^4' " , ;. / page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 X-MA'TRA, ELWOOD; CHAPTER VII. "One That carries anger as a flint bears fire, Who, much enforced, shows a hasty .park, And straightis cold again." IT was a Sunday morning in June, three days after Marian's arrival in Westonville, and as she appeared at the breakfast table in the loveliest of morning dresses, and with an unusual color, MrI Weston could not forbear a compliment. "Our country air," he said, "certainly im- proves you. I shall be quite proud of escorting so fair a lady to-day." "Thank you, uncle, for the compliment, more for the escort, more particularly as I had not ex- pected either." "You do not imagine me insensible to beauty, I hope; and surely do not fancy I am such a hea- then as to remain home on Sundays?" "Certainly not; but I supposed you would go to your own church." "So I shall; what then?" '"You will not have time t o go both, and, I OR, HOW GBLS LrE. 75 assure you, glad as I should be to have the pleasure of your company, I would not wish to inconvenience / "How inconvenience me?" "Why, Kate tells me our church begins but a little before yours." "In the name of-all that is mysterious, what are you talking about? , "I thought I Was Very intelligible,, larian said, looking up with affected wonder; "very in. t elligible. What have I 'aid that you do not understand?, Controlling his anger as well as he could, he sat a few momeints in silence, 'then in a low, hoarse voice, asled, "Do you intend to go to meeting to-day? rlif by 'going to meeting' be meant attending regious services, I answer, yes, certainly.,' "May I ask where?, "I really thought you- knew the places in Westonville better than I; I intend to go to the nearest Catholic church,. Catholic church I To a papist temple I Re- peat those insulting words at your peril., "What insulting words? The only insulting words I have heard to-day passed the lips of one whose birth and education entitle him to the posi- tion of a gentleman,', Anid, am- I not a man, a gentleman? And have I lived thus long respected by all to be at last a mark for public scorn? , ssy"^*"'"". page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 7r6 MARIAN ELWOOD; "Has anybody made you a mark for public scorn?" asked Marian. "No; but they will. I shall be pointed at, be avoided. Go to your room, and at half-past nine be ready to accompany me." "At half-past nine I shall be at church. You must be ready before nine, if you expect to go with me. Is there sugar enough in your coffee?" "Go with you I Are you crazy, child?" "No, I think not. My mother says there is a crazy vein in our family, but that it goes in the male line." Mr. Weston bounded from the table. "Were you a man-I'd--I'd have satisfaction. Girl, I will--mark my words-one more insulting word. Is-have you not-Is-it-not enough that youo should dare, bold, forward girl-is it not enough that you should dare speak to me-to me, of popery? Go to your room-do you not hear me? Is this, I say-is this not my house?" "I can't say, really, whether you own or rent it-" "Hold your-be silent-I will hear nothing from you-leave the room." "There is no hurry," taking out her watch, "it is only a little after seven, and I need hot dress for nearly an hour yet; besides I have not half finished my breakfast." "Bold, forward girl!," muttered Mr. Weston, walking up and down the room, while Marian but- tered her toast and sipped her cofee; "bold, saucy OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. " girl! Papist! I'll break her proud spirit. Goto a papist church, indeed-I'll die frst." When Marian had finished her breakfast, she lounged carelessly to the windows, and after look- ing at her watch several times, went to her own room. At a quarter before nine, she appeared in the hall. "Where are you going?, asked Mr. Weston. "To church. Am I not to have the pleasure of your escort as far at least as the door? "If you leave this house, and enter a papist temple, you shall never return to it." "Polite, on my word. And what will 'you say to my mother? ," "What shall I say," he thundered, " what shall I say? I'll tell her you've come to bring dishonor on a respectable house, disgrace to an honorable man! What shall I say to her? I'll tell her of your insults-your--stay! , "Uncle, listen a moment-listen to a little reason-" , "I'll hear nothing from you. Be still--, "You must. Listen,-I am a Roman Cath- olic." "At home you may be; but in this house I have no idolaters." "As a Roman Catholic I am bound to obey my Church." "And her vile, crafty priests." ' "I have no time nor patience to hear your free, candid opinions," Marian said, her color rising. page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] '8 MARIAN ELWOOD; "I am willing to give you my reasons for acting as I am about to do; if you will listen, and show yourself a gentleman, and an enlightened one, very well; if you will not listen to what I wish to say, you will prove yourself prejudiced, bigoted, and narrow-minded." His very rage prevented him from answering. "But," she continued, " you are none of the three. My religion, which I firmly be- lieve, and am, therefore, bound in conscience to practise-my religion commands me to attend' church every Sunday. And, think you, because the way is hard, I am to disobey? If I practise my religion when my mother's carriage drives me to the church door, and I have soft cushions to rest on,. shall I desert it when I have a long walk to take, exposed to the wondering eyes of a handful of prejudiced country people? If I do that, do you think I am worthy the name of Cath- oli?" "But it is no religion; it is the mask for crafty Jesuits, and-and- " "Whatever this religion may be in your eyes, in mine it is my Redeemer's. If you believe it is a crime for you to'-to-enter that parlor, and be- cause I tell you it is absurd for you to imagine such a thing; if the whole world rises up and laughs at you for being afraid to enter your own parlor, and you-still believing you are committing a crime, should enter to avoid ridicule - " "But that is not the same. You need not fan- cy you are about to commit a crime. You must . OR, GOW o LIVES '19 .r know all our little town is on tiptoe to see and I intended satisfying their vulgar curiosity. f you are not with me a thusandquestions will be asled. I shall be forced to acknowledge that you went to-a-popish gathering. In an instant, Y" ouill be made a rkfororn. oudo know the prejudices of our little village., "'They ae on tiptoe to see me Is a church then the place for me to exhibitmyself? m I then to break the laws of my church, listen not to the voice of my conscience, violate my duty to my God, because people want tlook at me? Shaie on you, uncle! o e Shame, "I did not mean that at all-but after meet- I will dress myself in my prettiest costume, and with Catharine as a guide, go to meet you, and I promise to endure, without shade ofscorn, the whole battery'of your friends, eyes. If they ask questions, are you' to shrink? Are you not man enough to say your niece follows her own conscience, in preference to their prejudices? They'll scorn me? Let them. I should scornmy. self had I not principle, religion, and character enougn to do my duty in the face of a whole world's opposition. I know it is mortifying to you -- am sorry it is, but Imust go.", "You are determined? , "I am, sir." "You are right,, he answered, ", and it, shall never be said that James Weston could 'not. page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 MARIAN ELWOOD; appreciate firmness, though in an erring cause. I will go with you. Catharine is no fitting guide. Come. Before another Sunday I hope you will have seen the folly of your belief." She-wound her arm in his, and they "argued religion " until at theopen door of the church, if the half hall, half dwelling-house can be so. dignified, he left her, vehemently vowing nothing on earth could induce him to enter that place. On making her way through the crowd, kneeling on the floor around the entrance, Marian seeing no hope of any better fate, was gathering up her dress to kneel with the others on the floor, when a gentleman near her rose, and offered his seat; she hesitated a moment, but he walked quietly away leaving her no choice, and she did not see him again. The hall, as the remnants of partitions remain- ingin a number of places plainly testified, had once been the second and third stori9s of a large wooden dwelling-house. It was rough and wholly un- adorned, excepting, of course, the recess in which was placed the little altar, covered with clean but coarse linen, and decorated with very unpretending candlesticks, and a few bouquets of lovely natural flowers. The benches were hard and few, the congregation was anything but fashionable. Mrs. Merton, had she been there, would have fainted, not from the heat, or crowd, but from the horror of having come for a moment, in contact with "such a class of people." Marian had ample time to notice the uncouth OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 81 faces, and most comically arranged dresses, which, together with the halffinished hall, the bare walls, and short, narrow windows, made a scene of novel interest to her. She was not a little surprised, and perhaps somewhat disappointed, that her entrance caused no perceptible sensation, excepting, perhaps, one or two sly glances, most quickly reproved, and once, something like a whisper. The entrance of the priest put a stop to all these thoughts, for the bowed heads, and fervently muttered prayers of the congregation, were a stern rebuke to all dis- tractions. Meanwhile, Mr. Weston strides away, and impatiently paces the adjoining street till the services are over, half cursing the good-nature that had made him yield to Marian. Now, of all men under the sun, Mr. James Weston prided himself upon his independence, and supreme contempt for any opinions but his own, and for these he had a most marvellous' affection; he stood by them, hugged them, and fought for them indefatigably. For individual opinion he really did care but little, but " what will everybody say," was a thought of fearful power. He was as weak as a child under its influence. As the day advanced, sundry remarkably staid children, with folded hands and demure faces, step- ped slowly and most unchildlike by him, on their way to Sunday school. Now, Mr. Weston well knew that those children had received every one strict injunctions 4* page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 MAcAtN ELWOOD; on leaving their homes, "to look neither to the right nor the left, but to walk as becomes Christian children, on the blessed sabbath;" but few were the childish heads that did n6t turn as they passed him -few the childish minds that did not wonder why Mr. Weston looked so dreadfully cross. At last, there is a movement among the Papists, and any number of little groups are collecting, talking and laughing in a shameful manner, con- sidering the blessed sabbath; now Marian meets him at the corner,- and, impatiently turning a longer way to avoid the Papists, Mr. Weston crossly gives her his arm to guide her stumbling steps. He answers roughly enough to her remarks, and quickens his pace, as several of his early friends pass them stiffly by, bowing gravely to him, and dying for a peep at Marian's face. The village meeting-house was unusually full that day. For the first time, for years, Mr. Weston came late; the minister noticed the dark looks of his congregation, and attributing it to an announce- ment made by him before services, that, in con. sequence of a severe cold, he would be unable to preach that day, was so delighted with this proof of the value of his services, that unwilling to cause pain to so loving a flock, he endeavored, in spite of his cold, to give them a "few words " of extem- pore exhortation. Services over, Mr. Weston closed his hymn- book, gently smoothed the cushions, brushed his hat slightly, as was his wont, put it on, and walked o01R HOW GaLS. IXE. 83 gravely down the aisle. At the meeting-house door, he returned the grave salutations of his friends, and did not even venture to notice the fervent pressure of Dr. Emery's hand. Tohave answered it would have been, in the world's eyes, a far greater crime than losing his temper, and endeavoring to force a young girl under his protection to sacrifice her conscience to his pride and to the village prejudices. The doctor and a young Southern friend, Mr. Melville, walked slowly by his side, both fearing to speak. At last, the doctor dashed desperately into the subject. "We had hoped to see Miss Elwood at meeting to-day. She has not felt fatigued by her journey? "The doctor wants a patient," remarked Mr. Melville, not daring to laugh. "Shall I have one?" "I think not-my niece "-with a great effort- "ny niece has borne her journey very well." "I'm glad," the doctor answered, completely at a loss, and glanping imploringly at Mr. Melville. "Perhaps," suggested the latter--" perhaps our rough village church has no charm for one accus- tomed to the magnificence of the great metropo- lis." "On the contrary, I heard her express herself in enthusiastic terms about it," said Mr. Weston. "Indeed," said the doctor; "she should then see the interior. I am sure it would please her. I regret that she did not." Mr. Weston felt this last observation to be a page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] AIAiRS ELWOOD; question. The truth must out sooner or later, and the sooner the better; still he delayed. "You must bring her this afternoon, by all means," said Melville, as carelessly as he could, though he trembled for his temerity. The idea was a good one-she should go in the afternoon. Mr. Weston's brow cleared. " I shall endeavor to, but you know New York ladies are not quite as strict as our New England ladies." The words had scarcely passed his lips than he regretted them, but did not Pay so,-and the gentlemen looked sur- prised and said no more. As they reached the house, Mr. Weston,'half frightened at the impropriety of doing so, asked them, with the doctor's mother and sisters, to din- ner the next day. They accepted formally enough, and once out of hearing, laughed heartily at their poor success. "Suppose we hunt up King after dinner, and tell him about it," suggested Melville. "It won't do the least good," answered the other; " King don't care a copper for her, and be- sides, will laugh at us." "King never laughed at anybody in his life," replied Melville. "He may laugh with us, but not at us. Besides, his is the only place where one can have an/y comfort on one of your Yankee Sundays; so run home, get your dinner, and meet me there as quickly as possible." The doctor was the first in Mr. King's room; Melville came Soon after, springing up stairs three steps at a time. "sHow are you, King ? How are you, doctor?" he exclaimed. "Congratulate- me, I have seen Miss Elwood again." "Have you?" the doctor said, "you are a lucky fellow." " but she is beautiful beautiful as the morn- ing star. Ernest King! 0 Ernest King! you should have been at meeting to-day I" " She was not there," ,Mr. King exclaimed, with unusual eagerness. "Oh no!" the doctor answered, laughing, " she isn't very pious. By the way, Melville, how de- lightfully the old gentleman insinuated that infor- mation." "Yes," said Melville, "what a queer, lazy piece of femininity she must be if she had no desire to show her bright eyes to-assembled Weston- ville." "I hope to Heaven she was up in time," was the doctor's answer. But seeing Mr. King rather impatiently drumming on the table, he added, "But we are boring Ernest, who don't care a cop- per for any girl in the Republic!" "Not boring me at all, only I think you are unjust to Miss Elwood." "You do-do you? What has either of us 'said except what Mr. Weston told us ? "And what was that ?" "That New York ladies are not as strict in re. ligious matters as our Yankee girls; in plain Eng- lish, that Miss Elwood was too lazy, or too-too- page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 nWMARTAN ELWOOD; had not enough religion to go to meeting, even-on such an occasion." "Perhaps you misunderstood him." "Impossible!" "Then he did not say what he meant; for Miss Elwood is pious, has religion, and a conscience, and -her not going with him to-day proved it." "How do you know?" asked the doctor. "Who can, look at her face and not see it at once?" "So you did look at her?" "A half glance would show that: besides King always takes up for the absent," said Melville. "If they deserve it. Take a cigar." Just think, Ernest, the old squire has actually asked us to dinner," said Melville. "Well, are you going? ' "Well, I rather guess I am. If I don't raise Miss Elwood's ideas of Southerners, my name isn't Billy Melville. By the way, doctor, were you ever in New York?" "Passed: through it on my way to Paris," "I stayed there,one day, once, but don't know any thing about it. I say, we shall have to read up this evening. You had better do the same, Ernest, for you will have an invitation." "I am too lazy, and I don't think I shall bp in- vited." "Yes you will; I'll tell the old gentleman to invite you," said the doctor. "And I will tell the young lady what a nice ORE(, How G SX TXIuE. 87 fellow you are," said Melville. By the way, your majesty has mighty good cigars." "I wish, then, you would preserve their re- mains more carefully," glancing at the table-cover, on which they had thrown their ashes. "I am sure you'll never get-a-wife, you are too particular," said Melville, throwing his feet over a chair, and the conversation turned on more inter- esting subjects. :I , page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 MARIAN ELWOOD; CHAPTER VIII. "Poor wanderers, ye are sore distrest, To find the path which Christ has left, Tracked by his saintly throng; Each claims to trust his own weak will, Blind idol t so ye languish still, All wranglers, all wrong." "MY uncle and I have quarrelled every time we have met, excepting, of course, the first day," Marian said to herself, the same day, as she slowly rose in answer to the dinner-bell. "I wonder what he'll scold about this time. My dress was not in the Westonville fashion; my way of wear- ing my hair, unlady-like; I read with too little expression-; and, worse than all, I did not profit by his instructions. I wonder when he has scolded about every thing, what he'll do? If there were only somebody here to talk to, I shouldn't mind. I wonder if I should know how to talk amiably if I tried. The bell again! Does he expect me to break my neck running post-haste down his dark stairs? Let him ring!" coolly re-seating herself, "perhaps he will some time or another learn that I am not to be hurried." She sat still until the clat- OR, HOw GIRLS LIVE. 89 ter of dishes convinced her that Mr. Weston was angrily beginning his dinner, then she slowly arose and walked to the dining-room. She made a few commonplace remarks, to all of which he returned but rough answers. In truth, he was internally debating how to begin the conversation in regard to the afternoon performances. The most natural plan was to tell her to go, and hear no more about it; but he began to feel that he did not do himself justice in such commands; he had a half distinct idea of trying a gentle, expostulating manner-tell her that he had given in to her in the morning, and demanding the same of her; but then that was rather stooping from his dignity-he could not do that-he would take it for granted that she was going. "I suppose you go with me this afternoon; I shall leave about half-past two, that will give us half an hour to walk there and get seated before the crowd comes; you see I look after your com- fort," and he took great credit to himself for it. "You are very kind," she answered, dreading a quarrel, yet too proud to hesitate an instant in provoking it. "Very kind, indeed, to look so well after me. May I inquire where you are going? I must know, so as to regulate my dress accord- ingly." "Let your dress be neat and simple, that is a young lady's greatest charm." "So I think; but there are different degrees of plainness and simplicity. A dress that is suited page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] -90 WARTAN ELWOOD; for a parlor may not do for a church; a walking dress may not be fitted for a concert." "I understand." "And therefore, appropriate as your advice is, I require further information." ' I supposed you understood me; I go nowhere but to meeting on the Sabbath." "O, I believe there are no afternoon services, the priest said- " "To the devil with your priests!" he thunder- ed, then there was a few minutes' calm, "I am not speaking of popish mummeries, but-H intend to have you go to witness our beautiful and simple services." "O! you want to convert me?" "Yes," he answered, pleased with the idea. "Yes, my dear niece, I would tear from your arms the shackles of popery; release your neck from the yoke of these crafty Jesuits. I would remove the scales from your eyes, and taking you by the hand, lead you from the dark labyrinths of Idolatry and Superstition into the sunshine of Gospel truths." ) "Why, you are' quite poetical: but, pray tell me how you would begin this-this-work." Already visions of venerable ministers and e:ified congregations smiled on his undertaking i : tI' uald take you into our temples, and your own good sense should contrast the simple majesty of our worship with your own mangled mummer- ies., "W( hat are 'mangled mummeries?' "' )vI OR, H0OW GIELS LIVE. 91 "I would give you the Bible, that blessed Book," he said, not caring to heed her question, ",and from its pure, untainted spring, you should drink the waters of life. I begin my mission now," giving Marian a small copy .of the Bible., "Here, read it, and learn to love it." "Thank you, it is such a pretty present!" "May it be an all-powerful and blessed one. You must read it." "I read the Bible every day. Some parts of it, I can never read often enough." "The thirsting after light is within you!" he said, "I honor you, child, for I imagine I see you as you have been pondering in secret its blessed truths. Hee you can read it openly and without fear, no monkish superstition, no monkish ignorance will keep it longer from you. Thank Heaven,"')he mentally ejaculated,. "I shan't have her going any -more to that out of the way church, amongst those low Irish." "Let me be sure that I understand you, sir," said Marian; "I have somewhere read that among the uneducated lower orders, a great, great many years ago, it was actually believed that Catholics were forbidden to read the Bible; so your remarks must be a mocking allusion to their ignorance. I am always so glad when I see the point of a joke, but really I did not give you credit for so much sly wit." "Now, I guess you had better go and put on your things. page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 92 MARIAL ELWOOD; "I guess I shall stay home this afternoon." "O no!" this was very mildly spoken. "I prefer you should go with me-the walk will do you good." "I should like the walk of all things, but can I find the way home?" "I will return with you." She willingly misunderstood him, for she wanted a walk; it was a pleasant day, and except her short morning walk, she had not yet been beyond Mr. Weston's grounds since she first entered them; she was anxious to see how the people looked, and did not doubt she could easily get home again, for she would carefully note the way. So she dressed herself very prettily. "You are too early," Mr. Weston said as she appeared in the hall. " So much the more time for a longer walk," she answered, handing him his hat. They took quite a roundabout way. Mr. Weston told her the names of all the trees, and the inhabitants of all the houses they passed. As they neared the- church Mr. Melville and the doctor joined them. Mr. Weston introduced them, but the first glance of her eyes, the very turn of her head, rather took away theit courage, and as Mr. Weston resolutely kept her arm, they were often obliged to walk be- hind. It was finally agreed, by signs more than by words, that one should engage Mr. Weston's attention while the other commenced acquaintance with Miss Elwood. Both were anxious to perform OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 93 the latter duty, but Mr. Melville was fortunately the fPvored one, he being the first to perceive that her dress was caught in a little bush; he rushed to her assistance. "Our twigs and trees are very unmannerly," he observed. "So they are," she answered. "I ave been regretting my height ever since I came out." "If the branches hit your head," Mr. Weston observed, reproachfully, "you might have asked me, and I would have lifted them for you." "Thank you," she replied, and as they were near'the meeting-house, she added, "had we not better turn back now? "What do you mean?" You invariably answer one question by asking another. I want to go home now." 'Are you not well?" "Quite well. If you think you will not have time to return with me as you intended I will go back alone. I know the way very well." He did not know very well what answer to make, but looked sternly into her eyes; she return- ed it with a glance of well-feigned stupidity, while she withdrew her arm, and turned smilingly from him;^and while he stood thunderstruck, not under- standing one word of Dr. Emery's assurances that he would see her safe home, she, aided by Melville, bowed a graceful adieu, and started on her return. Tightly bottling his wrath, when he found she had really gone, Mr. Weston took the rather indignant 4-,' page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] " MARIAN ELt OOD; doctor's arm, somewhat familiarly for the sabbath, but almost immediately recollecting himself, he dropped it, and spoke gravely and formally of Mr. Clark's (the minister's) extempore remarks that morning. "Are you fond of the country?" asked Mel- ville of Marian. - "I was never in it before in my life, and I am even now almost tired of beauties that, three days ago, enraptured me, . I can easily imagine a per- son's dying of ennui in the country, beautiful as it is. I have come pretty near it myself,' she added laughing. "Already? ' he asked, laughing too. "I can use my eyes well enough, but oh, how ilentt I have been! "We wanted to storm your uncle's castle the first day, but King poured cold water on the pro- ject at the bare suggestion." "Who did?" "A friend of mine, Ernest King, he thought you would not like it." "I am much obliged to him for his kindness; it was unnecessary." ' "I am sorry we listened to his advice, for I am afraid you will find our littlbe illage'ery dull." " no, I hope not, thoughti have been ,tempt- ed to believe there was no onem in t.' - Let me convinte' you to the contrary; I am myself but a visitor yet I like it quite well." OB, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 95 "Do tell me all about the place. The people are terribly puritanic, ar'n't they?" "Rather so, especially on the sabbath." "I presume they will think you quite a hea- then for so kindly guiding me home?" "I don't know, but I am sure it does not do me half so much good to listen to Mr. Clark's seven- teenthes, as it does to have a little rational conversation; and youyouou are of the same opinion, are not you?" he asked, somewhat tim- idly. "I can't profess much veneration for Mr. Clark's seventeenthes, having never been so fortu- nate as to hear them." You will some time?" "O no, I am a Roman Catholic. Who Was that gentleman with you?" "Dr. Emery, your uncle's best friend. He lives in that white house on the hill. His oldest sister has been considered the village beauty; she is a desperate puritan. His other sister, about sixteen or eighteen years old, is agay, lively little creature. Do you see that cigar smoke among those trees? That is my friend King's, the only man in Weston- ville who dares smoke a cigar on Sunday." ' I have already a great respect forhim.." "Then I will smoke too," he said. "No, no, you do it for a foolish motive; put up your cigar," As she spoke they passed by Mr. King. Mel- ville, glad of the opportunity to be seen with Miss page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 .MARIA ELWOOD; Elwoodj redoubled his attentions, while she, under- standing it, looked rather unconscious, though her eyes were brilliant with suppressed laughter. "He is half asleep," she said, provoked that he did not look up. In short, a la Mr. Micawher, so much did each improve upon acquaintance, that on reaching the house Marian invited him in to see Mrs. lMartin, who, however shocked at receiving visitors on such a day, could not resist the magic of Marian's smiles, and was induced to tell them stories,-until Mr. Weston and Dr. Emery, returned from meet- ing,'broke rather suddenly upon the group, which the doctor thought exceedingly picturesque except that Melville was rather comically balanced on a very low stool by Marian. As soon as she saw the doctor, Marian, rising, said she must carry away her things. "Pity you couldn't have thought of that be- fore," grumbled Mr. Weston, "I staid to chaperone Mrs. Martin," she whisper- edas she passed him. She did not return, and after lingering as long as they thought at all right, they departed, the- doctor half inclined to hate Melville for his "Southern assurance," always getting the betterof his-the doctor's-" yankee modesty," and half inclined to believe there was no longer "One Mary in the world for him." OR, HOW GIRLS LVE. 97 CHAPTER IX. "Our church warden, Mr Gray, Invited a few friends to dine, To welcome, in a quiet way, Our grave and ponderous divine. He came-he gorged on soup; on trout; And mixed strange texts with all his cheer; With mouth chuck full le blurted out, '0, could I jnd the gospel here.'" THE next morning, as Marian was reading in the parlor, she heard the stately tread of her uncle along the hall; she instinctively closed her book, looking around for some means of escape, but her first impulse over, she resumed her book and seat, with a gesture of proud defiance. He gravely apologized for interrupting her, and pro. ceeded to inform her that he had invited a few friends to meet her that day at dinner; it was to be a plain country dinner, over which he requested her to preside With the grace and dignity that so well became her. She bowed, and he left her to her meditations. The hour came; Marian, not unwilling to astonish her rustic guests, was dressed with great taste and elegance; the white and rose of her full 5 page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] Q93 MARIAN ELWOOD; flowing dress making a beautiful contrast to her wealth of auburn hair, and bright dark eyes. Her unde, repressing, with great difficulty, a glance of proud affection, muttered something about" vanity" and "folly" as he seated himself by her. The first arrivals were two very stiff, very formal, middle- aged men; they bowed to Marian, then seated themselves onthe edges of their chairs at different comers of the room, without speaking. The next arrivals were Mrs. and Miss Lee: the former tall, thin, and stiff; the latter small, fair, and timid. The minister, Mr. Clark; and his sister, were introduced -with a majestic wave of Mr. Weston's hand. -The minister was a tall, gaunt, cadaverous- looking man, very suggestive of "one foot: in the grave and the other all but 'ere." His sister had ' blue eyes, thin corkscrew curls, a lisp, and a languid air; she intended' patrnizing Marian for the squire's sake, but changed her mind almost immidiately on seeing her. : There :were 'no new arrivals for some time, and Marian, was quite indignant' that her uncle had invited no younger- or' rather -more congenial- persons. "'I suppose," she thought, "4l r. Melville arid I)r. Emery are too well bred for:my old fogie uncle" The minister, considering himself entitled to un- limited attention, seated himself by Marian, and aid- ed his sister in battling bravely against Marian's "city airs," as they, considered her easy manner. Notwithstanding the purpose for which allwere met, no one but Marian ventured on a smile, and hers died )i n u ainVe OE, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 99 away at last'; and when Dr. Emery entering with his sister greeted her. with a cold, formal bow, and dis- played the same taciturnity as all the others, she almost believed they had all entered into a solemn league -and covenant to freeze her. Mr., Melville and Mr. King entered about five or. ten minutes before the summons to dinner. Marian blushed on seeing the former, the minister was speaking to her at the moment, and, of course, appropriated it. - Mr. King was a quiet-looking gentleman, apparently about twenty-five years of age. Mr. Weston had requested Marian to be particulaily attentive to the minister, and as she was dreading the moment when she must link her arm in his, Mr. Melville on one side. and Dr. Emery at the other requested the honor; she laughingly declined, telling Melville he might find room on her left hand; but even as he left her to -secure a lady she saw the minister approach Miss Emery, so as there was no help for it, she accepted Mr. King's offered arm, and, at dinner, sat between him and the minister. "I did not see that you honored our little meeting-house yesterday;, said the latter, as soon as they were seated. "No, I was not there," she replied; "Mmy steps were taken in a very different direction." "Ah!" raising his 'eyebrows; "and may I venture to inquire if you are a Baptist?" Oh, no," she answered, with a pretended page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] r , 100 MARIAN ELWOOD; shiver. "Oh, no; I am something of an Undine in my love for the beautiful water; but I do not expect to get to heaven by being half drowned, not to speak of fever and ague afterwards." At another time this little hit at his rival would have raised the ghost of a smile on the minister's lean visage; but he was now too much intent on discovering to what church she had gone, to notice it. He was preparing another attack, when Mr. King rather abruptly claimed her attention. It did not occur to her that it was done to save her from Mr. Clark, but she, was grateful nevertheless. "Have you seen much of Westonville?" he asked. ( Not much; though I had two delightful walks yesterday. I have seen enough to be certain that it is a beautiful place; a few mammoth rocks, a precipice or two, would be an improvement." "True; the scenery here is calm and lovely, not grand or picturesque." '{I wish it were different; but I shall be very happy, nevertheless; perhaps I shall 'tame my wild heart to like it best as it is." "I understand nowl interposed the minister, "how you spent the holy sabbath. You are, I presume, one of those persons who, under a poeti- cal metaphor, find an excuse to spend the Lord's day in idle thoughts."? "Don't press Miss Elwood too hard," said the doctor, across Mrs. Lee, "You know New York- ersEare not as puritanic as we Yankees." Melville OR, HOW GmLSg, LI. 101 laughed Mr. King looked up, but made no remark. "But my duty is to call back the wandering sheep, and rebuke the sinner,"- replied the minister. I am surprised, Miss Elwood, that one capable of conversing as eloquently of the beauties of nature as you have done, should, so young, turn ifrom na ture's God, to walk in the paths of unrighteous ness.) f righteous. She smiled. "And can you smile so brightly with your in- fidel heart?, he exclaimed. Mr. Kin g's eyes brightened, Iarian thought he enjoyed the insult. She looked angrily at Mr. Clark, and he, shrinking from her scornful eyes, afraid too they would at- tract attention, hastened to say,-- "Perhaps I am hasty, perhaps too plain-spoken. I am rough in the ways of the world, but earnest in the paths of my calling, and an inward voice says to me, 'C-a milk-white lamb is wandering from the shepherds fold, rescue her, and bring her back, that there may be joy among the angels of heaven;, and it is in: answer to this voice that I addressyou now. You are young, I cannot believe you are yet hardened against the maxims of the gospel: May I presume to inquire if all your sabbaths are spent like yesterday? , "I am not aware that I did not spend ester- "And yet you entered not the Lord's temple?" "Pardon me--I did.--. page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 MARIAN ELWOODn; "Ah-- " lifting his eyebrows half incredulously. "I went to the Catholic Church." "'Yet not, for, curiosity's sake should a Chris- tian mingle with the idolatrous heathen J "O, this is. a blessed age!" ' she cried. "And a blessed country, too.. Will you not take some pickles? Do not like them? I am surprised, for " -tin an aside to Mr. King-"I should 'think your minister lived on them"? "You do me too much honor,'he is not my minister."' "Why, are you a heathen; too?" "Yes,--I have borne his attacks alone for a long time; is it selfish that I am glad--" "To have the arrows turned towards me! Shelter yourself behind my shield!" "No; 'but 'misery loves company.' '! Seriously, why have you not come to my res- cue.?" "I think it unmanly to join the stronger party, though I was sorely tempted to do so." ' Our little village has, I presume," said the minister, ' but few attractions for a stranger." ," You dol it injustice; it has many attractions, and many diversions." "Have' you seen our little village church? It is the only one with a steeple." "It was one of the first things that attracted. my attention; it is very pretty." "Its interior is beautiful. May I venture to express a wish to show it to you?" OR, HOW GIRLS* LIVE. 103' "Thank you; I should like very much to see it., Wecan go in'at allttimes, can we not?" "Yes," answered' the :minister slowly, for he was convinced if he could induce her to hear one of his sermons she would be converted immedi- ately. "Yes, but my time is much occupied-I mean-the meeting-house'presents but a dismal appearance on a-.week day." "I would not on any account trespass on your time, and beg to decline your invitation," replied Marian, coldly. A cl9ud came over the ministers brow. What should he .do? He recalled her smiles-remembered something about women's "saying no to that they would have the hearer construe ay," and he determined to lead' her by her affectionsinto the fold. "For after all," he thought, " women never reason X why did I expect -it?" He forthwith .commenced a round of atten- tions, much' more disagreeable than his former sanctimonious impertinence., "There!"Marian exclaimed, as she was about leaving the table, "there! I think this must be the first dinner-party, since the time when old father Adam kept the angel to dine, told about in Milton. in which all went right. I congratulate myself the more as it is my first attempt at doing the honors, except, of course, for uncle. I think a great deal of credit is due to the company. I hope, if I officiate so again, I may be as well sup- ported." m "More in that than meets the eye,5" thought page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 MA IAN ELWOOD; the minister with considerable complacency, while Mr. King opened the door for the ladies to pass. Very little of the latter's conversation, after reaching the parlor, is worthy of record. Marian's efforts to be sociable were almost a failure. Mrs. Lee finding occasion from themeto declaim against levity, and extol timidity and reserve. To which Marian replied that "there were some persons who, with a very easy, what Mrs. Lee would con- sider very forward manner, were, in reality, more reserved than many who seated themselves rigidly, and spoke accordingly. Now," she added, 4'you are shocked' at me. I am afraid of nobody, and have an answer for everybody; yet to-day, for the first time in my life, I have been rudely addressed, and that by one unaccustomed to the manners of the persons with whom I have lived, and unac- quainted with the difference between them and those with whom he has associated." "You defend your own cause very well," Mrs. Lee replied; "but I still adhere to my opinion." "I admire your consistency too much to have any desire to alter it," Marian replied, somewhat coldly. At this moment Mr. King and Mr. Clark en- tered; the latter was immediately appealed to by his sister. "We are discussing female manners," she said, "and their influence on you horrid men. We are divided: one side thinks timidity a young lady's best guardian, while the other contends that -O, HOW GIRLS EVBE. 105 a free and easy manner is as good if not a better shield. Which do you think?" "Who shall agree when'ladies disagree?" re- plied the gentleman addressed, with an awkward attempt at gallantry; and, not thinking from Ma- rian's evident indifference to his answer, that she could have any interest in it, he decided in favor of timidity, and, as a reward, demanded each one's opinion on the subject. Mrs. Lee was only too. glad to agree with her revered minister, Bessie Lee with her mother, while Miss Clark lisped her ad- miration of confidence in others though "so timid herself." "Miss Elwood?"asked the minister. "I think some people would be charming one way, and disagreeable the other." "I scarcely think I understand you." "I mean, for instance, that Miss Lee's timidity becomes her, and that a manner like-mine-would as ill become her, as hers would me." "Mr. King " "Am a convert to Miss Elwood's--views." "Nw, Miss Elwood," said the minister, "may I venture to inquire which you .like best for a man?" "Bashfulness, by all means, the more the bet- ter," she answered, moving from him. "But you are so kind that you render bashful- ness impossible." ' "I shall hope to improve, now I know my fault. I regret that you have found it so." 5*X page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 MARIAN ELWOOD ; "And that you regret'any thing in reference to my conduct is happiness enough.", "Do not give me credit for more kindness than I merit; the regret was wholly on my own account, I assure you.* The next hour passed very pleasantly by; the doctor and. Marian -had numerous- merry encoun- - ters of their wits; they sang a little together, -much to each other's satisfaction. Miss Clark shook her ringlets at Melville, and' invited him to tea the next evening, whereat her brother raised his eyebrows and looked towards Marian; his sis- ter bowed; and when she was putting on her things, invited Marian and Mr. Weston also, The doctor, Melville, and Mr. King, took their departure together, the doctor having seen his rosy-cheeked sister safe home, walked on with them. "By Jove!! he exclaimed, for he was often eloquent after dinner. "By Jove! I wish the days of romance had not gone by! Miss Elwood would be a heroine of some sort. How gloriously on her haughty - brow would rest some jewelled crown, such as Valor once placed at Beauty's feet! How nobly would she fire men's ardor, were a na- tive land to be redeemed, or an oppressed country to be avenged; and amid her: dark brown hair, above her flashing eyes, how sweetly would rest the poet's laurel: Alas! such things are not now- women are so commonplace! They have no desti- nies. Such things are not now." OR, HOW GIRS LIVE. 10- True, such things are not now; yet since Dr. Emery spoke, one bright young genius has plumed her lustrous wings, and soaring from our very midst- to worlds of unknown beauty, has found most lovely gems in history's dim recesses, and not forgetful of her native land, drooping for a mo- ment her bright pinions, has rested a slumbering Beatrice at our feet, and, unheeding our rapt ad- miration, and exceeding wonder, mounted again be- yond our earth-bound eyes, though not beyond our hearty admiration and most fervent prayers; though hers is too high a-flight for many to follow, yet it proves that something brighter than the dreams of romance has been realized in these days ofprac- tical wisdom, and feminine insipidty. But re- turn we to Melville, the doctor, and Mr. King. "I make an exception,", replied Melville. "She should never be a poetess, a laurel crown would ill suit her complexion; and inky fingers-ugh! But isn't she an incorrigible coquette? I wouldn't be her knight-:in earnest-she would be such a tyrant." "'The veriest Cunigunde that ever lived!' added the doctor, "we should probably be forced to go through any number of fiery ordeals, and pick up gloves by the dozen, to win her hand! Yet would I brave it! Ay, and more, a thousand times more, for so fair a prize! "You are safe in saying so," remarked Mr. King "Don't you believe it? page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 AIrN ELMwoOD; "What? That you would do so much, or that she would require so much?"' "Both." "Miss Elwood seems a very agreeable young lady, full of life, and, I should think, very kind- hearted," answered Mr. King. "Kind-heartedl" echoed Melville. "If she had any heart she would feel for her victims. Mr. Clark, for instance; she will cause him many a smart,;I am sure." "Not intentionally, I think," replied Mr. King. "Were she aware of her power, she would use it less. Besides, are you not glad to flirt with her?" "Yes; but I know she has no heart. She would laugh at sincere, earnest love." "I think you are wrong. I fancy Miss Elwood would instantly sympathize with sincere and gen- erous affection!" "So she would!" declared the doctor, who was not the most consistent man in the world. "So she would! She would be a perfect Juliet-but even more beautiful; and, by Jove! I'll be her Romeo." They shook hands and separated. * , . v On, HOW GIRLS LIVr. 109 CHAPTER X. "Giv e ne a slight flirtation, By the light of a chandelier, With music to fill up the pauses, And nobody very near." TH next day brought a letter from Carrie, full of city gossip. Lucy and her mother had gone to Long Branch, Mrs. Merton being unable to endure the vulgar pertinacity of an advanced guard of flies and musquitoes. Mr. Scott appeared to be still in high favor, and talked of joining them. Gus Waldron was studying law very hard. Mrs. Elwood had just gone out of town, much to Car- rie's dissatisfaction, for she had a great affection for Marian's stately mamma; in short, "every- body" was leaving town in "hot haste," every- body, except poor Carrie, who had little hope of seeing any thing but brown stone and brick walls for some time to come. "Your brother," she wrote," came home as you left us-the very day, I believe. He is a character; his great hobby is Chemistry. I promise you, when you come back, page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] "O MABIAiN ELWOOD; as many lectures on carbonates and sulphurates as you can endure. The young gentleman seasons his conversation with chemical allusions which I daily find more novel and intei'esting." After reading her letter, Marian went to look at a little place which she intended converting into a model garden ;not finding it- very interesting in its unadorned simplicity, she planted a rose bush in it, and then yawning several times, she laid the household under orders, to say nothing of her where- abouts to Mr. Weston, and started for a walk. "Now, must Providence direct my steps," she thought, " for I know not where I shall go." She followed a shady road in the direction of the village; beside three or four sunburnt boys, and a man and an old woman, she met not a human being until she found herself near the little church she had attended the Sunday before; the lower part was evidently used for. a dwelling, ard the gray head of the .priest who had officiated then, bending over a book by the open window tempted her to eriter. "I know Providence sent .me here," she thought. "That priest look' kind-hearted and good, what if I introduce myself;. people often 'do such things."' And she walked towards the6 door: the gentleman saw her as she passed the window, and appeared at the door, before'she had summon- ed courage to'ring. I am Miss Elwood of New York," she said in answer to his bow, "visitingmy uncle, Mr. James Weston. I am a Catholic, I saw you' at church on OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 1" Sunday, and if I do not trespass upon your time-" "Not in the least," he answered politely, and led the way to the parlor. "I scarcely know what apology to make for this intrusion," she said. "I started from my uncle's with no definite object, and finding myself near could not resist the temptation to come in." "I am very glad you have done so," he replied. "I heard you were to visit our little village, but was not aware that you were a Catho- lic." "My father was always' a Catholc, my mother is a convert; I was partly educated at a convent, and am surprised to find myselfso bitterly opposed, and obliged to fight my way, unassisted and mis- understood, among manners and prejudices entirely new to me." A difficult task, which requires both patience and humility." "And I have not much of either." "Then you must labor to acquire them." "A hard thing to do. Your congregation is small," she added, rising, " and though not very fond of work, I should like very much to do something, if you will allow me; perhaps you may know of some way in which I may be use- ful." "You are very kind," he answered; he seemed lost in thought, and she continued: page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] "2 MARLAN LWOOD; "Perhaps, if I could see some of the altar linen, I could make more like it?" "Will you not find it too much for this warm weather?" "It is not very industrious weather, I know, but as we used to say at the convent, it will be a greater act.' I hope I shall be able to do all right, and I shall not mind the slight exertion?. He called the housekeeper, and told her to show Miss Elwood all she wished to see. "May I come again?" she asked the priest, as she was leaving. "Certainly, you must come as often as possible, and if you have no seat in church--" How odd; I never thought of that," exclaimed -Marian. ;I might have given that as a reason for my intrusion to-day. How stupid I was!" u Our pews are not as numerous nor as elegant as those to which you have been accustomed," he replied, smiling; "but if you will put yourself under Mrs. Daly's charge next Sunday, she will show you one as comfortable as w- have, which, afterwards you must consider your own. You must come early." "I may have some difficilty in coming at all," she replied, "I hope not," he answered, "but if you should, remember Christian humility is- not incompatible with religious firmness." "I have firmness enough," she answered laugh- ing. OB, HOW GILIS UVB. 113 "And humility too? , "If humility means submission, not an atom; but I feel sure you think me very proud, I hope to convince you to the contrary. May Imake you my director? , "Scarcely a very pleasant office. I will accept it, however, far enough to bid you trust in God, and pray--if you are proud-for humility." Marian smiled and bade him good-bye, but could not drive his allusion to humility from her head. "He thinks me very proud, I am sure. I ddn't know why I think so, but I do-a woman's reason. I'll go again as soon as I can, just to see what he does think. I proud I Only properly so! In the evening she met Bessie Lee and Melville at Miss Clark's. She was pleased with Melville's evident,admiration, and excessively amused at the minister's awkward attentions; she delighted in encouraging the latter, much to her own and Mel- ville's amusement, her contempt for him being so great, that she rated his ill-concealed admiration very littlehigher than the devotion ofsome uncouth pet. As for little Bessie she sat at a distance, by the window, her usual rosy face quite pale, and her soft blue eyes drooping heavily beneath their long. lashes; the sun fell on her golden brown hair, with the loveliest possible effect, and Marian saw that Melville noticed it. They were all walking in the garden just before tea; Marian contrived to join Bessie, and Melville followed her. page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] 3 J 4 MA IAN ELWOOD; "Go away for five minutes,", she said, so low that Bessie could not hear. "Keep the others away too, I must see who has been plaguing this little girl.? He looked at her inquiringly, then walked slowly away. "I am glad he is gone," Bessie said, looking after him. "I don't like him." "Don't like him! Why, everybody likes him." "But I don't like people that everybody likes," she answered vehemently, and pushing away Marian's arm from around her waist. "Everybody likes you-and-Hhate you." "What have I done to you? "Nothing--I did not mean that-I like you very much. I ought-you know so much-and aie so smart and handsome-and can talk so well -yes-I like you very much-but I hate Mr. Melville." "Ah," thought Marian, "jealous-that won't do; ;" and she so contrived it that Melville finished the walk with Bessie. At tea the little girl's face was quite radiant again'; and as they were leaving the table, Marian heard Melville say- "Yes-she is like a rose-but Heverybody- loves my violet best." "Inconsant ant man," whispered Marian, shaking her fan at him, and added mentally, "who on earth shall I flirt with now? Dr. Emery is too- well, I don't like him. Mr. King--don't know oK, sow .GrILS LIVE. 115- what a flirtation means I am sure. I really believe I must Alirt with my own face in the glass, I shall never find one more ready for it. leigho What a stupid place Westonville is!" page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] "6 - MAARTA ELWOOD'; CHAPTER XI. "Oftentimes it is very profitable for keepingus in greater humility that others should know and reprehend our faults." THOMAS, A K s. THE next few weeks passed quietly away, Dr. Emery and Marian sang together, and Melville brought her books to read. Mr. King came some- times to see her uncle, but Marian contented her self with a bow or some commonplace remark, if she chanced to meet him in the hall. Bessie Lee had pleased Marian the first time they met, and she was often induced to stay two or three days at Mr. Weston's great, old-fashioned mansion. The minister persevered in his devotions to Marian, but as she looked at his thin face, his tall, gaunt form, noted his ugliness, and half educated, very stupid mind, she thought him beneath her notice, and did not think it necessary to frown at admiration that made him such a subject of ridicule to Melville and the doctor.' Miss Clark lisped and sentimentalized alternately, voting her brother a darling-and sighing at mention of Dr. Emery's name. Marian had been several times to see Mr. Murray-the OR, now GRLS XZB. v17 Catholic priest-and each time returned full of zeal and good resolutions; One afternoon, nearly a month after her first call on him, she took some things she had been making for the church, up to him. "Well," she said, as she gave them to him, "I have nothing more to do now, I detest sewing. Is there no other way in which I can be useful? Now, 'don't speak! I know you are going to say something about self-denial again--well, I ,11be good; and sew for-the poor-if there are any here. I haven't seen a needy person since I left New York. I have formed and rejected any number of plans-since I saw you; at last, I have determined at the risk of a lecture on presumption, to propose a Sunday school. The children are induced to attend the schools of our charitable brethren, and, --she hesitated, blushing at her presumption in proposing any thing to the zealous old man. He saw her embarrassment, and said, "You are quite right, a Sunday school is very much needed, but I cannot be here to attend to it, all the time, and in our congregation there is no one able and will- ing to undertake the task-except one gentleman-- -who is most charitable and capable, but he has too many other trials for me to allow him toundertake any thing so repugnant to his retiring disposition. I wish heartily there was another." "I have plenty of time-andno other trials; do you think me capable? , "But Mr. Weston-. ', page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] "8 MA1RIAN ELWOOD; "Will be delighted to ,have a new subject' about which to vent his ill humor; it has long since become a settled fact that he should scold me twice a iweek about popery, andR he may fume about this as much as he pleases, it will make, no difference to me." "It should make a difference, he occupies the place of your parents" , . "I beg your pardon, I am a visitor, I have been my own mistress too long to acknowledge his authors ity. I: obey-him .bmetimes, when I am too lazy to oppose my will to his." "But you do not obey him from duty?" "I owe him no duty.; You had better secure me while, you can. I am sure I shall make a good teacher-very zealous certainly." M"Te Lest your uncmle,- hle said, trtying her,-" lest you' or your uncle should not like your name mixedup with it-" ' . . ,", My uncle may be proud enough for that," she interrupted. 'Iam not." . : "My child! do. you not see that yours is a greater pride.?" - : . No, indeed! If I think it a good thing to teach Sunday school, and if I do :it without refer-. ence to the world's opinions, if I do :not for a mo- ment consider the fancied degtadation of teaching a ragged school, I think- I only prove that I'am seiving^Qod rather than;mati, in obedience to your instructions. I see no pridein that." "Think about it again, my childc.' But, to-con- OR, HOW GLULS LIVE. 119 tinue ; Ica avoid all remarks by giving you'a less conspicuous position. Rough and uncouth as some of the other teachers may be, I am confident you will find them attentive, without any desire 'to take unpleasant advantage of your-association with them." "I do not anticipate any thing unpleasant," she replied, laughing; "I defy anybody to be rude to me.: I have the name, at home, of beingvery in. dependent. I don't know what fear is." "You have a feeling withiyou-a certain something, that convinces you that you are always secure?" / "Exactly." . "-Is there no pride in that feeling of security?" "Only a proper self-reliance." "Do not so deceive yourself; all tat feeling is pride-" . "Not wicked pride; only self-respect., I still maintain my own opinion; let me illus- trate it. If you, my dear young friend, are among acquaintances, you feel that however much reason you may give, it is impossible for them rudely to address you; it is a thing of-which you do not even think; and even among strangers, and in strange places, you preserve the same ihdepen- dence, do not dream of guarding an expression be- cause you are too proud to think it necessary. Is it not so? She did not answer, and he continued. "You laugh at the advice of those who warn you of danger; you would bend to almost any!level, page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 A WIWooD; not from humility, but from your very excess 'of pride.-.- Do -yot understand me? ' "'I think I do. You mean stan, for that I do things which a 10oker6on would consider done most naturally, wholly free from pride of-rank or wealth; well, they are done naturally, but you think they are performed from a feeling of supe- rority." "Certainly I do f I wonder you can doubt it. Perhaps I can make my meaning plainer: If you are in a :car, or-a steamboat, and a stranger ad- dresses you, evidently with a view to conversation, you do not answer coldly, or haughtily, as many of your acquaintances would?" "Certainly not." "Certainly not. -You would scorn any boast- ing in word or manner; disdain any affectation or air of conscious superiority; you would converse as if you and the stranger were of equal rank. Now, isn't that pride? "Mrs. Merton has told me twenty times over that it is a great want of pride," she answered. - With a1u"I e rispeot -or Lo- Mr M3erton's opin- ions, I am still entitled to my own, and I:think in you it is pride. I believe it is just becaue Miss Elwood feels that she is Miss El ood, andifully understands her importance and dignity, that she scorns to -.provide" against 'any common clay ad- hering to her robes, when She stoops to come in contact with it."' . "(I am not convinced even yet," she said. * * OR, HOW GIRLS Lrv, -121, "I'll try again, If you were in some elegant drawing-room, surrounded by your most fashion- able friends, and some steamboat acquaintance, rough and countryfied, should boldly and familiarly address 'you, so far from receiving her with any mortification, haughtiness, or pretended ignorance, you would remember having met her, and say so, without the least embarrassment." "Certainly, I should neither show nor feel any pride about it. Indeed, sir, I think you are prov- ing me any thing but proud.' He smiled a little. ' Think if 'having no pride about it ' comes not from an excess of pride,' "Then," she said, after a few 4oments' con- fusion, "then I suppose those people who blush at every failing, who are in constant dread of making mistakes, who dare not'put one foot firmly before the other,.who shrink from every shade of inde- pendent thought or feeling, they, I suppose, are humble?", 'No, not humble, but servile. They have that pride which craves and fears to lose the good opinion of others." "But their pride makes them contemptible." '"Does not yours? , "No!" she answered quickly, and starting from' the chair over which she had been leaning. "No; such weak, shrinking, fawning characters, in their pride are far beneath- -, "The selfish, arrogant one, that sets itself above the whole world; is too rapt in self-adoration to 6 page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 MAR woOD; hear or heed the world's scorn or sneers, contempt or laughter. A piece of frail clay that cries to its fellows, 'I am of purest gold; I am insensible to all your arts; I scorn your timid souls; I can walk unscathed through fiery furnaces, at the very name of which you tremble. I laugh at your warnngs and at your fears." "Well, I never looked upon it in that way be- fore." "But thought your feeling of securty a great courage? S "Yes . "Just as you supposed the feeling which prompted you to undertake the formation of a Sunday school, despite the opposition or derision of your Protestant friends, sprang wholly from a desire to benefit my little ragged boys and girls? -"Now you are-trying to find pride in that. Indeed you are unjust tome. What other motive could I have had?" "-Did no feeling of self-complacency mingle with the- sublime projects you formed? o self- gratulation that you were above the opinions of theworld? No pleasant consciousness that you did not fear the obstacles you should have to en- counter? And has it not once occurred to you, that, years from now, when our church is large, anid our Suncday school prosperous, that old people will," tell the younger ones how once there was but a wretched little hall where their church tands, and there would have been no Sunday school, had OR, nOW GIRLs' nrv. 123 it not been for a beautiful young lady, all devotion, zeal, and courage? "You are too severe; I am-not quite an angel. I wonder how you found out all these things! You find something wrong in every thing I do. First, I was all vanity; now, I am all pride. I have tried so hard to overcome both, and this is the result!, He knew she expected him to soothe her, but determined not to give her shaken pride the least prop, he was silent, and she continued: "I shall never try any more! Because you persuaded me I ought, I have done all manner of disagreeable things; and now you don't think me one bit better than I was on the day when I unfor- tunately asked you to be my director. It is very discouraging.!? "You may do better. Patience, patience, my child., "The subject of your next discourse, I pre. sume," she said, laughing. "And I suppose I must give up my idea of teaching in a Sunday school?" "Unless your uncle gives his permission." "That he will never do, even if I were to ask "Very well then." "But, sir, before you refuse me this, think of the good I might do my own-soul, not to mention the advantage to the children." "You would, no doubt, be a valuable acquisi- tion; but we must pray that we may be sent some page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 . tA ai yELWooP; one mYore willing to serve her God. In things which the Church commandIs us to perform we must act obediee to her voi, though, un tunately, against our superio's will; but in a matter of this kindwe are not justified in diso- oedienie." "Then I suppose I must have another fight favo you think eaven will acouept services maks such i an ado about the thing 4pore thyou are making? "' Well, iUn can bri rng myself to ask him,-and if by some .ge miracle he is forced-Linduced i mean-40eilt t1o he cross-- about it, I will let you know on Saturday; mIeantime--" -nMeantime, my dear child, try hard to con- quer your pride, efore it onlquer, you; you will never be happy untl you have?" "Do you think I shall be happy then?" "Perhaps very happy. But you must watch and pray; every conquest you make, exposes you to fresh temptations; you know what the scripture says about the seven devils?" OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 125 "Yes," she replied, looking the impersonation of blank despair. Butl thought if I once became good, all the trouble would be over." "Still do not be discouraged, Heaven may have much happiness in store for you, Be strong and firm, and study to acquire humility if you would be happy.' "'lltry. I will make some more things-for the poor, and I do hope I can teach Sunday school Good morning." Marian walked slowly home, tryingto bring her- self to a firm resolve to ask her uncle, as the priest recommended. She told herself again and again, that it was wicked to be so proud, and that she should therefore overcome it; her uncle wasjust seating himself at the table for dinner, as she entered; he asked her " if she had been far." "Not very," she answered. "Been tramping off with some of those young fellows, I suppose," he grumbled. Marian's face grew red and hot. Pride said '"scor' to answer him," her new-born humility whispered warning- ly. "No, sir," she answered, with a great effort, "I have seen no young man this morning." After a few minutes'-silence he said, "You must change your mode of conduct. I wonder you do not see the sinfulness of wasting your time as you do. What work do you accomplish?" Her first impulse was to answer "but little," as a reply wholly free from a boasting desire to raise page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 MAIJsAN sT LOOD; herself inhis estimation; but her eyes having been lately, opened, she suspected that her apparently humble answer was, in reality, a proud defiance of her uncle's opinion, and an equally proud willing- ness to be unjustly accused, so with less effort than before, she said, "I am very industrious." "Indeed I I have never been favored with any proofs of your industry." "Have you not seen my beautiful garden, which I consider quite an ornament to your grounds?" "Your garden! Pshaw! I see no work in that, except the little that you make an excuse for Melville's talking nonsense with you so much of the time."' "I sew and embroider." "Mere make-believe, I have-seen nothing useful that you have done." "I read." "French trash, worse than doing nothing." "I study German." "Who is your teacher? "I wish none, I prefer studying by myself." "For the satisfaction of considering yourself a model of patience I suppose-Pride." Marian's countenance fell; she had studied Ger- man in this way as she supposed for the sake of gaining patience, and here it was again-pride- could she do nothing in which it did not mingle? "You are right, I have for a long time felt my OR, HOW GIRLS LVE. 127 life to be very useless, but I have now an opportu- nity of doing good; will you allow me to improve it?" "Any thing that is for your good, my dear Mary Ann, cannot but be acceptable to me." "I am very glad, as I have been forbidden to undertake this without your permission." "Forbidden! who dares command or refuse you? What do you wish to do?" "Assist the Rev. Mr. Murray." "You shall assist the Rev. Mr. Murray in no way whatever; and if he dares seek--, "He has sought nothing; I made the offer." , ".When have you seen him?"? "This morning." "Where?" "At his house." "Have you ever been there before?" "A number of times." "Have you ever-answer me honestly-have you ever been to confession to him?" "I have, sir." "How often?' "Once." "How dared you thus abuse the confidence I placed in you? Are you then so lost to honor, to truth, to gratitude, to ordinary decent feeling, as to come here as my guest, receive every attention, have the best the house affords as your own, turn me from my old habits to new and uncongenial ones, enter into our most seeret hearts, and there page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 MABRIATN rALWOOD; ollect all thatunsuspeetinglyand in securest confi- dence we have opnedto you nd cay it to the eager ears of a crafty stranger. Shame on youl despise you." I exclaimed vehemently; but he paid no attention to her, and repeated his words in a louder, angrier "My dear unle' she began at the fist pause. "Uncle? dare not thus address me. Think you I will own kindred iith the vile blood creeping harond your trecherous heart? Think you will be thus addressed by the base tool of ycrafty th same air that surrounds so perfiious a being. The serpent that brought deceit and deathinto the world had; never been cherished by our first parents, had never been the first object of their care, the only one of their love; had never been received into their arms, their confidene,their hearts; yet when he deceived them, God cursed him, and you, a thousand times more deceitfulthan the lying serpent, think you a just Creator will neglect to visit on your head the measure of his vengeance?" "You shall hear me," she cried, rising. L"Think y ou," he continued, unheeding her interruption" think you you can league yourself ith crafty Jesuits, enroll yourself a member of so infernal an organization; think you you can bct'ay OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 129 your friends, your relations, your benefactors, and the arm of an angry God be averted from your head?" "In your fancied-"a "Talk not to me of fancies! have I not shrunk with horror from the fear? have I not shut my eyes to daily proofs? And now-the -full truth has burst upon me-my absurd confidence-my mad blindness-I see it all." She arose, and turned to leave the room. "Stay where you are! You shall hear me through." "'Have I not heard enough? Have you not proved yourself unreasonable and prejudiced, un- manly and unjust, in heaping abuse on that of which you know nothing? "Go on;- I can bear any thing after this." "You believe. without questioning the preju- diced expressions of an ignorant rabble, and view- ing a religion with their embittered eyes, insult it, and a young girl thrown entirely on your protec- tion- " "You need not remind me of that; I have cause enough to rue it." "You do not ask her the truth," continued Marian; " you will not take her testimony-" "Your testimony is only true when it suits your purpose." "It is always true, and you know it." "I know it is false, wholly, contemptibly so. I ^ ' . - page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 MARIAN ELWOOD; know that not one spark of truth or honor is with- in you." "You do not think that," she said quickly, for she felt he was working himself up again, "When I went to confession I was not seen. I spoke of myself alone; not one word of you or any other person living. And when this morning I urgently requested Mr. Murray to permit me to teach in the Sunday school, he positively refused me unless I first obtained your permission." "And did he fancy I would give it? "Remember he does not know you; but I told him you were most generous-" "And he expected you-Miss Elwood, niece of James Henry Weston-to teach a parcel of dirty, nasty, Irish Papists, did he? "He did not speak of it, it was my own idea. Do not refuse me, I implore you.' "Do you not think I see through the mockery of your spiritless iequest?" "There is no mockery in it, sir. I have told you the truth, and if you are unable to appreciate the effort it is to bear your reproaches, I hope at least you will not turn my patience into scorn. But why not speak calmly and rationally? You are well educated; in mind and character far above the common class; you are ever ready to receive information of a new discovery or invention, to understand the principles or the mysteries of a sci- ence; why bring to religion a less intelligent, less generous mind? I will give up my idea of teach- Oo, HOW GIRLS LVE. 131 ing in the Sunday school if you still insist upon it; yet I have earnestly desired to perform this little service. The children are poor and ragged--shall I suffer by the contact?" "I will not hear of such a thing, I have already indulged you too long. Never speak of such a thing to me. And tell your priest that if he dares seek to make you his tool, his instrument, he will find I have pride for you, if you have none for yourself., And he angrily left the room. Marian walked quickly to the door, her burning cheeks and flashing eyes showing the effort she had been making, a whole world of passion was expressed in her hasty grasp of the door; but almost in an in- stant it faded away, and sinking on the floor, she laid her head on the chair and wept bitterly. At tea, 'her swollen eyes were like arrows in the heart of her uncle; he fidgeted about, spilt his tea, and, at last, said slowly and gravely, I may have been harsh to you, but it was my love for you that made me so; for the motive for-. give the manner." She took his extended hand with her brightest smile. The next morning a handsome horse, which she had ridden several times, was secured for her,-and she felt her uncle was kind, though rough and harsh in his speech when vexed or angry, . page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 MARJAN ELWOOD; CHAPTER XII. *Noble he is, contemning all things mean, His truth unquestioned, and his soul serene. Of no man's presence does he feel afraid- At no man's presence does he look dismay'd. For while the serious thought his soul approves, Cheerful he seems, and gentleness he loves; 3For bliss domestic i his heart designed, He with the firmest has the fondest mind." "Hear me, for I will speak.- Must I give way and room to your rash choler?" "Must I budge? Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch Under your testy humor?" A rEW evenings after, as Marian was. standing by the open parlor window, she 'saw Mr. King walking up the avenue. It was too dark for her, standing in the shadow of the curtains, to be re- cognized at any distance; and without changing her position, she amused herself by watching him, and fancying all sorts of queer things about him; she "played," as the children say, that she was a fair ladye in an enchanted castle, and he was her knight coming to rescue her. She smiled merrily as he approached her, though she could not help OR, HOW GIRLS IVEr. 133 thining his was a cold salute for so brave a knight on such an occasion. She asked him in with an air that would have done honor to anylady, ancient or modern, apologized for her uncles absence; "he is showing Miss Lee his turnips and potatoes, she said; "I hope she takes more interest in them than I do; she has, however, the grace to be silent when she cannot praise." Then after a mo- ment's hesitation she said, "I am a true daughter of mother Eve; I am almost sure I saw you in the Catholic Church last Sunday, did I not? 'Most likely. I am stationed a little behind you..--" "And I have a great fancy fqr looking around -sometimes.-I own. So you are a Catholic? I am so glad; why did you not tell me so before? I should have been so much happier had I known one heathen like myself. Why did you nottell me?" - "I scarcely knoW, unless perhaps I wanted you to find it out-a very reasonless reason." "Very. But does my uncle know it? "O yes; but he avoids the subject; the slight- est allusion to my Catholicity worries him." "I did not believe he could like a Catholio so much as he does you." '"O, Mr. Weston is very generous, and though he has a most cordial hatred for the belief, it never touches the, believer., "Doesn't it!" she exclaimed; but at that mo. ment her uncle entered with Bessie. page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 MARTAN ELWOOD; "Why, Mr. King how do you do? I did not know you were here; glad to see you. Have you been waiting long?" "Only a moment." "Do you still like Westonville?" he asked Marian, after he had talked a few minutes to Mr. Weston. "I own to a little home-sickness once in .a while," she answered. "It must be a very pleasant home-sickness, to judge by its effect -on your spirits," laughed Mr. Weston. "So much more credit is due to me, for bearing trouble cheerfully here." "Do you not think all trouble easier to bear here than in a large city, where, it seems to me, all gayety must seem forced and hollow?" asked Mr. King. "No, indeed! If I were doomed to bear a load of grief; and it should come to me in the country, I verily believe it would set me crazy. I think it half unjust to call the dity society heart- less; but even if it were all a fleeting show-a strange mockery, yet in fashioning the brow to wear its cold seeming, in teaching lips to smile, and eyes to brighten in accordance with its commands, how easy it is to stifle memories that if brooded over in solitude would madden one." Mr. Weston looked at her, but made no answer beyond a half contemptuous "Humph!" , "I am sure of it, and I hate dreadfully to hear Ob, HOW COp(LS IVE. 135 people declaim against the world. I make you, an exception, Mr. King," 'she added, smijing, " because I don't think you have ever experienced' its 'ind -ness in this respect, and therefore it isn't ingratitude in you. I have never had any great griefs but if Iv ever do have any, I ask no other comfort .than I can find in fashion, wealth, pomp, and power.' "You are wrong, my dear niece, there is that within every one sufficient to suppress grief as well in the lonely cottage as in the crowded hall - Will '-determined will can do it." "But," said Mr. King, "instead of labring to repress grief, would it not be better to take from it its bitterness at once'?" "How can that be done? By religion, you would say, I suppose,", answered 5fir. Weston, "but that is all a iistake--an absurdity. , "I think not,' answered Mr. King Tmiling. t"O, exclaimed Marian, "please don't preach that doctrine, it iakes people so excessively nsipid! How I do detest these dashing,'spirited people after they become good. I wouldn't try your remedy, Mr. King, for al the world. It would make me so very dull and disagreeable.', I hope you may never have occasion to try it," Mr. King answered kindly. "I don't know, I think I should like to ex- perience some feeling that is intense, even though it were sorrow. Now, don't look so shocked--I should bear it like a soldier, not like a saint., "Women have no sorrow beyond the petty page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 A BRSTN tLWOOD; whims of every-day life," said - Mr. Weston; "the want of a new hat, the scantiness of anew dress, a faithless lover, a lost bracelet, make their list of trials, and it-is difficult to tell'which they feel most." "You are the most ungallant man I ever knew!" exclaimed Marian. "I wish we were con- temporaries-I mean-I wish I were not your du- tiful niece, and I would show you something of woman's power!" Mr. Weston's dark eyes grew darlier than ever. "I need not your conduct to enlighten me," he answered in a low voice. "You are so unjust to women," continued Marian, "never giving us credit for any influence." "Influence enough," he answered, "in every relation and rank of life, but how is it used? Vain, silly, flirting as women too often are, it yet seems as if among them there might be found some who would reflect how much depends upon them, and endeavor to form their character and make it high andjust; such,surely, is the imperative duty of every woman, would she but think so." "Bit these people with such strength of char- acter have no spheres; they are always out of place, unless in 'women's rights conventions? there their excellence and strength of character is most terribly appreciated! But you are quite generous in acknowledging as much as you have, and very kind to saye me the necessity of asserting it,- which I should certainly have done if you had not. Is it not very good of him, Mr. King.?" OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 137 "Only just, I think,, answered the gentleman appealed to. "For woman's influende is denied only where man is himself enslaved and uncivil- Ized.4 "Now, my dear uncle, won't you please tell me how women exert this influence? I am very anxious to know, but take care I don't make you rue the day you told me! "I think, were you conscious of all that depends upon you, my dear Mary Ann, that you would be much less anxious to use your power. How is woman's influence felt? In every- way. On a mother depends the moulding of minds that are one day to take active parts in the busy world, minds that will lead others as she has led them; on a wiferests much of ahusband's happiness; on asister much of a brothers comfort and integrity. Women young and old, rich and poor, at home and in society, have immense inluence, but how shame- fully they abuse it! When innocent, unconscious of any thing beyond the walls of home, it is the affectionate firmness of the mother which is to teach the child to govern himself. It is the mother who in his early youth isto decide if his mind is to be noble and firm, or weak and low; whether, you understand-whether he is to be a man of well- governed impulses, or to live the sport of every ignoble passion and evil influence. Now, you understand, a woman who in early years has learned to govern herself, to be firm and strong, has sought virtue and shunned vanity, cannot, with page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 MARIAN ErWOOD; a well-trained heart and character, fail to make her son honorable and good. f, on the other hand, you understand, when a girl he divided her time between novels, dress, and flirting, she will be wea and ielding, her son will go into the world witf' his mother's views, andr will naturally seek those who are like her; these will lead hillf to others still worse, and liaving 'o self-government, no mo0al strength,' no memories of home or a mother's good influence to oppose to them, he will sink lower and lower, until unworthy of the friendship or tiust of his fellow-men; he will live unhonored, and die unregretted. Think whait a trial there will be, when the gay mother is called from her balls 'and fetes to appear before a heavenly judge, and miade to hear the accusations of her lost son!" "But that is' only for mammas," said Marian, after a moment's general silence. "What kind of influence have little girls like Bessie and me?"' "Haven't y yoyor father, your brothers, your friends and acquaintances?" "'My father don't address me oftener than once a week, and then it is not much more than to renew my allowance, with a speech about extrav- agance, to which I never listen: my brother-I have never seen much of him since he used to lock me up in dark closets, melt my dolls nose, and steal my playthings. I could manage you a world sooner than him." ---- "It isn't managing I mean," replied Mr. Wes- ton, while Mr. King laughed, and Bessie put down OR, HOW GIRLS LIvE. 139 her book to listen, "but you can make him like you, and come to you for the society he would otherwise seek among much less desirable com- panions." - -- ...-- "I know what you mean, but I despair of ever obtaining any power over Steve; he has a perfect contempt for me, though he is two years younger. As for my friends and acquaintances-.-pshaw! Men are so ungrateful!" "' Not really, though too often apparently so," answered Mr. Weston. "But they have not a little to try them." "More than women?" "More than women! a thousand. times more; and it makes me mad to hear..silly young things with scarce an idea in their heads, calling men a set of heartless, tyrannical ingrates, if some whim of theirs has been unregarded. And it makes me mad too, to hear girls, themselves as 'Variable as the shade, By the light, quivering aspen made,' pronouncing men, whose deep devotion -they are unable to comprehend, cold, selfish, and fickle, if perchance they have found among all they have ever met, one as vain and heartless a flirt as them- selves!?' Marian colored violently, Mr. King attempted a charitable defence, but Mr. Weston was inexorable, and would not be appeased. page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] "O ARIAn BLWOOD; Marian laid aside her work, and going to the piano, struck a few chords carelessly. "Do play something," said Bessie, no doubt glad of an opportunity to open her lips. "I don't know any thing." "O yes, that waltz you played yesterday." ' I don't like that much, and don't know it very well." "I am sure you can think of something," said Mr. King, rising and going to her side. "And I should like Bo much to hear you." F "I would if I could," she answered, at the same time looking over her music. "PLAYI!" thundered Mr. Weston, "Let us have no affectation, no nonsense." "I may be persuaded," she said, rising to leave the piano, "never commanded." She was going away, when Mr. King's half-reproachful eyes met her angry ones, and scarcely conscious of what she did, she turned back, and played and sang every thing they asked, and Mr. King felt there was a wild, wayward, but a rich and beautiful heart be- neath it all. "What a glorious night!" she said, as they all followed Mr. King to the door. "How I should like a ride nowl How old-fashioned you New Englanders are! I can never do any thing here." "Though you cannot go to-night, can you not to-morrow? asked Mr. King. "O, I don't believe in to-morrows; if I can't go now I don't care to go at all!" she replied, ex- O0, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 141 pecting to be persuaded; but Mr. King appeared to think her reiial final, and simply saying he was sorry, turned to make his adieus to Mr. Weston. Just as he was going, Marian forced herself to say that she had long wanted to get up a riding party, and that if he would make one she would go the next evening. He said-he should be very glad to do so. Promising to be ready at seven he left her; she watched him until he reached the little gate, and then her uncle, who had a horror of night winds, came for her to go in. Bessie, who was staying at the house, ran up stairs, and Marian was left alone with her uncle. iHe followed her into the parlor, and requesting her to be seated; said gravely: "I feel it my duty, my dear Mary Ann, to speak to you of your faults. I shall do so wholly for your own good. I have no interest in doing otherwise. I could give you no greater proof of my affection than by reminding you of your faults by which unpleasant duty I risk your love, and thus show that I would rather seek your good than my own pleasure, for it is a pleasure, I assure you, to feel that you regard me kindly. Yes, my dear niece, I have no higher, dearer object on earth than your welfare; for that I am ready, nay, glad to sacrifice not only the little fortune years of industry and economy have enabled me to pre- serve, but even to lay these old gray hairs in the grave. I would cheerfully do it, if by so doing I - could secure happiness to you." page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] "2 MARIAN ELWOOD; "You are-very kind," she answered, in a grave, formal tone, much like his own-" you are very kind, and I assure you, so far have H always been from doubting the natural generosity of your heart, and your unflinching courage and endur- ance in all things connected with the welfare, com- fort, and happiness of your friends, that I have always been ready at any moment to swear to them, and it needed not your eloquent words to convince me of them." "I am glad you understand me, and therefore you will not doubt that I speak wholly for your interest. In nothing, I say, do I mean to be severe.- I wish to make allowances for the freedom you have always enjoyed, the light society in which you have been thrown-for your youth, your natu- rally gay and lively disposition." "Good heavens!' mentally ejaculated Marian, what is coming now? Oh! that I were home in my own room once more!" "I am far from being satisfied with your con- duct; you are too much of a child in your actions, though certainly old enough to have more self-con- trol, and to be womanly and dignified. You have no gentleness, no calmness; you act wholly from the moment's impulse. You are not a lady-never can be a lady-while you act as you do now; never a woman until you can regulate your feelings. Some years ago, you might have been excusable in jumping from your chair to the piano, and from the piano to the window, and back again; some OB, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 143 slight excuse might then be found for giving way to your pride and temper as you so often do. A well-bred lady, if she has any thing to say, says it calmly and quietly, and not for the sake of keeping up a mere clatter of tongues. If you wish to say it is a pleasant day, you bring it out with as much energy as Herschel might have used when, for the first time, announcing the discovery of a new planet." "Uncle," Marian said, rising, "I can no longer bear this. I have come to you from a home in which every one was kind to me. -I have come among strangers, without finding in this whole place a single friend, not even a single face that six weeks ago I had ever seen. I have been sad and lonely beyond expression; I have been daily re- proved by you; I have borne your anger, and your insults, until I am worn out, sick and disheartened, I will remain no longer under so inhospitable a roof; I'll go home to-morrow l" "What does this mean?" "What I have said.?' "You are going home?" "I am, sir." "When?" "To-morrow." "What will your mother say?" "Probably that I did right. My own mind is made up on the subject. Have -you any more questions to ask?" . "Have I any more questions to ask? Do you page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 IMAIXAE ILWOOD; ".4 * imagine sh all llow you to leave my house in this style, without' permn'sionf warning or protection? po youfor one mentfncy I am thus to reated by a d, ho knows neither her own good nor the respect due her pro But she was gone. Mrs. Martin helpedher to pack her trunks; when ll was done, she threw a light dressing around her, and sat down by the window to think, OB, HOW GIRLS LITV. 145 CHAPTER XIII. "Who has a stronger conflit than he who strives to overcome him- self?"--THOMAS A PI* - s. "It is the longest night . That e'er I watched, and the heaviest." IT was a bright, moonlight night, and the wind rustled gently through the tirees; but the glorious calm of nature was like a mockery to Marian, as she now abandoned herself to her anger and her grief She had been more than a month in Wes- tonville; for all that time not one kind word had met her ear. She remembered that at home she was admired, Battered, and caressed, and in Wes- tonville no one loved her. It is a weary thing to feel unloved; but ah, awearier still to be unloving. Marian had, never before felt the loneliness of the first feeling, for she had had no reason; the latter she whuld never encourage; yet often had she thought that her life would be far happier were there one in the world whose good opinion she prized, and whose approbation would seem to her worth gaining. She had been so accustomed to ready sympathy, or rather ready flattery, that to 7 page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] "6 labor for either hadf never occurred to her. There was no one in the world dear enqugh tosuggest it she Wished, there was. The feeling of loneliness which had struck a chill into her heart on first entering her uncle's gloomy house, had constantly increased; her daily haaedgreatly ti^it. It quarrels with her unl hadgreatl aidedit. It was under the influene of this feeling that she had resolved upon I leaving Westonville, for :she' felt while her uncle was speaking that she must be kindly addressed, andc that immediately. As the excitement faded away her loneliness grew greater. Not a sound, save Bessie's gentle breathing, inter- rupted the silence of the night; the very trees had a wild, weird look,as they bended and bowed in front of her; the shadows seemed strangely and unnaturally shaped, and there was, something fear- ful. and preternatural n the night's stillness. Ma. tian thought 'if she should die there as she was, in her white morning dess, and he r cheek resting on her and, how all would feel. Herncle, too late, would mourn his harshness, and everybody would speak regretfully of the young life lost. They would close her eyes, cross her hands on her breast, and 'smooth her hair over herbrow; then would come her funeral 'they would place the' chairs stiffly around the darkened room, and they Wol glide softly in; eyes that now looked coldly on her, would bend over her pale brow, perhaps weep for one so untimely dead;' then they would wonder if any one loved her, and look around for the O:; HOW GIRLS LVE. 147 mourners. Would there be one? Melville?-he would bend over the sightless eyes, but- their brightness gone, they would have no charm for him. No smile, no laughing word would detain him, and by Bessie's side he would soon forget her. Dr. Emery?-would gaze long and earnestly, but no love would mingle in it; he would but seek to know why and how she died. Mr. King?-She thought she would like him to mourn her-but would he? She knew 'no reason why he should. Would any one drop a tear over her clay cold brow? Ah me! How strangely the shadows moved around her. She had heard that wild de- mons rode on the wings of night, and carried off their victims from earth to abodes of darkness and misery. Hers had been a proud, cold life, yet had she deserved such a fate? A great terror came over her, and she lay down beside Bessie, and put her arm around her. Bessie moved restlessly and threw it off; the moonlight fell full on her happy face, and as Marian looked she smiled; Marian could guess her dreams. She sat down beside her, and watched her hap. py face, so palely seen in the moonlight. As she gazed upon her, she thought the only shade of sor- row that had ever come to the sweet child had come through the vanity that sought to make Mel- ville inconstant. Was he naturally inconstant, or had her smiles made him so? If he were fickle, was she punish- ing him by deceiving him? Was she not rather page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] "8 MARIAN EILWOOD; bringing sorrow to Bessie, since if he had no heart he .woud not much feel her meditated refusal. 'But had he no heart? Had all men no hearts? Were they all flints?"I have heard girls, them- selves," her uncle had said, 'As variable as the shade, By the quivering aspen made, "pronounce men whose deep devotion they were unable to comprehend, heartles, cold, fickle, an selfish." How often hadshe so pronounced them Aand was Edgar Snow no worse than other men? Had Edgar Snow's polished, flattering, and studied conversation any thing in common with the natu- ral, truthful, honest manner in which Mr. King addressed her? Was Edgar Snow's selfish, per- fdious heart like Mr. King's? The angry blush welling from her very heart forbade the thought. though stern old man; was she, who sought to win all of affection that men had to give, only to laugh at them for believing her,-was she one to call others false? Did she not feel that beneath Mr. King's cold, calm brow, and kind, thoughtful eyes, there dwelt a soul high ad noble, a heart deep, thousaInd times above those of the proud self-love OXt, 1OW GIRLS LvWE. 149 in which she had lived? "Conquer your pride, and you will be most happy," said the venerable priest. Should she ever be happy? She had never been. Should she always a barren heart avow, or would there come a time when, emerging from the dark clouds of self absorbing pride, she would find a home arched by the bright sky of humility and love? Would she ever have a home, no matter-how small, so love was in it-no matter how rude, so hope was there? Would she ever sit in the-fire- lights and feel its sunset glow falling on her and- another? 'Would she ever soothe an aching head, brighten a drooping eye, cheer a desponding heart? Would she ever become gentle, confiding, humble, or would self ever be her object and her idol? Again she listened to the voice of her con- science-the still, small voice that told of cold, wicked pride, and she knelt praying it might pass away from her-that she might hate it as it de- served. She prayed that she might humble her- self before her uncle-but as she recalled his harsh words, she felt she could not; she had humbled herself once, and how had she been received? Oh, that some one were there to assist her. She now feels herself insufficient for herself, but who is there of whose love she is worthy? Bessie had every reason to hate her, 'all to consider her heart- less, vain, and selfish. /"Oh! she said, "that I were like this fair child! Oh! for the innocence and simplicity of ier heart. I might give a heart page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 MAItAN ELWOOD; kept sealed from all former love, it is true; yet my first love can have none of the loveliness of hers. "I have thought myself beautiful; I have glo- ried in the flattery I have received. Oh that not One thought of my beauty had ever entered my mind, nor one word of the flattery I despised, yet coveted, had ever reached my ears I And oh, that I could tear this accursed pride from my heart, this prides that makes me so odious in Heaven's sight, and even in my own. "Well-to-morrow-t will go. to him. I will try--perhaps God will aid me-perhaps make him kind-yes--to-morrow-if I can I will-and, if I will I can!-" -' oB, SOW GilLS Ivn. 151 wI J C APTER XIV. To" have prayed To God, and I have talked with my own heart, And have unravelled my entangled will, And have determined what is rigt." "The woodland on that morning, Grew more solemn than before." Matnrxr rose very early the next morning, with a violent headache ;- with much difficulty she dressed herself, while, Bessie. still smiled as she slept. kIr vain did she bathe her aching head in pure cold Water--in vain Seat herself by the window and let the fresh morning air blow on it, all in vain; it throbbed and ached as she rested it on her wea. ried hand With undiminished pain. Despite it all she resumed her meditations of the evening, and feeling herself capable of very little mental effort, she imagined a walk among the well-known beau- ties she was so soon to leave might arouse her en- ergy. "Perhaps through them," she thought, "I may find grace to humble myself as I should. God often makes the simplest flower the instru ment of his mercy." Mrs. Martin was quite shocked at her pale, */" . i- j page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152 MARIAN ELWOOD; haggard face, and implored her not to go far from the house, while evidently so ill. Marian promised to return soon, and taking her hat in her hand walked slowly away. Her garden was full of love- ly fragrant roses; she took one, but it soon wilted in her hot hand; she put another in her hair, then threw it away, for she felt it gleamed strangely by her heavy eyes and aching temples. Wearied, sick, and sad, she leaned listlessly over the little gate that divided Mr. Weston's grounds from the public road. She leaned her head on the cold bars, -and her eyes wandered absently down the shaded road, and rested vacantly on the calm, bright face of Mr. King as he walked quickly towards her; she returned his bow as one in a dream, and it was not until his low, kind voice broke the stillness, that she started, colored, and fully recognized him. "Good morning, Miss Elwood; you are out early." "Yes-very--early -" "And the morning is beautiful. Starlit nights, evening twilight, even fervid noon, have their wor- shippers, but early morning for me!" "Yes-it-is-very beautiful," she answered. "Are you out so early every morning?" "Yes, I pass by here every morning. But you -you look pale and tired." "I am very, very well- " "Surely your looks belie your words," he re- plied, quickly. "You are not used to our country OR, HOW GIRLS LV . 153 dampness-it is cold here; this gate is wet with dew-pardon me--it is imprudent for you to lean on it." "I am well, perfectly well," she answered vehemently, and turned listlessly away, feeling she had not much self-control; she wished he had not spoken so kindly to her, yet she was deeply grate- ful for it. He opened the little-gate, took her hat from her hand, put it on while she remained passive as a child; he then, half timidly, and half firmly, drew her arm through his; she walked a few steps unresistingly, then suddenly starting from him, threw herself on an iron chair, among the trees, and covering her face with her hands, burst into tears. He folded his arms, and leaned against a large oak tree, and bent his eyes upon her, while his face was calm and pale as a statue's. Alre you there?, she said, looking up. "Do not let your politeness detain you. Iam quite well, I assure you. You were right, this country air does not agree with me, it makes me weak, and-con- temptible." She dropped her handkerchief, he picked it up, and gave it to her. ' "You are trying to look sorry for me," she exclaimed; "you are exerting yourself unnecessa- rily. I need no sympathy. Oh why did I ever see this hateful place!", I entreat you, my dear Miss Elwood, to leave that chairn it is damp, you will take cold." "And what ifI do?"a I can't ride with you to-night.", 7* page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 154 MA MA ELWOOD; "You cannot do that as it is, for I am going way to-day--" "To Boston? No, home. Thank Heaven!" "So soon! Must you go?" "No, nobody sent for me, but H--hate Westonville, this dreary country. I have not a single friend here. I am goinghome--where people are kind to me-home t yes, I Will go!" and she started from her seat. "And are not people kind to you here?" he asked, joining her in her walk to the house. "I do not desire their kindness." "Perhaps they think so, and for that reason conceal much of the affection they feel, and would gladly manifest." "Would they not despise me if they thought I cared for it?" "I think they would love you still more. Do not leave us until you see what warm hearts are beneath our cold exterior. You did not expect to go last night?" "Not until after you left us," she replied, walking more slowly, for they were near the house. "But afterwards-I have always felt very lonely here, and my uncle is-somewhat-stern-and I am very proud and, hasty; he did not mean to pain me, but I was angry, and said I would go home, and so-I-must." "No, no, do not go; I am confident 'Mr. Weston would be surprised should he learn that O n, HOW GIRIS LIVE. i55 you were lonely in a place so beautiful to him, and think how keenly he would suffer should you so resent his certainly well-meant conduct." IfI thought he would feel it-but no-I can. not tell him I have changed my mind; he will laugh at me." "My dear Miss Elwood t" "I humbled myself to him once, and he called Bm t in heaveYSn o imu onwe and he led me spiritless' he shall not do so again!" But in Heaven you will be registered humble and brave.", prayed all last night for strength to do it, and prayed in vain," "But it will come when you most need it; there is Mr. Weston now; may I wait- for you here?" "Why are you so kind to me Will you pray for me? "Yes, gladly,' gladly," he vanswered, and smiled so encouragingly that she brightened immediately, and walked quickly towards her uncle; she faltered a moment as. she had alost reached him, and turning to look back she saw'Mr. King watching her; with an inward prayer to Heaven for help, she put her arm in her uncle's. "I know I am a terrible ttle vixen," she said, "but have patience with me." RoW little did he ream of the effort it was to speak those few words! "So, so, you 'give up your heroic expedition," Le said, tauntingly. The old demon rose at this, page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 5 . -AA EL& W DOQDP; and gathered all his strength for a final struggle, but her guardian angel was praying for her, and she conquered. "Yes,' she replied, given it up, and there is no telling how long you will have to be bored with me here. Hknow-it was absurd for, me to act so last night; I'll be good after this, and we won't quarrel any more." He took the hand she smilingly held out to him. "And," he answered, "and for my part I sincerely regret the injustice I have done you, and henceforth hope we shall be good friends; you must forget all my scoldings, for had I known the real goodness of heart beneath your manners, I should never have complained of them. Now we are good friends, are we not?" Yes, my dear uncle, the best of good friends, I hope. I met Mr. King on my walk, this morn- ing, he came home with me. ShallI ask him to breakfast?" "Yes, certainly, with my compliments; he is a -fine fellow, that King." "AndI was so reluctant to do that which has given me such pure pleasure!" she exclaimed, as she extended both hands to Mr. King, and felt that no words could thank him for his assistance as well as her joyous eyes did. He smiled' almost tenderly in answer, and delighted that he was pleased with her, swinging her hat around her hand, she half walked, "half danced to the house. OR, HOW GIRsS LVI, E. She felt, very happy at the head of the table, that morning, and only wished Mr King had'a thousand wants that she might anticipate them all. He staid some time after breakfast; Marian and Bessie took their sewing, and Mr. Weston told them stories of his travels. When, at last, he left them, she watched him until the trees hid him wholly from her sight, then brightly turned to her work again, not caring to speak to any one. But silence for the first time in her life, desired as a perfect luxury, was refused her; Bessie, who had always stood a little in awe of the brightly cold Marian, now determined to take advantage of her first evidences of humanity, to ask her all manner of questions:"Why did she get up so early? Was it not lonely walking by herself in the morning? Would she not wake her (Bessie) some morning; it would be so pleasant? Wasn't it lucky she met Mr. King, only Ur. King was so stern and grave. Bessie was always afraid of him," and much more to the same purport. "I must have a large riding party to-night," Marian said, suddenly. "Who shall I invite Do you ride?" "My mother won't let me, she is afraid. My cousin fell from her horse two years ago, and ever since mother has been afraid. Perhaps she would let me, if I teased real hard.", "But she would worry about you all the time, and it would be cruel. How would you like to drive? I'll get you a handsome escort, Mel- page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] / 158 MAA ELWOOD; ille, for instance; he is coming here some time to-day, for some books, and I will tell him." "Mr.- Melville,"' said Bessie, faintly. O, no, I don't want to go with him;" - Why, Bessie, I should think you would like him better than any one else!" "No, he is so homely, such big eyes." "'You've no taste at all, I am sure I think him one of the handsomest men I ever saw. I know, with all his good looks he is very awkward,-tire- some, ana absent-minded; he might let the horse ru -away, and as you are under my charge, that wouldn't do. So I'll get Mr. Miller to drive you, he has a steady hand, and won't forget the reins in the charms of conversation. But-what shall I do with Melville?" ' "Let him go with you; I suppose he will like that?" ' "Iknowit, but I don'twant him." "I don't like Mr. Melville, indeed I do not," said Bessie, hesitatingly. "I shan't enjoy myself -but still--if you can't do otherwise, H-wil go with him, just-to oblige you." "Now, that's a darling," replied Marian; "I'll tell Melville not to talk too much, to keep his feet off your dress, and for fear he may forget the reins, will lay him under strict injunctions, not to look at you, nor worry you with his big eyes. If he promises all this you won't object to going with him, will you?" *Bessie made no answer, and Marian sought her OR, NOW C#aLS LIVF. 159 uncle to obtain his approval of her plans; he was in the best possible humor, and said she might invite whom she pleased, and as many-proposing as the best. place to visit, a very pleasant little town about an hour's ride from home. Highly delighted Marian put on her hat, and went out to make preparations. She wondered why she had never before noticed, how softly the white clouds rested in the azure heavens, and what marvellous beauty there was in the 'forest and fields; she paused long over many a wild flower ever before stigma- tized as an ugly weed; she could not sufficiently admire the pidturesque little cottages, so lovingly encircled by flowery vines. It seemed, too, asif the wish for kindness had brought it,for the stern old ladies, who usually returned her salutations with cold courtesies now took her hand, and in kind, motherly words cautioned her against night dews and noonday heat. The little muddy children, making terrestrial pies at the corners, did not sul- lenly receive her caresses and stoutly refuse to tell their names, but allowed their heads to be patted, and one young gentleman offered to make her a "whole lot --of dirt pies, which generous offer being thankfully accepted, established her popu- larity with the juvenile portion of Westonville. All arratgements: made, she returned home quite forgetful of her night watch and morning headache. . . page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 1i00 ^!ABWI X ELWOOD; CIAPTER XV. All heaven, And happy constellations, on that hour Shed their electest influence. 'The earth Gave signs of gratulation, and each hill, Joyous the birds; fresh gales and gentle airs Whisper'd it to the woods, and from their wings Flungrose, lung odor from the spicy shrub, Disporting." And beyond our eyes The human love lies, That makes all it gazes on Paradise." 'AT seven o'clock precisely, that evening, on the front verandah, around whose rustic pillars Marian had wound the summer roses-with his hands fold- ed behind him, his head slightly thrown back, and the mischievous wind playing all manner of pranks in his long gray hair--stood Mr. James Weston, squire of Westonville, formally receiving the little party his niece had invited, a smile, shadowy, it is- true, but still a smile, parting his thin lips as one after another rode up.. There was long, lean Mr. Clark, on a large white horse, looking for all the world like Death.. in the Revelations; his fair sister, minus her ring- Ol, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 161 lets; Miss Jennie Emery, with round, rosy cheeks, and merry blue eyes, most bewitchingly contrasted by her dark riding-dress and raven black, plumes. A very slim, very thin young man, with light blue eyes, and a hectic flush, rejoicing in the romantic appellation of Clarendon Lewis, had attached him- self to a very stout, very florid young lady, Fannie Miller by name, who owed her initation to a mer- ry sparkle in her large hazel eyes. Mr. King was there on a spirited bay horse, from which he immediately dismounted, and stood between Mr. Weston and Marian, so that when her horse was led 'up he was, of course, ready to assist her to her saddle. Dr. Emery, his reins very loosely held, was so- liloquizing when Marian, for almost the first time in her life, addressed him, not only not sarcastical- ly, but even civilly. "Think! don't understand that!" he mentally exclaimed. "Melville must devote himself to Bessie Lee, and my lady Marian is afraid she will be left to the tender mercies, either of the poetic Clarendon, or the majestic minister, or the enthusiastic King. I can read her like a book-think I am to be taken in? No, not I; the fair Amanda Clark for me! Ugh! I could almost-regret her ringlets 1" Bessie, not very plainly showing the hatred she professed to feel for Melville, listened with com- mendable patience to M3r. Weston's grave conjec- tures about the weather; Melville talked nonsense to everybody, but once or twice a shade of regret page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 ABIAN ELWOO1; / for having so eagerly acted on Marian's sugges- tion to drive with Bessie, crossed his handsome face, and rather increased when he saw Marian, a thousand times lovelier than ever, lead the way from the house, assiduously escorted by Ernest King; but once by the fair Bessie's side, he ceased to regret anything. "I must put my soldiers in order," Marian said, when they had come to the road. "What shall I do with our 'stores?' I am positively ashamed of their clumsy appearance." "Suppose you send them on as an advanced guard; they can lead the way, and give notice of the enemy's approach," Mr. King suggested. "How long do you suppose it will be befo'e they will be attacked, perhaps taken?" asked Marian. "Let us hope before we come to a more fre- quented road," answered Mr. King, feeling a new life in him. Melville, with a little difficulty, was persuaded to lead the way. Dr. Emery was most devoted to the minister's sister; and the minister, glad of an opportunity to pique Marian, was equally so to the blooming Miss Emery. Of course, he was not blind to the, smile with which Marian spoke to him as she was about taking her place behind Melville and Bessie, but he sagely concluded he had best take no heed, and she rode on. "I wish I could live here always "Marian said to Mr. King; "I can never learn to enjoy , * OR, HOW GIS s LVE. 163 each pleasure while it lasts, but invariably ay- too beautiful to last.' And it always saddens me. I should so enjoy this ride now, if it were not that I know that it will be all over in a few hours. But why should that reflection mar your en. joyment? As long as it is a pleasure for you to ride, you can; and then something else will take its place., "But I wish I could never grow tired. I want my physical strength to be as strong as my mental. I believe I should be perfectly happy if it were." "In other ords, if you could-do every thing you wanted to do, you would desire nothing else singular, isn't it? ," "Remarkably so, she answered, laughing. "I fancy many other persons would be satisfied on as easy terms. But how much I should wish for, were all my wishes to be granted. My desires would be limitless. I should wish to do all manner of wonders. Then I suppose I should get tired of' acting, and wish to shave all things--power, wis- dom, learning, wealth--without' effort."' "I have heard," said Mr. King, "that some men's desires are beyond their abilities, and others have abilities beyond their desires--, "I can scarcely imagine that last! t interrupted tIarian. "How stupid they must be, and so con. tented!, "Scarcely contented, I imagine, but most dis- contented. The 'waste of feelings unemployed,' aims unreached, and occasions lost, must remorse. page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 ARIA1 ELWOOD; fully haunt one whose whole life has been useless to his fellow-beings, and burdensome to himself." "I hope I shall never be haunted that way. I always supposed I did all the good I was prompted to do; yet, as I think how little I have done, I am afraid I haven't had very many good impulses." "More, no doubt, than- circumstances have enabled you to follow." "Some good things are so much easier to do than others; things heroically, sublimely good, are easy to perform, but letting people abuse me, underrate me, insult me, act meanly by me, and bear it with sweetness and patience, is a good thing I never find easy. Do you?" "N'o. I think it is easier to devote one's life to the poor, for instance, build houses, and make comfortable homes for them, forego the pleasures of society, the comforts of wealth and luxury, live for others, and forget self, than it is to live a patient, unnoticed, meek, submissive life."' "Yes, indeed! The former bring their own reward, but the latter-perhaps that too, but I can't sympathize with meek people. Come, hurry up, you lazy old horse! I wish you had wings, old horsey; and we'd fly to New York; you must come there some time, to see me, Mr. King, won't you? "I shall be delighted. I have been to that great city several times, but am not at all acquainted with. Intruth,we New Englanders stand in fear oW, nHW GIRLS LTV. 165 and horrorof the very mention of New York life.") "Why?" ' It is very artificial, isit not? , "I never found, it so, perhaps because I never thought about it. I have whole hosts of friends --sutch friends-- why I suppose they are natural enouogh, if there were occasion for naturalness.", "Pray, tell me something about your friends.", "Such friends as I have. Let me see-I sup pose I ought to rank Lucy Merton first, for we have been intimate for many years-- never had but one true friend- and she died ;- I never had a tree or flower--, so Lucy comes first; we low the same people, do our shopping 'at the same streets, patronize the same ice-cream saloons; so we are friends of couis h' a, a blode-haes brunettes,7) "Is she lively, gay, fashionable? , "Lucy? Oh no; Lucy is quiet, calm, perfectly proper. Until last winter I thought her the very soul of, honor. I have really no reason to say she is 'otherwise; perhaps you know how easy it is to see every thing with a prejudiced eye, but all the world knows that suspicions once aroused, every act, before praised and admired, can be considered positive proofs of deceit. One little act of my friend Lucy's changed in my eyes the meaning of every subsequent expression, and what before seemed to me most honest and truthful, afterwards appeared the deepest hypocrisy and deception. It ocrisy, and deception., it page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 166 MA 1AAN RA ELWOOD; was a very sad feeling; no, not so sad as pro. voking," "Perhaps you do her injustice; you should not wholly condemn her, even in your own mind, until you can no longer doubt," Mt. King said. "'"Perhaps you are right," she answered. "But oh, if you only knew her mother! It is worth a journey to New York just to see her; I don't like her, but I have to visit her all the same. If I were to tell her that you were a Professor, for instance, in a New England college, a remarkably intellec- tual young man, but, unfortunately, without the means of cultivating your brilliant talents; she would stare at you through her glass, decline an introduction, and hold up her dress every time she passed you, lest it should be contaminated by the contact with genius united to poverty. But if I were to tell her you are the Only son of Lord This or Lord That, related or connected with Lord Somebody, a wild young fellow, with not brains enough to understand a line of poetry, and not education enough to parse an active verb, that you had been sent here under an assumed name, in the hope that by travelling you might acquire a grain of sense; Mrs. Merton would smile and simper; beg to introduce you to her charming daughter; you would be be-dinnered, and be- suppered unmercifully. If that is-what you call artificial, there is plenty of it in New York." j "Do not such things disgust you? "No, I only find them amusing; they give me OB, HOW GILS LIVE. 167 something to laugh at in rainy weather. Dear old New York! I should almost like to see you again, yet Westonville has spoilt the city for me-; I shall never be gay nor fashionable again." He smiled incredulously. I think you would soon tire of the country were you condemned to see it in its winter garb; and I fancy the bustle and excitement, variety, and gayety of a large city, has more charms for you than the sameness and monotony of a country life." "That," she answered, coloring slightly, "that, if said in a crowded drawing-room, could be made to seem like a compliment; spoken in this deep. ening twilight, under the shadows of these grand old trees, it sounds half like a reproof. However, I won't quarrel about it. I supposelam not quite good enough fully to appreciate a Country life, but there is no telling to what a state of perfection with a little practice I might attain. Mrs. Merton once in speaking on the subject told me never to think of love in a cottage, for that I was never made for any such thing. 'You look very well,' she said, in an elegant muslin and leghorn hat, on the balcony of some handsome summer residence, but in a calico dress and tucked up sleeves you would be a veritable fright.'" Mr. King, much pleased with the manner in which she had received his last remark, now exerted himself to entertain her, and was reallyvery interesting when his natural reserve and lack of confidence would permit him to draw on the rich ! page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] 168 ARIAN ELWOOD; stores of a mind naturally strong and energetic, enriched by study, observation, and travel; they talked of other lands, of other days, until Marian from a leader in the conversation became a delight- ed listener; and had it not been for the simplicity of his thoughts and the clearness of his expression, would have felt lost, and too far beneath him; but he carried her with him, drew from her mind knowledge, the existence of which she had never before suspected, and kindled up thoughts. as rich and beautiful as they were new. How truly, when they reached Mr. Weston's, did she wish it could have lasted forever! Bessie made a revelation that night, after the candle Was extinguished, and Marian half wept as she congratulated her artless friend, and bade her return Melville's love with all the force and power of her nature. "Woman's love is all devotion, sweet Bessie; it is right it should be so; love him as much as ever you can, and never, never doubt him." She would have said much more had she not known its uselessness, so she played with Bessie's curls, and thought of some lines of Mrs. Brownings, which twenty-four hours before she would have quoted in good faith: "Love him with thine azure eyes, Made for constant granting, Taking color from the skies, Can Heaven's truth be wanting? v ; O, O OW GIRLS LIVE. 169 "Love him with thy thinking soul, Break it to love's sighing;-. Love him with thy thoughts that roll, On through living-dying. "Thus if thou wilt prove him dear, And woman's love no fable, He will love thee half a year; If a man is able," 8 i ' ;4 page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] 170 MARIAN ELWOOD; CHAPTER XVI. ',ltW lucky for lades,' I hinted, That in our republican land, They may prattle without being stinted, Of matters they don't understand "' "Trifles make perfection." A SHORT tinme after, Marian gave a small eve- ning party. Mrs. Lee and daughter Miss Emery, Miss Clark, and their respective brothers; Mr. ing and Mr. Melville, were there, and many others not man, and a poetess. Some one in the course of the evening tought proper to tell the story of a little drowned boy. Mrs. Emery took occasion from it to recall her maternal fears for her darling Augustus, who was always most fond of boating, skating, and bathing. i"Mother always worried more about Gus than about any of us," said her daughter Jennie. "f he was gone fifteen minutes longer than he said, she was always surehe was drowned. It was no use for one to assure her there was no danger for him." OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 171 "Jennie sagely imagined my nature was too aspiring-my destiny too lofty-tog countenance such fears," replied the doctor. j , "If you will pardon a joke on so serious a sub- ject," interposed the minister, "I will venture to suggest that a man-who is born to be hanged will never be drowned.-" t7 "If that isso," answered Marian, "Dr. Emery may make his home in the ocean and fearnhot.' "Perhaps I shall 'try it; and if some day I am washed by the waves to your feet all dead, you will remember your words." l"I shall never have occasion," she replied, laughing. "Now, my dear Miss Elwood," said the minis- ter, "may I presume to request you will not speak of death while teaching us how beautiful life can be??" "It is an awful subject," she answered, "and has therefore a fascination for me. Sometimes at night I am half afraid to close my eyes to sleep, for I cannot help thinking how sad it would be if they were never to open on any earthly object. I cling to life with a convulsive grasp, and cannot bear to think I must ever die." "IIy dear young friend,7"Mrs. Emery said, "you surprise me! I should love to die; it is so sweet to close one's eyes upon the troubles and cares of life, all its littleness, and all its wicked- ness, and open them in the home of our heavenly Father." page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 1'2 - AB:IARN ELrWOOD; "I know," aswered Maian, "I Ikow there is a home-a heavenly home-prepared for the good; yet it is not always that the eye of faith can see clearly intothe world beyond.' Mr. Kng, who was sitting eside her, looked surprised, and was about to reply, when Mrs. Emery said, "But love can make it clear even to the dullest minds. All upon earth is sad, faught with sorrow and cdisappointment. Then haste the day, when, throwing aside the trammels of earth, and shaking the dust from our feet, we may soar unto our Fa- thoer's mansion. I look forward, my sweet friend, to the day when all mankind shall meet in a bro- therhood of love- and peace; when man, shall no longer live selfishy fobr himself alone, but for the, good of all; when he shall no longer listen to the dictates of cold, calculating reason, but speak out firmly the thoughts that are given him; when men shall be men, speak for themselves, act for themselves, then--" "But, Mrs. Emery," interrupted Marian, "but if people did not reason they would be but little better than animals, who are guided by instincts alone. I don't think I understand you." ",Possibly not, 'and it would be useless for me to explain. You are not prepared to understand. Some time it may come to you, as I hope it will to all the world. Few are yet prepared for it mean are dependent on one another; they are timd and selfish; they dare not act freely and according to their own pure and lovely instincts. They must OR, HOW GIRLS LIE. 173 know their own power, and fearless in the might of their own intellect, rise superior t the scorn of the great, and the envy of the little. Woman must rise, too, from her bondage; must throw aside the fetters of society and false timidity; must come forth and utter the thoughts given her to utter-must give\the truth to man, for she alone has preserved it unsullied. When men are just to themselves and to women; when women are just to'each other, and unquestioning, unreasoning, let their free, gushing thoughts be spoken; then will there be peace on earth. Alas! we are not pre- pared for it yet!" "I am very glad you have told me what the world is coming to; I have often wondered. The mildest laws are too severe for the people nowa- days, and religion seems to live but in the minds of women and children," Marian said, speaking from her city observations. "It is so," replied Mrs. Emery, because reli- gion "-with a glance at the minister--' because religion, so often the cloak for the greatest vices, has failed to give man the happiness he desires, and must ever pursue. It is the wish for some- thing higher than he has ever found that makes man throw aside the soul-crushing influence of a sect or creed. Man will have no mediator between himself and God, and when all men speak accord- ing to their own glorious impulses, when laws en-J acted by legislatures are abolished, and churches page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 MaEIN LWOOD; thrown down, then, Marian, then you may wish to live; until then, "a mort est une amie Qui rend la libert."' "I cannot consider it as such," said Marian. "cannot think upon the dread doom of the whole human race, given as a punishment, not as a re- ward, without shrinking from it with hroror. To go where no human ease, nor wealth, nor power, nor strength, nor energy, nor eloquence can avail us; to feel one leaves weary, aching hearts behind, hearts that long'to forget and cannot--eyes that brighten to the world, that the tears shed in lonely hours may leave no trace. Oh, it is a sad, sad thing to die!" "What do you think of Mrs. Emery's transcen- dentalism?"Marian asked her uncle as she passed him on the way to supper. "Worse than of your popery, if possible," he answered. "Have you ever tried to convert your uncle?" asked Mr. King, at supper. "Convert him! he hates popery-as he calls it -worse than his dark-browed majesty of the Bas Empire. He is so strong in his own belief--" "Perhaps he is not as firm as he would have us suppose, and it is possible that he longs earnestly for light and faith.", "It is quite impossible, I assure you. He is as J ) , , OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 175 firm as a rock; would laugh at the possibility of his being wrong, or Mr. Clark's not being a true shepherd." "Yet there is little in the few things comprised in his creed, to satisfy an intellect like his." "That is not his view of the case, for he often tells me our religion crushes the upward, soaring tendencies of man's better nature, while his gives free and full scope to the mind." "A view not uncommon to Protestants. Ex- cuse me, you- have already put three spoonfuls of sugar into Mr. Clark's coffee." "It won't hurt him,' she replied, though she gave him another cup. Dr. Emery, who had been eating with evident enjoyment of the good things before him, now in- sisted upon shaking hands with Mrs. Martin, as a )token of respect and admiration for her culinary 'talent. On being informed of Marian's assistance, he wanted to shake hands with her) too, French fashion, which she however refused, and this led to' a discussion of the different customs of different countries, in which Mr. Weston figured very con- spicuously. Two middle-aged men--political friends of Mr. Weston-who eat his dinners and suppers, and made him astonishing promises, dis- posed of the affairs of the nation in a very ener- getic voice and manner, and there surely never was a livelier scene in all Westonville before. Mr. King's remarks about her unclestruck Ma- rian very forcibly; she could not forget them; she ) page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 MABIA ELWOOD; looked again and again at her uncle heard him give his opinions with the air of one who has never supposed it possible for them to be questioned; she shook her head, and smiling turned to Mr. King. "You are thinking of what I said about Mr. Weston,' he remarked. "Yes; but cannot believe it possible."' "You do not think him a man likely to care nothing about religion-as willing to believe one thing as another, as long as it suits his purpose?" "O no,' she answered quickly, "I can imagine no man who is possessed of one spark of common sense, heart, feeling, or intellect, to be indifferent about religion. Some men are too weak to act up to their belief; too timid to profess the truth; there are many who would rather bear the re- proaches of their own consciences than a shadow of rebuke from the world; there are men, too, who in folly and wickedness have stifled the yearning desire for religion; but naturally indifferent, I am sure, no man can be, and my uncle last of all." "And he is not one to take a doctrine on an- other's word, without understanding any thing about it?" "My uncle? Why, he' would scarcely eat a cake he had never seen before, until he knew whence it came, of what it was made, how it was made, and who made it. He take a religion from lr. Clark's hands, on his authority? Pardon me, the idea is absurd." OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 117 "Then he has, doubtless, investigated his reli- gion, and having found it right is: content with it?" , "Yes; and his nature is such that if he believes at all he must believe with his whole soul, without the shadow of a doubt." ) :"As firmly as we believe our religion?" "Just the same." ' Is that possible? Can one have unwavering faith in error? No one, earnest and sincere, can. live as securely in error as in truth, since man's very nature seeks truth, craves infinite truth, and can rest securely only when it has f6und it." "And so, as neither you nor I know what it is to doubt, we must have found infinite truth, and as either we or my uncle must be wrong-as we know we are not-we naturally suppose he is, and being wrong, must doubt. And so, I am to believe that my consequential uncle over there, who says such eloquent things about his lights and inspira- tions, whom I have always supposed impervious to such a feeling, actually has a suspicion, sometimes, that he is not just-in the right way." "And, perhaps, feels so keenly his want of cer- tainty, that, to silence the rising doubt, he affects a firmness he- is far from having. If so, dark in- deed must be his life; for in this world there are many sorrows, some that wear slowly, so'me-that pierce quickly and keenly; but where there is true faith, and eternal hope, there is security and conso- lation; but it is a fearful thing to grope in dark- {3*m page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] ,178 MArIAN ELWOOD; ness, to put forth a trembling hand, unable even to conjecture what it may touch ; to feel no cer- tainty here, and shudder at the more terrible un- certainty as to wlat may be hereafter." "My poor uncle!" was Marian's only answer; and they did not speak again until after supper. Marian proposed a dance before they separated, and played while Mr. King looked over her music. "How can you resist the temptation? Is not my music most lively and inspiriting? "Most inspiriting; but I enjoy it none the less that I can give it my undivided attention." "I would play a waltz, polka, or schottische, if there were anybody here to dance it; but I sup- pose there is not. I wish somebody were here to play for me, just one little dance." "Do you dance?" he asked. "Certainly; everything on earth from a minu- et to an Irish jig," she replied, and thought he looked grave about it.; she asked somewhat timidly, -"Are you not fond of dancing?'" "Not very," he answered, and at that moment Dr. Emery came towards them saying, "Let me play a waltz for you, Miss Elwooda." "A thousand thanks," said Marian' rising. "Are you going to dance?" asked Mr. King, "Why should I not?" thought Marian; how- ever she said, "No; but I am very glad of a rest; play another quadrille, please doctor." He led her to a seat, and she wished there OR, -OW GIRLS LVE. 179 were more things he would have her give up; it was so pleasant making sacrifices for him. "What shall I do to convert my uncle?" she asked as he was leaving. "Be a good little girl, he replied, smiling; "that will have more effect than a thousand ser- mons. Good night; I hope to see you again soon." "And," she thought, as she entered her room- "and is all this given to me, to me who have dared to speak so rashy. Oh, ny wild, wicked words! would I could recall themr! Can they ever be for- given? , *)* * - - - ' ' \ page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 A IAoN ELWOOD; CHAPTER XVII. Stand I condemned for pride and scorn so much? Contempt, farewell I and maiden pride, adieu I * * -* * * * And, Benedict, love on, I will requite thee." I AM going down to Boston to-morrow," Mr. King said to Marian as he was walking home from church with her the next Sunday morning, "on very important business, and may r ask you to wish very hard with me that Lmay succeed I go to receive a decision which will give me either scarcely hoped-for happiness, or half-feared misery. However, the Westonville air has something hope- fal in it." "I hope most sincerely that all may be as you desire," she answered, with some ceremony. ;"Thank you! thank you! Good bye. I hope I shall see you soon again. Good bye." "That means," thought Marian, angry, though she knew not why-" that means he has a lady love in Boston, and is going to ask the all-important question. Do. I care?" she continued, scarcely yet understanding her anger. "This is my punish- ment, this is my reward-for what!-for belief, or OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 181 for coldness and distrust? Come on, ye spirits that I dared invoke; I called you, cOmme, I will not shrink. I can bear your malice. Shall I die that he does not love me? No, iot I. May she not love him?-May she receive him with scorn-ay-spurn him from her? Dare she? I would kill her if she did. No-no. May she love him! Oh God, grant that she may love him. -Even with all the fire and energy that I would! May she be worthy of his love HNot love him?-She must! she were unworthy of a place on the earth did she not love him, the noblest, the best of men! Yet-perhaps-I-would I be a second love!-Yes-if that second lovewere to be his. But no-she must love him--he must never feel what I do now. Oh God,fgrant that they may be happy! I called it upon myself- though I knew not-meant not-what I said. Yet may he be happy." But Marian's grief was of short duration; about three days after Mr. King returned from Boston, and immediately called upon her; her resolution of maintaining a stoical indifference was somewhat shaken by the unusual animation with which he greeted her. "I did not hope to see you so soon. You " shortened your stay," she began with an affectation of carelessness. - "Had I received the answer I feared when I left you, I should never have seen you again; at least such was my intention on leaving you." / page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] 182 MAfIAL ENLWO0D; "How am I to understand that?" she asked, her color rising, for she did not think under the circumstances that he had any right so to address her. "Am I to consider your resolution broken, or your answer such as you wished?" "My answer was not all I wished, yet any decision not negative was most welcome," he replied, assisting her to draw her embroidery frame towards her. "I have been a whole week at this unfortunate rose," she said, selecting a 'skein of silk slowly, with no very evident desire of finishing it in another week. "I thinksewing was invented for my par- ticular torment." Then after a pause she added, her color again rising, "But I have forgotten to congratulate you on the fortunate result of your visit-I hope-the-fair lady--" "'Fair lady " he repeated, surprised; "there was no lady in question." No-did you-I thought-so, after all, you did not go to -Boston to propose--how unfortunate I when I was all prepared to be the confidante of a most thrilling romance of real. life. Oh," she thought, "what queer beings women are; "ips that trembled with their love, In trembling have denied it '" "Mary Ann! Mary Ann!" her uncle said, :entering the room soon after Mr. King left it-- "Mary Ann! I have promised never more to On, BOW GIRLs LVM . - 183 quarrel with you, and have no desire to do so, yet I must entreat you, my dear niece, to listen to what I am about to say to you: I am, you un- derstand, an old bachelor, a ligid exacting one perhaps, but I have some feeling notwithstanding; and much as it pains e to find you so incorrigible a coquette-- YO corgible "Only a flirt, sir., "Flirt or coquette, it is all the same., "O no, a coquette is regularly deceitful for the sake of being heartless--flirts-.-arewell- not creature, shall yet seek to do it, and implore and 'entreat you, as I have promised not to command you, if you must and willrflirt to let it be with any body and every body rather than Ernest Iing. lie is none ofyour gay butterflies to flutter around each flower that blooms. To love. is no child's play with him, you /nderstand. Not a feeling to occupy an idle moment, to be forg6tten as soon as some other thing claims his attention. No, my dear niece, good hearted as you naturally ere, too much of your freshness and truth has been lost, for 1he remainder to be a fitting exchange for such a ieart as his. Sasno flirting with him. tDare not lirt with him. Ifyou do, ifyoubrigdisappotment d life-longorro to , the n ma ea , dear his attention. No, nly page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] 184 MAIAN ELWOOD; "For Heaven's sake, uncle, stop! Iam not as bad as you think me; I would never have flirted with any one had I supposed men had any hearts.." "What business had you to think about it? Was it not enough for you to learn your lessons, and dress your dolls, without troubling your young head about men's hearts? Men's hearts, forsooth I What an age is this when every lisping Miss that has glanced at her English Grammar, learned a few French sentences, and Italian songs, must grow tired of her dolls and playthings, and when she ought to be studyingher multiplication table, puts on long dresses, and sits demurely in mamma's drawing-room, and if any one mentions love, shakes her head sagely, and says, 'There is no such thing,' as if the every-day experiences of thousands for years and years were all wrong, and the silly lisper right. Pshaw! it makes me mad! No hearts! Show me among all your sentimental friends a heart like Ernest King's and then I will listen; now I have no patience with you'. * But, uncle, New York men are not like Ernest King!" "New York men! They are not men-a set of brainless, soulless fops." "True, but what could I do?" "Do? Scorn them." "But then I should have no one to dance with, promenade with, to talk to, nor no one even to take me in to supper."' OR, HOW GIBLS LrVE, 185 "Go by yourself. Vain and silly as you have been, I promise you, if alone, you would be in far better company than if with any of those smooth- faced, shallow-pated boys!" "But do you think Ernest King very much better than New York men?" ("Do I think Ernest King much better than New York men? Mary Ann! Mary Ann! Shame on you that you should ask the question. Such a disposition! He seems never to think of himself, but of every one else. Gifted with a strong, clear, sound understanding, splendidly educated as he is -he is, of all men I ever met, the one who is most ready to excuse others, and find something good in the worst of mankind. Tell me, have you ever heard him speak ill of any one? Have you ever heard him boastingly speak of himself, or conceit. edly deliver his opinion? -Did you ever know any one so unpretending in his manners, so straight-for- ward in his actions, so single-hearted in all things? Bah! I can't talk about my friends! can't say fine things, but when I meet a man like Ernest King, all that is best and highest in my nature bounds with joy, and bends with instinctive ad- miration before him. Shall his noble soul be blight- ed, his affections drawn forth, then cast back upon him, poisoned with scorn and deceit, to rankle in his heart, and make his life a gloomy solitude? Mary Ann! If you flirt though ever so little with him-" "I promise you I will never flirt with him," page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 MARIAN ELWOOD; Marian answered, frightened by the solemnity with which he spoke. "I promise you, uncle, never by word, nor look, nor thought, nor wish to arouse one kindly feeling towards me, that I will not truthfully and gratefully repay." "That's a good girl, a very good little girl. You do not know what power a woman has; beware how you use yours, and remember Heaven has heard your promise never to flirt with Ernest King." OR, fOW GIRLS LIV -18 CHAPTER -XVIII. "Work for some good, be it ever so slowly; Cherish some flower,.be it ever so lowly; Labor I all labor is noble and holy." "The eloquence of goodness Scatters not words in the ear, but grafteth them To grow and to bear." "MARY ANN," Mr. Weston said to his niece one Sunday, as she met him on his way from meet- ing-"Mary Ann," he repeated, and appeared to be in an unusually impatient mood-"Mary Ann -Marian, I mean-does your minister ever talk transcendentalism?" "No, indeed!" "Then I'll go to hear him! No, I won't do any such thing, for I abominate popery. But I wish he would give Mr. Clark a few lessons. It makes me mad, a man like him to stand up there and talk in that trashy way to such a congregation. It won't do; I won't endure it." "Can your minister preach any thing he pleases? And do you never doubt or question the truth- ofhisireligious doctrines?" page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] 38 MAhRLN ELWOODOD "You silly child? Do you imagine I believe half the things Mr. Clark does? A minister, my dear Mary Ann--Marian, since you so much prefer the name-a minister is but a man; he takes with bim into the temple the thoughts, hopes, feelings, wishes, and infirmities of a man, aided, it is to be hoped, by his sacred calling, to overcome his ten- dencies to evil, but yet far from perfect. If you will observe, Marian, in this there is a great differ- ence between our ministers and yours. Ours humbly acknowledge their humanity and natural weakness; yours would make themselves as g arrogantly declaring they can never err. , you understand, though they make idol hem- selves, yet they are none the less mIn than our humble and candid ministers; ." "; Our priests assert their infallib y as priests, not as men,-the infallibility of the hurch, not of - themselves."' " Our ministers have no such pIe. "But I do not see the use of inister at all, if he pretends to no higher, truer lit, than. that given to all men." . "O, we often get good ideas fro one who makes religion his only study. But yoionly a child in these things-talk of something e talk nonsense, it suits you better." "O, uncle But you can't put me down in that way. I want you to explain, you believe something; you have a creed, I suppose?" "Yes, certainly; but no idolatrous onmdJado - OF " OR, HOW GIRLS LIYrE by shaven monks, at the- dictates of the haughty Romish tyrant." - -"Do youn believe it firmly? Do you nev6r- wonder if it mnight not be a little different?, "Doubts, my dear niece will come to all. It is to defy doubts, to conquer wavering, to seek God, to serve him through darkness as through light that proves the true Christian." "But God gave us one true religion; until that is found, it seems to me, one must be m constant doubt ut once found, doubt, wavering,fear, all at an end," , he best of people doubt sometimes." "Ring never doubts his religion." So as -told me, and believe him; but it is the effecf his nature, not of his creed. A man, at believes as earnestly as he does most likely i ws what he believes., "Pshaw! Child, don't discuss religion; I don't like to ear yoU. iRosy lip were never made for sue a tiresome task., O, Oyou rrid man! You can't deceive me You are a d to talk or think of Catholicity, for fear you be forced to acknowledge the truth of ts trines, and just think of the descendant he Westons going to 'heaven in the same way' as plebeian souls!" a "Afiaid? I haven't time to waste talking of popish superstitions. Have you heard from your mother lately? , ' page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 MAPIAX EnLWOOD; "Last week some time, I had a letter from your graceless namesake-" "Why do you call him Steve? Is not his name Weston Elwood?" "Yes, Stephen Weston Elwood, after my granfather, you know. Mother always laid so much emphasis on the Weston, and it was such a difficult name for familiar conversation, that I call him alternately ' Woodie Weston, ' lllie, 'Steve,' aUnd 'Ma's son Weston.' Steve is the easiest. Well, this young gentleman, uncle, talks about my going back in a week or two, but I -am sure you won't give me up yet, though he says mother 'misses me dreadfully. Everybody will shortly re- turn to the city, the opera will begin, Broadway be crowded, linen wrappers taken off, and the city be itself once more; as I think how gay it wil be, much as I like your old woods, I half want to see my old home." "What do you intend- to do when you re- -turn?" "Let me see. Get the prettiest fall costume you ever saw, make calls, receive calls, go out evenings,' eat, drink, and sleep-heigho I "And haVe' you never an aspiration for a differ- ent life?" " Iave I never? Have I not felt in all its truth the utter frivolity and uselessness of my life? What end, aim, or object have I had in life, save to grow handsome, cultivate my taste, and improve my manners? Glorious objects on which to ex- OR, nOW GIBLS In. 191 pend the rich- endowments of an immortal soul! Yet what else is there for me to da? Attend to my home duties? I have none. My mother would no sooner let me interfere with her china than my father with his bonds and mortgages., I can't write a book; I can't paint a picture; I can't compose music: there's nothing in the world for me to do. And I shall never be happy while I have nothing to do." "Throw the world aside, look beneath its glit- tering veil, and you will find employment enough." The answer wasn't satisfactory, and Marian wished she had courage to speak of it to somebody else, and the next time somebody else called, she did say, though very timidly, "I am going home in two or three weeks, Mr. King, and much as I regret to leave Westonville, the scene of my happiest hours, I cannot repress a desire to see the gay city again, and if there opens no other avenue to walk as heretofore."- "I hope, in the variety and excitements of the city, you will not forget Westonville." "' Indeed I shall not; my affection for Weston- ville, instead of diminishing, will increase as day after day I shall think of the calm, happy days I have spent here, and the dull, dreary ones I must pass in New York. I don't call time a healer, con- soler, and all that, for I don't believe it. Should I lose a dear friend, one of whose virtue and worth I had a most exalted opinion, the bitterest drop in the chalice of my grief would be the consciousness page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 UAIA LWOOD that time would but give me opportunities of con- trasting the merits of the lost one with the weak- ness or sinfulness of those remaining. Ishall neveot forget Westonville, and I almost wish I were not goin. back to the oity-- have nothing to do ther.", "Nothing but sw, wlk, dance, , an talk. I wish I were a man, I should then knw what to do With myself." "It is unfortunate that women have no-mental employment; they would be far happier if they had:" "Far happier; and would not bea forced to waste all their mind and heart in society." vaste all their Emia satae their natural gifts "But is it necessary to was by going into society?" and "' Certainly; if one-gives up society wholly and entirely, tseparates oneself fromall human inter- course, why, then it is possible to preserve and improve the mind and character, at the expense however of all social feeling; but no girl, let her be ever so strong, let her character be ever so deep, her heart ever so'true, can go into society with- out buryig all under an artificial manner, and acquiring an outwardly frivolous nature.: She may be just as gdod as ever, but there is no room, no place for her goodness, and it finally pines away and dies." "Do yeou think this really necessary?" ,I know it is so; would any lady sit cold and OR, nOW GIRLS IVE, 193 frowning on the small talk going on arouna her; would she enter a drawing-room and standing by herself, wonder how human beings so wondrously made and munificently endowed, could know no other desire than to talk nonsense, scandal, and gossip, and blush at praises she, knew to be unmeant and unmerited? No, indeed, she too must listen, and from being contemptuously polite, become amused, interested, and finally covet it as much as all the rest; and the hours that are spent alone, so full of remorseless yearnings for some other life; believe me, the girls you men affect to despise, to call silly, vain, thoughtless and heart- less, bear more mental trials, have greater troubles, than many who with so much apparent reason condemn them. But women can't be doctors, lawyers, nor merchants. All women have not artistic nor literary abilities; all women have not homes to make happy, and loved hearts to cheer. I suppose I could find a mission were I willing to seek it in the right way; but I can't do things half and half. If I undertake a thing I must bend my whole mind and soul to it, to the entire ex- clusion of every thing else. If I were willing to give up society, all amusements-all-every thing I have always sought, I could perhaps find some work to do, which would employ ,my thoughts, enlarge my understanding, elevate my mind, and strengthen my character; but as I cannot give up society until I have found something else, and as I can't find any thing else until I have given up . 9 , page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 MARIAN ELWOOD; society, I am likely to remain very much as I am; and to tell the truth, conceited as you may think me, little satisfaction as being gay and fashionable me, littleWhat dreams gives me-yet I like it, and have even now dreams of being some time very much-admired--an courted--or, more truly, of becomin-well--all that the world admires, more for the satisfactionit gives me to seek it, than any thing else." "Do you not find satisfaction in it because it is the only object you happen to have? Do you not think if the object were different and required a different life, you would be just as glad to follow it? And again, do the same thing for an object far nobler, which would inspire you with higher wishes, and I think its very greatness would give you double desire and double power to gain it." "What is that?" "Turn world reformer in a new way." "' World reformer! I a world reformer 1" "- Yes, and you need not lose your position, sacrifice any :thng, but live as before, except, for the: present object of your labors substitute that of showing the world how a woman can be beauti ful, stylish, fascinating, witty, and--sensiblei "I never suspected you of sarcasm or malice before; I thought you the most straight-forward spoken man in the world." t "And why not now?" "' Don't ask me to explain, it is such an exertion. So for that end you would have me live the same as before--change nothing, e[ept the object; OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 195 what I now study to make myself for the sake of admiration, you think I could do for the sake of making myself an example. But would it do any good?-one person-it would be like a drop ,of water in the ocean.', "I think not," he answered. "Many sensible women see the evils of society, and with the best intentions in the world, set themselves to work to overcome them; they lay about with great battle- axes, and the consequence is, society shuts its gates against them. They may strike against the hangers around the doors, but that has no effect upon those within." "You are going to preach an artful, strategetio warfare. I am quite shocked." "Do not be. I think one who has seen society, has lived in it and been of it, has far more advantage. You need not fight but walk among them." "And insinuate by words and example what others would pound and cut into people! A good idea; but suppose they should cry a 'traitor in the camp,' and kil me " "You must prepare by much labor for that, and be so necessary that the camp cannot do with- out you. To drop all metaphors. Having seen as much as you have, having felt all you have, know- ing how many feel with you, you have every in- ducement to hope for success; you need not change your way of living, still see all that you have seen, page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 196 - MARTAN :ELWOOD; still labor to make yourself all you intended, and then refusing to submit to those commands which you do not like, with the dignity and grace that all must admire and none dare reprove, your own. standard placed far above all others, those who wish to be your friends-and they will be many-must, of course, raise theirs, and so on. It does not require any remarkable power to do this, only to know-how and when. People often take their tone from whoever chooses to give it. If you commence a gossiping conversation, your companion will keep it up, he may begin in the same way with another; whereas, had you begun in a higher strain, you would have each elicited good ideas from the other, aroused new thoughts, and unconsciously spurred each other to new efforts." "But sensible women are-never listened to." "If they .are kind-hearted, amiable, have taste, and are not egotistical, are they not liked?" "I never saw one combine all those qualities, did you?" "I hope I shall." "If they could be acquired you should not wait long." Marian understood his idea exactly; while it left her still in the gay world, it would give her a good, unselfish object, for which to study, read, and observe, and thus advance her in the work of elevating her own character, and enable her to OR, HOW OILS LIV. 19 exert a higher and holier influence, He wished to advise her that they who are born for society, and must ive-in it, may-, if they wil, find in it the means of their own self-improvement, and of contributing to its elevation. * ^t- page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] 198 MAEIAj ELWOOD CHAPTER XIX. "Iie comes and sues, 8 .a Thinking the lady would scarce refuse A man of his worth and liberal views." "I have a thousand spirits in one breast, , To answer twenty thousand such as you." "It is good for me that I have been humbled, that I may cast away from me all pride of heart, and presumption."-THOMAS A KEMPIS. ABOUT an hour or two after Mr. King left her, and she was practising a song he liked, Mr. Clark was shown into the room. He looked unusually stiff and most wondrously important. Marian held out one hand to him while the other ran rather impa- tiently over the keys. She told him in a girlish way to put lhis hat on the table and to be seated, while she, still retaining her seat, turned towaids him, and though inwardly making most amusing comments on his appearance, she contrived to listen without laughing to his grave remarks. He touched a little on religion. Would she always object even to examine the doctrines of any other religion? Could he be permitted to bring her a few books which would OR, HOW GIRLS LIrV. 199 explain whlatever she might find objectionable in hisreligion p he asked. She was perfectly satisfied with her own belief and consequent I perfectly indifferent to any other sthe anose be a uld u oed inspirat She rs was not the mind, e insisabout ito re fuse aight, let it come from whatever b source it wout ld no inl eelineast, ould she not allow him tohope standard and the beauprofit unshackled nsirations of the Gospel? o beautiful bg him t sg a no more aboutd it. She was grateful for his interest, but assured him it was but a waste of kindly feeling on his part. 'But no kindly feeling could, it seemed to him no thanks for the kindness,-ffrom the first moment that she had appeared among them, he had felt impelled by an inward voice to reclaim her, he de- served no thanks for it, for it had brought its own reward; he had not at first fully ruderstood the meaning of this In s t fully mderstood the meealeni of this mystic voice, butas day after day revealed new proofs of the beautiful woman she might be, if freed from popish error and super- stition, he had inwardly vowed to devote, if neces sary, his whole life to freeing her--and for that purpose he now laid his heart and hand at her feet. In doing so he did -not deny that he exposed him. self to much censulre, but whatever the world page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] might say, he felt for her sake he could brave it all; he would not, for he dared not, trust himself to speak of the love he felt for her, for she must long ago have seen that, and all mistakes he may now have made he begged her to attribute to his modesty, that trembled, while it hoped it rightly understood her actions, to say he did not love in vain. He did her too much honor, Marian said, as soon as her anger permitted her to speak-too much honor; but hiM generosity in braving the world's censure, should not much outdo that which resolutly refused to expose him to so severe a trial. He feared it not, he exclaimed. With her love he could smilingly scorn all that envious tongues might say, and though she were now a Catholic might he not hope when he had proved his-fidelity anjd love, she might be induced to listen to something of his religion; he ventured to suggest that she need not fear any misunderstand- ing on the subject as he was liberal-minded, and she, he was confident, would be reasonable and just. She did not doubt that his liberality was equalled only by his modesty-but-- He begged pardon for interrupting her. -He wished to express a regret, a regret he knew she was too noble-minded to cherish for an instant, but which .he must ever feel-the regret that his small salary would not enable him to procure her all the luxuries to which she had been accustomed- - OR, HOW GIRLS rIE. 20 She begged him, once for all, to understand. her, she had no intention nor desire ofimposing such a burden upon him. ' o But it was not a burden, it would be a cher- ished treasure. if she must speak more plainly, she refused him decidedly and finally. Was not her objection one that could be overcome? It was not. Perhaps -she had deceived him; perhaps he had- a rival-one that would walk with her in the paths of darkness. But Mr. King-. The instant this name passed his lips, she start- ed from the piano, flashed on the now trembling minister a ook of' unutterable, uncontrollable scorn and rage. "Leave this room," she exclaimed, "this house, instantly! And my uncle shall cane you if you ever dare renew this insult." "Insult? And is it to be thus rejected that you' have lured me to you?, "Insolence! leave the room!' 'You refuse me?" "Refuse you-you contemptible apology for a man! Refuse you! Yes, and command you to go away---, "I go," he said, hastily retreating, " but not unforgetful., "Good Heavens!", she exclaimed, walking up and down the room after he left it. "Good Ieavens! to what a pass have I come, when such v page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 MARIAN 'ELWooD; a creature dares thus address me! Insolent! My uncle shall cane him But no-no human being shall ever know to what I have been degraded; he for his own sake, the cowardly hypocrite! will not dare speak of his temerity; and I, oh-shame on me! This is my glorious self-reliance, my supreme dignity, that I fancied would awe an emperor into involuntary homage! 'Had he mistaken my ac- tions?' Ridiculous fool that I have been, fancy- ing I could smile on human beings as I would on a fawning spaniel. That odious craven! Heavens! 'Had he a rival.' Ite to dare speak of Ernest King as his rival I I would rather have died than this had come to me. That cowardly, spiritless, contemptible creature He Ernest King's rival! His rival! I would like to kill him! I would! His rival! I deserve the insult-but to call Mr. King his rival! Oh! that I were a man! I be- lieve I would kill him! Ernest King's rival!" Her anger, modified by this burst, gave place to a feeling of mortification, that was almost sicken- ing in its intensity. She felt ashamed to look a human being in the face. She could not throw all her anger on the minister, for she remembered only too well how she had amused herself by en- couraging him. How in that hour she detested alike her vanity and her pride- O, HOW GIL LIVE. 203 CHAPTER XX. "The ancient spirit is not dead, Old times, thought I, are breathing here." "The forms of the grim knight and pictured saint Look living in the room; and as you turn Backward and forward, to the echoes faint Of your own footsteps, shadows appear to Start from the frames which fence their aspects stern, As if to ask how you can dare to keep A vigil there, where all but death should sleep." THE first Sunday after-the minister's proposal, Mr. Weston was not well enough to leave the house. On the morning of the second Sunday, when Marian had partly recovered from the shock she had received, though its effect upon her pride was fatal, Mr. Weston turned to her and said very gravely, o I go to your meeting to-day." She stared in complete amazement. Can you not accommodate me there? " " O, certainly, I shall be delighted-but are you really in earnest?" "I am, certainly." "I'd give a good deal," she thought, "to know what has put this in his head." But she did not page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 BtRMAN ELWOOD; venture to ask, and finished her breallfast in silence. He went to church with her, sat rigidly in his place, neither bowing his head nor bending his knee, displaying no curiosity to look over her prayer-book, but stiffly, immovably, listened to the end. Mr. King, fully as mu surprised as Marian, joined them on their way home. Mr. the services, thought the clergyman read Latin very well, and preached very sensibly, and practi- ally. But that was all he would answer to the inqules of either. lie did not go to meetifg in the afteron , and Marian persuaded him to let her read Thomas "Kempis, which lr. iing had lent' her, to him. It spread all over Westonville immediately that the squire was turning Catholic. Marian heard the report and ventured to repeat it to him. "mLet them think so," he answered. "P ps Some time or another they will know that James Weston will never desert the religion of his ances- tofrs Marian smiled, for she thought if his ances- try were not very modern he had already one all the desertion possible, and he had best follow her mother in returning to their faith. "I regret," Mrs. Lee said to Marian a few days after, "I regret very much that Mr. Clark should have taken advantage of your uncle's absence to make allusions, which he did, I know, 'firom a sense of its necessity, but which, I regret were not so considered by your uncle.' OR, HOW GnLS LIVE. 205 "My uncle? What allusions did the minister make?" "Have you not heard of them? Your uncle knows themv or, I presume, he would not have so angrily gone to the pa-Catholic Church." "Why, did Mr. Clark say any thing my uncle did not like?" "Yes. Have you not heard?" "No, nothing whatever, pray tell me what he said." "It was of very little importance, it was one of those unpleasant things that ministers of the gospel must say, though as men they would rather be silent." Won't you tell me what he said? "It would be best for you to ask your uncle. Good morning.' "Well, Madam Propriety, if you won't say any thing against your beloved minister, I know who will," thought Marian, as she put on her hat and went to Mrs. Emery's. "Mr. Clark does not give universal satisfaction I hear," said Marian to this lady. "No, my dear, as you can well testify, yet - it only confirms my opinion, that ministers must be done away with. I do not like the way your uncle received it. He knows that if he withdraws his favor the minister must leave-but if he had horse. whipped him-and then rejected his doctrines with- out seeking others-excuse me-fully as bad, I for one should have liked it better-should not you?" page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 MARAz ELWOOD; "My uncle said nothing to me about it, but I think he acted the best. What did the minister say?" "Well some people say he mentioned you by name.' "f He ," "Yes, but Gus was there, and declares he did not mention you by name, but made it so pointed that every one knew." What did he say? "Among so many reports, my dear friend, it is difficult to get at the right onei .Gus says-I forget how he introduced. it, but he warned them against the 'Scarlet woman,' coming in the pride of beauty and wealth-something more about Romish emissaries and modern Babylons; if Gus was here he would tell you exactly how it was--I have forgotten--it all goes to confirm my theory." "Did he mean me ." "Yes; and/I wonder your uncle did not horse- whip him. Melville was over here last evening; he says he will do it, surely; but Mr. Clark must leave after this, I suppose-though some will stand by him. I was never so much surprised in my life; I did not think he dared-your uncle is so influential here, and you have many firm friends. I do not think he can stay. Very few understand why your uncle went last Sunrday to the Catholic church. Mrs. Lee told me she thought that was the reason, I thought he had seen the error of his ways. Oh, when will men be men!", OR, Bow Gtass LxVm. 20? "But what made Mr. Clark speak so, h "Some private enmity, I suppose there must have been, though I never heard of any. I did not think he had so much courage.," "O, it is very comprehensible; these fawning, cringing creatures, ready to lick the dust at your feet; if they have a chance to give a thrust, have no spirit or manliness to make it honestly and bravely. utI must go now. "Good-bye., Mr. Weston the next Sunday morning signi. lied his intention to go no more to church until 'they had a new minister, and told Marian if she saw Mr. King at her church to ask him to come over and help him live through the afternoon. "Kis conversation, he said, in half apology for receiving a visitor on Sunday, "his consafion is too hig-minde and grave "hito be consideredsation a violation of the Lord's day. ' Aend Marian, not at all unwilling to comply with his request, promised and left him. In the afternoon Marian was making a bouquet by the open door when Mr. King came. "I have discovered the cause of my unle's sudden fancy for our church,, Marian said. "ave you indeed? I am sorry it proved only a passing fancy; but, never mind, he will come round right after all." "One consoiation, he won't go to hear Mr. Clark any more." , "No? has he found 'himself unable to keep pace with' his minister's doctrines? thatis a good sign." page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] '208 MARIAN ELWOOD; "I wish we could make a Catholic of him, Marian said, certain that Mr. King knew nothing of Mr. Clark's sermon about herself, andimmensely relieved she entered the house with him. "My uncle wants you brought to his library, where he holds court. I peeped into it once, but was so alarmed at its sombre appearance that Iran away, and have never entered since. I have bespoken a little sunlight for this afternoon, so I will favor you both with my company for a little while. Here, uncle," she added, knocking at the door, "open the doors of your dark abode, for the sunshine cometh." "Come in,+ Mr. Weston said, appearing at the door, and ushered them into his library, which indeed justified Marian's dislike; it was not so much that the carpet and the paper on the walls were of the deepest, soberest shades, not so much that the blinds' half shut excluded all but just light enough to read; but something in the atmosphere of the room, something inexplicable and indefinable gave an impression to a stranger of the deepest gloom. Several portraits in old style dresses hung on the walls, and the antique cases were filled with dusty books, many of them much worn and moth-eaten. "I should petrify here,?' Marian said, looking around the room. "This must have been your great-great-grandfather's sanctum." "It was fitted up in my great-great-grand- father'S time; changed a little, and somewhat oR, 0ow GQILS . 2 209 renewed by my father-much to ny sorrow--but I am determined that while liye, oso-ca'bed modern myo'vernents no ^ moet mroments shael desecrate this room: the rest of the house is modern, this is--, e"As old as the, hills!" interrupted Maran. "There is something nice in ld room like this; but why don't you shut i up and say it is haunted by the ghost of some of your ancestors? That would be something like. Why," she exclaimed, hastily laying down a book she had taken fromone of the shelves-, why, I don't believe a dusting cloth has been visible here for half a century I generation xt 'eek, and have a thorouh re- generathorough - "O, it would be wicked, , r. King said, "realy very wicked, to disturb this venerable dust." "Do you 'think so? Well, perhaps -In let it rest in peace.' But, uncle why don't yu get these books rebound? Some of them are well worth it- this BibIe, for instance the type isn't bd, nor the leaves as yellow as the be, but th e and covers look asi f it ad gone through half a dozen ge go-ne through ,ozen generations."h "Rbound! My dcear niece,, air. Weston ex- 'laimed, provoked at her half affected speech' this Bible is more precious to me, old and worn s it is, than though bound in purple and gold. his was the family Bible of the W aeston"Who irst tlred in Yew England. Here you will observe the record of his marriage, here the birth and / page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 MARIAN ELWOOD; marriage of his son, the first of my family born m this place." "What a very bad writer," Marian remarked, while Mr. King gratified the old man's heart by looking reverently at the last -relics of once warm, hopeful lives. "It is not exactly a school-girl's Italian hand," Mr. Weston replied; "but it is a good, strong, manly hand, well befitting the writer's brave and chivalric heart." "Was he a puritan?" asked Marian. "He was; but not as stern and rigid as many of his contemporaries, or as his son." "Your ancestor, who first came here, was, I believe, an Englishman," said Mr. King. Yes, by birth and education," answered Mr. Weston. "He was a wealthy country gentleman from one of the midland counties of England, of a cultivated mind, and liberal education. Moved by religious considerations, and dislike of the authority exercised by the Civil Government over the Church of England, common to all the puritans, but still more by an ardent desire to aid in laying the foundations of a republic in the New World, he, at about thirty years of age, married, left the house of his fathers for this then wilderness world, built this house, or rather the 'part of it occupied by this room, and gave his name to this place called from him Westonville." "Then he did not leave England solely to find 6K, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 2" freedom for hi puritanism?" asked Marian in a half-disappointed tone. "It is a great mistake, my dear niece, to suppose that all who broke the ties of their old homes, bade farewell to the land of their fathers, and came to seek new homee on these rugged shores, did so from motives of religion alone. They were not all pilgrims. Many other motives than the desire to enjoy in freedorm their own religious belief and worship, influenced not a few of them. My ancestor, Robert Weston, deeply religious indeed, and a stern and unbending puritan, was an ardent republisan, devotedly attached to those political theories which were then fermenting in the mother country, and which he had the sagacity to perceive could take root, nnd attain a free and vigorous growth only in a inew and virgin soil. He dis- tinguished himself, in the infant commonwealth, took an active part in its affairs, and bravely shed his blood for it in the various Indian wars of the time. But the great man of our family, after its settlement in the new world, was his only son, also named Robert, my great-great-grandfather. This is he," pointing to one of the portraits, that of a tall, muscular, well-formed man, taken in the full vigor of manhood, yith a not unhandsome face, but with a dark, stein, and inflexible expression. "How savage he looks!" exclaimed Marian.; "His very picture frightens me. I don't believe he ever loved, or ever had a kind feeling towards any one." ^ v - page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 22 MABUI ELWOOD; "Yet," said Mr. Iing, "he has a noble cast of features, indicating a man of high purpose and firm resolve. It must have been a severe schooling that subdue tol puritan i ule the spirit that speaks in the proud curl of that lip, and flashes out in the haughty fiery glance of those dark eyes." "YoU are not mistaken," said Mr. Weston; "his life was active, eventful, and also marked by trials and sorrows of no ordinary character, which he bore as a man and a Christianr" " If these walls could speak," remarked r. KWing, "they might tell us many a tale of inward But how queer, uncle, that those old puritanswho fled from persecution in the mother country, no sooner settled here thaw they turned persecutors themselves!" "They were but just," replied Mr. Weston; "they were men of strong convictions, and had, what so few have, the courage to act up to them." "The first settlers of our New Englacnd have alhways struck me," added Mi\r. Wing," ifproud and harsh, as earnest and sincere in their way. The sternness, an even the bigotryso much complained of by the present generatiOn'seemeto have acquired new strength after their settlement here, and to' have become far greater in their immediate de- scendants. Perhaps the absence of the refnements OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE, 213 and luxuries of an old civilized community, of almost every thing except the bare necessaries of life, their constant battles with the climate, the soil, the wilderness, and the savage Indian, tended to harden their character, and give it that sternness and rigidity so generally ascribed to it." "There was every thing to harden, and very little to soften them," Mr. Weston continued "their intercourse with the mother country was comparatively slight and unfrequent; they had severed-the ties of country and of family; they had no prince to call forth their loyalty, no ancestral hearth around which fond associations might cluster, or which might awaken family interest and social pride, no ruined abbeys, no moss-covered remains of venerable churches, and fallen castles to tell of former grandeur, and keep alive hopes of future. glory ;nothing but rude homes in a wilderness, on 'a bleak and half unexplored coast-no wonder they became or grew up harsh and cold, stern and rigid. But they proved themselves strong, brave, and manly." "What an idea I exclaimed Marian; " as if all those old-fashioned things could make' a sour, canting,.hypocriical puritan a human- being, wjth social feelings, able to inspire or return the slightest kind affection!" "You must-not judge them too severely," said Mr. King; " what to us seems canting hypocrisy, was, in their estimation, the legitimate expression of religious devotion, to Which they turned with all page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 21,4 WARIAN ELWOOD; the more ardor that almost every thing else was denied them." "Do you think that when they hung Quakers and-witches, banished Baptists, and bored the ears and tongues of dissenters from their new-made church, there was one among them all who really believed he was serving God?? asked Marian. "Let us hope there was more than one," Mr. King replied. "But who is this solemn-looking old gentleman, who seems ready to start from the canvas and play 'hide and seek'with me, or some other equally dignified game? ' asked Marian, standing before a larger and fresher picture. "That? That is of my father, taken nearly halfa century ago." "He is a very good-looking old gentleman. He is my grandpapa, the great Stephen. And this is Madam, his wife. I'd know that, for despite her half-covered forehead and queer style of dress, my mamma looks like her. And do you know their history, and all about them?" "Certainly. The books, papers, letters, and portraits of every member of my family, excepting those of my two sisters, since its first settlement here, are in my possession." "Mamma must send you her portrait," said Marian, "you have plenty of room for it, and mine too. But isn't it a nice thing, Mr. King, to know all about one's ancestors?" ., OR, HOW GIRLS LIrVE. 215 ' Very," replied Mr. King, "and it is much to be regretted that there are not more families like yours." "It is indeed to be regretted," said Mr. Wes- ton; "there is little to hope for a country which has no families, nothing but isolated individuals, whose interest in the state begins and ends with themselves; sad citizens are they who have no family affections to bind them together, no family interests to promote, no family name to reverence, to preserve unsullied and to render still more illustrious, and who only build elegant houses to be sold when they die. There is always something to hope from citizens, however poor, who inherit ancestral honors, who have old homesteads, and family hearth-stones to preserve. It is a sad, sad thing to see our old families one by one disappear- ing, and soulless corporations rising upto take their place, or generations of individuals merging from obscurity to-day, to sink into obscurity again to- morrow. Family affections, family ties, and the social interests they gather round them disappear, and we need not wonder that heartlessness 'and selfishness everywhere increase, and that the land swarms with adventurers destitute of honesty and patriotism." Why, uncle, you are ungenerous, you are no democrat. What can be more noble, more honor- able, or more inspiring, than to see one meet the world with, a strong arm and a brave heart, and by his own. efforts compel it to yield him a name, fame, honor, admiration? People should make page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] themroselves, stan!d on :tkhe ir'own mers, n ,. and. be to proud t care wrni thy ameo '"And whither they go'?"r asked r, s pro r:r d ; "You u h&itOVd! too," sadMain; th en 'mayr asr'inn ..wlb sil: fo!"am in a ho peless ... "Th'ay:ui. n:," sdr" ":yo. .....nV..ert me.: Conyert you! reab01 4rerned h.' a n'.'-: e ::a PerhasnoIn)itpofaa es1 es .. 'l t as....i. o. :b :0s inth-e 5UIS Ji of:s aceao : or t i0 fa a nO: to work our way fr'n 4,a' "estoth sunigh byouroneet5 ol much rahriteoilbuupnmstr gufno dead 77 anetr asrlilllk r a e his gran&;tWh. greAtgat1 or Irt We, rston, dOUilO an thert 4nswer, yudntkowwa o r tht hee elunemen,oeerg dsnes colian1hoforlv thtem1 thy were be to add to teir owu eWf oos hs hc +e orso wi an bya line of II woi -i sua 1 -, *,ee O* S OR, HOW GILS LIV:. 217 honorable, of really noble ancestors? And will not their own sons and grandsons point to them with a generous pride, and find in their example incentives to noble deeds? To me there is something inspiring in a time-honored name, sojmething that forbids indolence, inaction, despair, and incites to high resolve, noble ambition, and earnest effort." "I am afraid you will win, if we carry the discussion farther," replied Marian; "I have always supposed my views on the subject, if I had any, were democratic, the views of Young America. But I promise you, uncle, that, some day, I will listen patiently to the history of all the Westons; will you tell it me?" "I will, and perhaps the honor you will find yourself forced to render to your family will rouse in you the ambition to do something not unworthy of the name, which, alas! with me dies forever; still Westonville'remains, and I hope this old house of mine will not for many years fall into the hands of the stranger i' "Never shall it, while I live," exclaimed Marian, all the pride of the Westons swelling her breast, and unconsciously expressing her veneration for the old house in which she had learned to love; "I would rather see it burnt to the ground!" "That's your democracy," said Mr. King, with as near an approach to a triumphant smile as he ever allowed himself. "My democracy, I am afraid, is not as real and strong as my ambition," 'she replied, "which is 10 page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] 218 ABIA . ELWOOD; very great, and in this old library grows greater, and I shall try to do all you said. That will please my uncle-and-you too?" He looked his answer. ' What will please me?"asked Mr. Weston, who had heard only the last words. "O, everything that I shall do, that will do honor to the house of Weston," she answered. "As long as I live, uncle, I will think of this old room, these solemn family portraits, and will never do any thing to make them frown upon me." Marian blushed as she met the approving smile with which Mr. King greeted her last remark, but hiding the delight it caused under a-light laugh, she said something about the past and present, romance and reality, and preceded him to the supper table. OR, BOW GIRLS LIVE. 219 CHAPTER XXI. "The good and mighty of departed ages, Are in their graves; the innocent and free, Heroes and poets, and prevailing sages, To adorn and clothe this naked world. And we Are like to them. Such perish, but they leave All hope, or love, or truth, or liberty, To be a rule and law to ages that survive." THE next week was passed in making and re- ceiving farewell calls, for Marian was to leave Westonville the first of the following week. Mr. King came in the middle of the week to see her; she did not tell him how soon she must leave, she could not, for she wished as long as possible to en- joy his society without having him feel that it was for almost the last'time, so she sang and played for him-he was very fond of music-and she knew he never sought it elsewhere-and did not say one word of parting. Her love had been so profound, so joyous, and yet so humbly content, that she had scarcely asked herself if he loved her-instinctively she felt he did, but had she asked herself if she thought so, she would not have dared answer yes; but now as she saw the days gliding quickly away page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 MARIAN ,ELWOOD; -as sand, though ever so tightly grasped, slips through the fingers--she found herself tremblingly wondering if they should ever meet again; she let herself dream they would; for had he not promised he would come to New York? True, it was a promise lightly spoken, such as any one would have made and have instantly forgotten, but he if he said so would do it, She knew the songs he loved, the books he read, and' there would still be a tie between them; the same stars he looked upon would shine over her ins the gay city, the same God that lovingly blessed him would bless her too, if she were good; thus he would not be wholly lost. 'Tis Sunday afternoon: seated by the open wiln dow, gazing afar out on reposing nature, she hears for the last time the chime of the village bells; for the last time The college boy bounding from his books, with all the world before him, alluring with the enchantments of distance and novelty, viewed by the eyes of young hope and ardent ambition, even he pauses in his quick retreat from those classic grounds, and sighs; perliaps even drops a tear, as reflection says "'Tis for the last time." For the last time, Marian! and the tears loading her eyes rest there to listen and dream, as slowly, solemnly the bells ring out their call to prayer. For the last time! These bright green leaves will grow dark and dry, will fall from the trees, rustle restlessly on the cold, unheeding earth, then unre- sistingly be buried among the ruins of the past. OR, HOW GIRS LTV. 221 Other leaves will bud and grow, with perhaps even brighter hues, but what will they be to her? Soft. ly from the village comes the 'last chime of the Sabbath bells, and the leaves cease to rustle, the very cricket forgets his song, and she c e the eating of her own heart that keeps time to the firm tread of a well-kn t .. t e a she '...... own step on the gravel walk, and she half unconsciously repeats to herself those beautiful lines of Tennyson "She is coming--my own, seet- Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat. Were it earth in an earthly bed, My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead-- Would start and tremble under her feet,. And blossom in purple and red."' She did not look at him until she felt him by the side of the open window, then she turned and greeted him,-- "I'll be at the door in a moment," she said, rising. They stood a few miutes together befdore entering. or "I wish I had words to express the beauty of this scene," she obser'ved. "No words can speak its loveliness; jt is of that kind that sinks into the heart, and defies e pression." eat and fes ex- "I thin I should feel better if it were diffe ent," she answered. "It is the saddest sight I page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] 222 MARTAN ELWOOD; ever saw-I wish it would rain. A glorious winter day, bright sunlight sparkling on the snow, cold clear skies, and bracing air, that is beauty that it is joy to see. Roaring, waterfalls dashing down dark, massive rocks, giant trees waving in accom- paniment-that is grand to view; but white clouds motionless on a soft blue sky, hushed wind and silent trees, make a sad picture for me." "To the grandeur and tumult of nature you bow in homage as to a mighty but kindred spirit; but the time has not come when a gentle scene like this tells of calm resignation and heavenly peace. It may not speak to you that way evrer- and only after much experience has taught a lesson all must learn-- "For themselves, and never take from others; and I am like the rest. This-Mr. King-is-my --last day in Westonville. Is it any wonder that I am in no joyous mood?" "Your last day in-Westonville-! Pardon me, I long ago determined to forget you were ever go- ing, and so well did I succeed that I canhardly yet believe it possible-to-morrow!" "Yes-to-morrow!" They stood a few min- utes in silence; his face was much flushed and ex- cited, but it soon resumed its calm repose, and taking her hand he said gently, "May all blessings attend you!" and then they went together to Mr. Weston's library . , "Now for the history of all the Westons!" Marian exclaimed, after the usual salutations, ques- OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 223 tions, and answers had been gone through with. "Uncle, was there never a poet in your family?" "Certainly, no family was ever complete that had not a fool and a bachelor. I have a portrait of the former somewhere, pretty enough to turn your silly head-here it is- " and he showed them a small oil painting of a young man with a large forehead, and dreamy eyes. "He was my cousin, and we 'Were friends in early youth, But whispering tongues can poison truth.' Pshaw! what put that into my head? Herbert was a sof young fellow--far too much so for the name he bore. I had no patience with him; every country maid he met was a goddess in his eyes! "His soul full of beauty, no doubt, invested every thing he saw with loveliness; it must be a bountiful store that can so prodigally dispense its riches,, Mr. Kingreplied. "I was. certain, as you spoke, Mr. King, that you would say something in praise of him," Mari- an remarked; but Mr. King colored so perceptibly that she instantly repented her careless words. "I can say this much for Herbert," Mr. Weston observed, "that soft as he was he was no flirt- a woman flirt is bad enough, but a- man flirt is damnable." "Yes, and I think there should be, if there is not, a place in the lower regions for their express accommodation," Marian said. "Tkiis time, Mr. King, you surely can say-nothing in mitigation." ), page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] 224. MAnr ELWOOD; "Unless I were ungallant enough to say they are sometimes provoked to it; but it is only a mean and cowardly man Who would make such an ex- cuse, and if you had spoken three times as strong, Mjss Elwood, I would have agreed with you." "Here, uncle, is the portrait; did your cousin the poet die of a broken heart?" "Yes-on paper-twenty times over; then he married very happily, lived more poetry and wrote less." "'A good idea. Now, tell me of the heroes of the family." "My grandfather was one. Many, a haughty Englishman fell beneath his strong arm!" "He was no hero if he did no more than that! Day after dry butchers slaughter poor speechless animals, despite the mute entreaty of their reason- less eyes.- How much better is the man who strikes the life-blood from his fellow-man; and lays low the widow's hope, the mother's pride, the sis- ter's love, the daughter's protector, the wife's earthly all? Oh! what a disgusting sight it must be -living, breathing creatures, that should be men, drawn up to meet their brother men, and, coldly measuring each other's strength, fight like the savage beasts of the forest, and afterwards in the sanctuary of home shudder not to think of the hearthstones made desolate by their bloody hands -while above the wail of the widows and orphans arises the shout of victory that seems swelled more by demons than by men!" OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 225 "You take a very sentimental view of the subject," Mr. Weston replied, "one worthy of a woman who knows nothing of the glory, ay! the joy of dying -for country, home, and liberty: worthy of an ambitionless girl whose soul has never felt the glow of patriotism, nor heard the trumpet call of honor and glory! Like a brave soldier as he was, long and nobly fought my grand- father, and here is the' sword that he bequeathed to my father, and never shall it be tarnished." "Some one, Miss Elwood, has said that wars are like earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, they purify the atmosphere," Mr. King said. "Perhaps," Marian answered, smiling. "There are no men like those brave revolution- ary soldiers left us now!"Mr. Weston said. "Instead of the stout sturdy champions of liberty, who fought through hunger and cold, fatigue and danger, self-forgetting, thinking of nothing but liberty, and defying proud tyranny on his guarded throne, we have a nation of timid boys: show me now the men that would defend you. Those little hands, Marian, playing with your flowers are not less ready; your-frail woman's heart trembling at a lengthened shadow, has as much courage to respond to honor's call, as the overgrown boys, the effemi- nate fops of our day, who require rest if they have lived through the exertion of handing a lady a chair. Silly daiiglers in the trains of not more silly women; what are they worth were those women to be attacked? You may as well teach those 10* page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] MARIAN ELWOOD; jewelled fingers a defensive power if you wish ever to be defended; for manly hands grasp not strong words at the dictates of brave hearts nowa days. "Are you not too severe ?) Mr. King said. ' You know nothing has occurred to bring out the latent energies of Young America; yet I will venture to say, give him that for which a man should fight; are there not a few such things, Miss Elwood? Give Young America this, and believe me, he will prove himself worthy of his noble sires who so gloriously won us this noble land." "I don't think so," replied Mr. Weston "I have no patience with this new generation; they want the stern integrity, the chivalry, the brave gallantry of our fathers; they want every thingthat is strong, firm, and manly. Money is their god, for this they lie, cheat, fawn, and cringe; ask a man, naturally honest, how he can lower himself to artifice and cunning, and he will answer you: 'All the world does it; I must live.' Live honestly if you can; if not, better:want, hunger, starvation, and- evenr a nameless .grave. Can men not live honestly? then live not at all." All men can live uprightly" Mr. King replied, "that is quite certain the world does not seem to me as bad as you think it; there are many noble souls struggling in it, whose -exertions go far to redeem it. What the world wants is not eloquent preachers, renowned statesmen, grand projectors, but a higher standard of private character, more OE, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 227 thought, and less dreaming, more actions, and fewer words. I think one truly virtuous man or woman, does more good by his or her example and its un- conscious influence than volumes of essays, though most learned and profound. The world don't make individuals, but individuals make the world; and in proportion as individuals are noble so is the world noble. And if individuals only had the courage to be as good as they know how to be, I thin ththe world would not receive so much censure from you, Mr. Weston." Perhaps not," he answered. What I object to is all the good people hiding their lights under a bushel; instantly a man or woman feels strong enough to live rightly, instead of staying in the world, to show others how they, too, can live as well, off he or she goes, is buried in a convent or a monastery, or-else-is shut up with Nature who requires no good examples," Marian said; "but, uncle, I have heard scarcely any thing of the Westons. This man that killed so many people, did he repent, and spend hislast days in comforting widows and orphans in atonement for his sins ?" " My grandfather died as becomes a man; he died on the battle-field, and his last words to my father were to fight bravely for liberty andc independence." "The ruling passion strong in death!" MIarian exclaimed. "Oh! this degenerate age!" Mr. Weston page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 228 MARIAN ELWOOD; replied; "you comeof anobleline, a brave old line, and lives there not a spark of patriotism in your soul? Have you ever heard of those noble women who giving their sons their battle shield, would say 'Return with it, or return on it. Would you bravely send a lover or a brother to battle?" "Perhaps not; but if God called either to risk life among the sick and dying, all girl as I am I think I could smile to see either go; though not daring to hope ever to meet again." "It is impossible that you should be a coward," Mr. Weston said, putting up theerusty sword. "Tell me the history of this stern gentleman here." "My great-grandfather; his life was mostly spent here, much of it in this same old room; he was a cold, unsocial man, in his latter days. I have heard hints of a certain lady as false as fair, but let us not speak of it." "Goodness! that man was never in love?" "There are few hearts, my dear Marian, without. a soft corner somewhere, once occupied by love; afterwards the home of memory." "That is then the sorrow he is hiding under that stern brow?"Mr. King asked, "It's pride, not love," Marian said; "if the lady he loved had loved again, they might have made a very respectable Darby and Joan, but he would never have loved her with any intensity of feeling; I am sure it is wounded pride that he could be OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 229 refused, and desire of revenge for his mortified vanity, that cloud your ancestor's brow, my dear uncle; had he truly loved her, he would have been humble and forgot himself." "Pshaw! child; don't meddle with things be- yond your comprehension. Mr. King, my niece, I regret to say, leaves me to-morrow; we go from Westonville in my carriage; if it is a pleasant day I shall be glad to have you accompany us to Boston." "We are going at six o'clock. Can you get your eyes open so early? ' "I will try. I thank you very much, Mr. WeSton, and will accompany you with real delight, if I shall not put you to any incon- venience.', "Were it possible for you to do so," Mr. Weston replied, "I should not have given you the opportunity." Marian kissed her uncle that night for the first time in her life; but to this day he does not know why she did. page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 230 MARIAN ELWOOD; CHAPTER XXII. ( "Strews the ground with leaves each flower, Now is come the parting hour. O'er the hills the morn is stealing, Faces pale with grief revealing. Dew is on the branches gleaming, From our eyes hot tears are streaming. God be with thee, sweet one: God be with th(ie, dear one, darling loved one." MARIAN arose very early the next morning, and while Mrs. Martin was preparing breakfast, and her uiicle was giving directions about the carriage, she went around the house and grounds to say "farewell." As she finished her meditations by the garden gate, wound her arms for the very last. time around the old oak tree, against which he had leafned that memorable morning, and underneath whose branches she had never tired of reading Tennyson's poem-to the ("Oak Tree,"-repeating it once agsain, and wondering if he would ever think of it, she turned to her garden, and as she was leaving it, with but a sigh for the pale, late flowers, her uncle met her. "You have made it a short visit," he said. ("Yes," she answered, "there is little in it now OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 231 to attract me. It seems impossible that it is the same garden that once bloomedso brightly, that I considered an ornament to your beautiful grounds, and by which I have spent so many happy hours." "And is it less dear to you that its beauty has gone? Yes-that is the way of the world. Bet- ter that you should leave Westonville now in all its loveliness, than stay to see its barren trees and shrunken leaves. Yes, my dear niece, it is better that you should go now, and carry with you none but bright memories of it. Then grieve not- rather be grateful that no thought of wailing winds, dark storms, and cold, frozen earth, will connect itself with your memories of the lovely place in which you have passed the summer. It is so with all the world. Never mourn that a friend is borne from you in the pride of beauty and strength-for, my dear Marian, it is a sad thing to outlive hope, beauty, and strength, and be cast a useless hulk on the ocean of life. 'All that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest,' and it is well that it is so." Marian looked with interest at the old man's stern, immovable features. "Shall you miss me very much? she asked. "Very much," he answered, absently. ' It is too bad that I must go." "I am glad you are going now. I could never page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 232 lMABAN ELWOOD; bear to see your beauty lost, your affections chilled, your young hopes blighted; I shall always think of you as a gay, thoughtless girl-as wild as a forest bird, and free as the wind." Then you won't remember our quarrels? "Mere child's play; not worth remembering. Yet, my dear niece, I should be indeed pleased, if, going as you now must, from Nature's home; leaving, as you must, the beautiful work of a heav- enly hand; losing the calm and lovely inspirers of honest hopes, and high endeavors, and rushing into a city of hypocrisy and deceit, where Mammon holds his unrighteous court; where all your sur- roundings will conspire to drown reflection, and to whirl you into frivolous, pursuits, and unnatural excitements--I should be glad, shold be blest, if you would carry with you, and preserve, some of the advice which, as an old and experienced man, I have sometimes considered it my duty, you un- derstand, to impress -upon you. I have seen much of the .world; not always have I lived in this soli- tude, as men call it, but I have played my part in the bivouac of life. I have mingled with the busy, crowded world, you understand,--have marked the -tumuituous swell of wild hopes and. dark pas- sions. And all that I have seen and felt has taught me that man is his own tormentor. I have seen women, whose hearts should be gentle and true-- I have seen them live for vanity, and for that alone. They have started with fine natural endow- ments, and how have they lived? How have they mens, an1 OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 233 employed the talents, the beauty, the wit, the in- fluence, they have received? How? Ask your- self if those with whom you have mingled, on whom the world looks with a flattering eye, were made to be the silly votaries of fashion, whose po- sition you may covet, but whose minds and life you must despise. Even so may you live-and there- fore, you understand, I say to you in all earnest- ness and desire for your own good :-love not, seek not, the glare of wealth or fashion. I charge you covet not wealth; be not ambitious; be lofty in your aims, firm in your integrity, true in all things; scorn flattery as you would a serpent's sting- though you scorn, listen not to it. And Mary-- Marian, I mean-if like the rest of the world you have not strength to keep that little thing the world calls heart, ponder long ere you give it-be sure as woman can be of your lover's worth-love wisely-falter not-waver not-think of his happi- ness as well as your own; love wisely, and you cannot love too well." She made no reply, and they walked silently to the house. M)r. King came soon after. Little Mrs. Martin rubbed her hands with her apron, shook Marian's hand warmly, and felt much like crying as she saw her enter the carriage. Mr. Iing, with a very unlover-like self-possession, ar-. ranged her dress, asked if she had forgotten nothing, if she were every way comfortable, and receiving her affirmative answer, sprang into the carriage; crack went the whip, and quickly down page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 234 rMARIAN ELWoo0\; the little avenue, past the garden gate, out into the rougher road, through the village, by the church, away from all familiar objects she is silently borne. Mr. King engaging Mr. Weston in earnest conver- sation gives Marian leisure to meditate and say farewell to all. But a spirit of beauty had visited the country that morning, and inspired ]Marian with brightest hopes. True, the old oak tree, the garden chair, the library, the road from church, were left behind, but w8s not he with her? So she laughed and talked' and exerted herself to the utmost to make the memories of that last hour with him tinged with brightest hues. Mr. Weston, who had come to rely on Mr. King almost as much as though he were his son, grumbled something on reaching the depot about "Rheumatism, and an old man's horror of a crowd," which resulted in his remaining in the car- riage, while Mr. King saw Marian safely seated in the cars. Whether he really did dread making his way through the crowd, felt out of place as the escort of a young lady, or whether his observations had induced him to manoeuvre with a tact scarcely expected from his usual abruptness, we cannot pre- tend to say. Mr. King, found Marian the most comfortable of seats, hung up her travelling bag, held her book and veil while she fixed herself in her seat, raised the window to suit her, all with not the least appearance of sorrowful abstraction. Marian heard some one cry "all aboard," and tried OR, nOW GIRLS LIVE. 235 to hurry him away, but he assured her it' would be some time before the cars would leave; but she said she was "afraid. the cars iwould start-men were so venturesome," and despite her smiles she looked so worried that he went outside, and chat- ted gayly to her through the window; as he was talkinggthere was a start, and she felt herself mov- ing quickly from him; he stood the same, but she was going, and might have implored until she were faint from fatigue, before she could moderate one atom of their speed. And now she has heard the last sound of his voice, seen him for the last time, perhaps forever, and each moment puts greater distance between them. But how noble of him to sm;le so cheeringly, speak so gayly and so hopefully, as if she were go- ing to some merry party, and he were participating her anticipated pleasure. page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] MARIAN ELWOOD; CHA;PTER XXIII. l If the possession of a teeming fancy, (Although, forsooth, the youngster doesn't know it,) Which he can use in rarest necromancy, Be thought poetical, the b6y's a poet If a strong will and most courageous bearing; If to be cruel as the Rom(rtNero; If all that's chivalrous, and all that's daring, Can make a hero, then the boys a hero I" MARIAN was awakened from her long reverie )y the, slower movement of the cars, their entrance nto the depot, the noise and confusion telling her )nly too well that she was in her native city, had she for a moment questioned that fact; her own aame, pronounced in a loud voice, close at her side, would have settled all doubt. "Why, Steve,"' she exclaimed, "is this you ? I am real glad to see you," and as it was quite dark she kissed him cordially. "I suppose it's me, and I suppose it's you; I wasn't sure it was atfirst. Why didn'tyoumount a white feather, so a fellow could'be sure ? Give us your bundles-whew! what a lot! Come, stick close to.me. Let go my arm. I haven't got used 01R HOW GIRLS LIVE. to such things; couldn't walk a step with a girl tagging on to me in that way. Come, this way; stick close; if I don?t get you safe home I shall never hear the end of it; Madam will have the hysterics, and the governor the blues. Get---out of the way there! you confounded little booby; what do I want with your papers, do you suppose ? 'Want a carriage?' No, I don't want a carriage. Get out of the way I VNo, I tll you. No! I have a carriage. I tell you no You don't suppose, do you, that I'd condescend to ride in one of those dilapidated vehicles? Out of the way, please. Here we are! Jump in! Never mind scraping until you come back, John; off now like light, and get her trunks. Go it. Are you all tucked in right, Sis ? The landlady made me promise I would- ride inside, but I don't see where I am to find room to perform that leg-cramping duty." "Why here is plenty of room.- Don't you generally ride inside ? "No, ma'am, I drives. It's capital fun. Had a good time this summer ? Why didn't you come home sooner? The governor wanted you a week ago. Confound you, John, what made you so long? My stock of conversation was giving out; here, bear a hand; -hoist this affair up by you, Tom, put up this valise, too. I don't intend to break my legs over bags and things, if I do ride inside. Now, off like steam. Go it like thunder, now! remember my instructions." "Well, Steve," began Marian. page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 238 MAIIAT ELWOOD; "Don't say that, it is so countrified; Bill Green said it every second word until I broke him." "Why, you impertinent little monkey! Do you undertake to criticise nme Remember my age." "O, I know you are an awful sight older than I am, but you're only a girl." "Only a girl But I won't quarrel with you the first day; what is the news? Is mother well?" Ye-es, all things considered,the landlady holds her own pretty well. Got a headache this after- noon, I believe; missed you, she said, very much; the governor told me this morning to give you his love, and tell you that important business would prevent his meeting you at the depot, but that he would come home as early as possible, and that re- minds me--John! Tom! John!--put on more steam, 'twon't hurt the horses, exercise will do them good. Go it!" "But, Steve, he cannot drive faster, what is the hurry? "O, every thing. I'll give him poker and tongs if he don't hurry! You see I was making some sulphureted hydrogen when mammy trotted me off after you.- I am sure I should think you are big enough to take care of yourself. Now, if you know any thing about chemistry, you can understand that if Monsieur le Gouverneur returns home before I have finished the sulphureted OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 239 hydrogen, that he will 'smell a rat' and the consequences will come on my head; I feel it ache in anticipation. Faster! John, faster!" "Are you fond of chemistry?" "Ye-es, I like it rather-for a change. The landlady-" "The landlady, Steve, what possesses you to call her that?" "It's a very good name, isn't it?" "A very disrespectful one." "No, 'tisn't; she don't complain, so you need not. The landlady, as I was saying when you so politely interrupted me,-the landlady gave me all her bottles, and between us we have made some punkins of a laboratory, as Bill Green would say, and I have some pretty fine experiments. By the way, Sis, you have grown good-looking since you went away, quite good-looking. How did you like that out-of-the-way place?" "Westonville? Immensely." "The landlady and her estimable spouse-laid their wise heads together, and between them con- cocted a plan for sending me there, but they couldn't come it; I didn't fancy the accounts of your keeper." "My keeper?" "Yes, the Squire of Westonville. By the way, Sis, he must have used some pretty strong argu- ments to bring you down; he has taught you submission with a vengeance I "Do I look so meek?" page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] 240 MAeIAN EWOOD; 'As meek as Moses! You used to look so almighty proud and selfsufficient; you've got over that a little. That's what I like Miss Sibley for, -she is none of your affected, simpering people, but a girl that's afraid of nothing. Perhaps she will make her appearance at the dinner-table to- night; if she does, afterwards we will have a full blaze of experiments. I guess I shall kill a cat to- night for a change. We have too many cats, mother wanted to drown one of them, but I thought it cruel, and took it for myself, and shall let it die off easy; one drop of hydrocyanic'aci4 on the creature's nose will make him kick the bucket in double quick time." "I hope you have never tried it?" "Not yet. I kept the animal for your return, I thought you might like to see it; it is no easy matter to kill a cat nicely."' "You are very cruel, Steve; how can you torture a poor creature so? "Torture a poor creature! Who ever thought of such a thing? Come, now, that's good; I wouldn't let mother drown her, out of pure com- passion. It is a great deal easier to die of poison nicely administered, than by drowning. You know cats hate water." "I think it is high time that I slould be home to effect a reformation. I shall do it." "I'd like to know if you will! I am the stronger party, and might is right." on, HOw GIats LIVE. 241 "Well see. Howis Lucy? do you eversee her?" "I rather guess I do occasionally, I calk'late, as that proud yankee, Bill Green, used to say,-I calk'late she is in love with me." "Why, Steve!"Mariant exclaimed, laughing heartily at the gravity with which he made this announcement. "Why, Steve! Lucy in love with you?" "You may laugh as much as you choose; she acts as if she was, and what else can a fellowjudge by?" "Wel, what does she do?" "Do? bother on her! there's very little she don't do, except let me alone,and there seems but little chance of her ever learning that. If she don't learn it, it won't be for want of lessons, as sure as my name is Weston Elwood, sometimes erroneously called Stephen Elwood! - "But you haven't told me what she has done? "Then you must know, after you-went away the lazy Mertons rid the city of their presence, went to Rockaway-no--Long Branch, expecting that long. legged Scott to follow them, but he very sensibly staid at home.", "Who was your informant?, "Miss Sibley. So after that they marched back again. And Lucy hung round the landlady; nade me tell her stories about the boys at College, "a ^^-^^W^ page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242 MBIA3s ELWOOD; and if I said hang it, or any thing like that, she would try to look horrified.", 'But you know it is very ungentlemanly to use those words." "Can't help it; it's not to the purpose. Made- moiselle Lucy, after a while found out where I kept my library, and came plaguing me half the tiaie, pretending to, be afraid, lifting up her dress, and walking on tiptoe as if the room was full of snakes. I got mad, I told mother I wouldn't stand it, but she wouldn't say any thing; and, one day, when Lucy came, I was making some experiments with hydrogen, when-pop! all of a sudden the bottle made a grand smash-up. I hollered out 'by Jingo! I'm done for!' she thought I was killed, and fell flat. I reached out my hand to take some ammonia, but by mistake took a little bottle of hydrosulphuric acid, and applied it to her nose. Jingo didn't she holler! Hal ha! ha! if you could have seen her! "Why, Steve, what happened?" "She clapped her handkerchief to her nose, and r'an like mad. I determined if any more fussing girls come bothering round I would try the same remedy. I am making some more for to-night; though I hope you won't take on as Lucy did. Miss Sibley behaves first-rate, she's none of your soft sort." "Wasn't Lucy angry?" "I rather suspect she was, slightly; any allusion to salts or acids makes her paler if possible than O,.HOW GIRLS IVE. 243 than before. She didn't stay away though. A week or so after, she came to stay a while withthe land- lady, and, of course, could not!eaveame in peace. I was very good, told her I was very sorry for my un- fortunate mistake a few days before- she was as sweet as you please, Ilow affected she is It 11o can you like her?" "I don't like her very much, but I do like her enough to desire you to behave yourself better. I hope you did not play off any more tricks? , "Ha! ha! didn't I? want me t -tell you? A day or two after her last visit, Miss Lucy came again, she was going somewhere with the landlady, and while she was dressing, Lucy came to me-I was horrid busy, but, of course, she handled every thing, and asked any amount, of questions, as if when a fellow is busy he wants to talk to silly girls like her.--Shoe got well fixed this time. I had 'ne of Madam's cologne bottles full of aquafortis on my table; Lucy wanted to know what I did with cologne. I told her I was fixing it for the landlady to put on her face when she wanted color. She said--it did not smell like cologne. I told- her- wasn't it good, though?-that I had weakened it so much that it had lost nearly all its perfume; that I had weakened it too much; as it would now give only a pale rosy color, and that Madam liked a deep red. I made believe not to look, and she put a little on one cheek. then a little on the other, then more on both; right away she had color page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 MARIAN ELWOOD enough, I tell you. She screamed like a wild cat. Wasn't it good? "Shameful! you little wretch!"Marian ex. claimed, not half as angry as she thought she ought to be. "Look out! I won't stand any lectures-I- here we are, out with you!" And Marian was once more home; and what a change had passed over her spirit since last her feet had pressed those soft carpets, and her eyes wandered over the pictured walls. s' O;V EOW GRLS trE 245- CHAPTER XXIV. What Iwas is Passed by, What I am away doth fly, What I shall be, none doth see, et in that my beauties be." "A TUoUrsAD welcomesW, Carrie cried, burst- lug into the room, immediately after breakfast the next morning. "Ten thousand welcomes I am 80 glad you are back again I have asked your mother every day for a month ho e soonk you ere coming. 'ow well you look H-'lave you had a pleasant summer? Ar? backn Snnr Are you not glad to get an es , very glad; sit down, take off your things, and get rested., "Can't stay five minutes-why didn't you write longer letters? low e I declare." wel you look! quite human "Did you know," aric aid siP-" h a veu e ar'r' j a said, after a little gos- Sip-have ou heard that W. G. the poet, and Gustave Waldron, are ow'e"? - poet, and "Is it possible! I remember how much you sed to like the poems. I hope your acquaintance page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 MAEIAN ELWOOD; - with the author has not diminished your admira- tion for the poems?" "No, Minnie, no.-You don't care for Gus Waldron? "No-" "Thank Heaven!" "You have no idea of rivalling me? Gus Waldron, bright as he is- "Is far beyond my love, I know, Minnie. Yet it is my fate. I long worshipped W. G., while I could not but like Mr. Waldron. When I discov- ered I had so often conversed with my favorite poet, I was nearly as much terrified as delighted.' "So this is your latest fancy? ' Tis no fancy; but a reality. I have had many fancies, Minnie; I have built up idols in my heart, I have invested them with all that fancy could in- vent or imagination suggest. I have wound around their brows the brightest wreaths of love and honor; I have watched them until the beauteous light of heaven seemed to overshadow them, and its glory to surround them;I have placed my love, my hopes, my dreams, at their feet, but they had ever a shadowy unreality, and one by one they have left me. But in Gustave I have found one on whose worthy brow are laurels brighter than ever my fancy traced, one in whose eagle eye and in- spired tones there is more majesty than in a legion of love-born dreams. I kneel not now as before, alone. Thousands admire and adore with me. Thank Heaven! that I do not love one unknown OR, How GIRLS LVE.. 247 to fame and honor. I love not alone the words that delight a thousand hearts, yet seem written for me alone. High and glorious he stands above me, and far from him I bend with admiring crowds in homage to his genius, and when from some fall heart bursts the grand tumult of applause, how my heart rejoices in it!---' "You are like a snow-ball, rolling down hill, Carrie, And so my gentle Carrie loves 'the soft- eyed Gustave-and he? "Thinks not, dreams not of me. I have no bright, dark eyes, no conscious beauty to allure him to me." "Nay, never speak so bitterly. Do I deserve re- proach from you for that which I shall never cease to regret?" "Forgive me, Minnie, I am jealous, I suppose. -But, look up here a moment, for as I am alive, Minnie, Since I saw thee last- O'er thy brow a change has past- In the brightness of thine eyes, Darkly still a shadow lies- In thy voice there thrills a tone, Never to my childhood known.' Haughty Minnie, thou hast loved." "Nonsense! Has the country air really changed my alpearance much?" "Not so much; only you have learned to blush, and don't seem-so-proud as you used. Well, I wish you joy of it, and as you look so cross page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 248 MARTAN ELWOOD; won't ask any questions. Keep my secret. But I never believed you could love--will miracles never cease? Au revoir." "Good morning, my dear Minnie," Lucy Mer- ton said, gliding gracefully into the room soon after Carrie left it-" good morning, welcome to New York; we missed you much. Have you spent the summer pleasantly?" "Delightfully, the pleasantest summer without exception that I ever passed." "You astonish me; I thought you would die of ennui in the country--which I love so much; but you are so fond of gayety and excitement. Was it never dull?" "In the beginning very dull, every thing was as new and strange as though I were in a foreign country." "The people were rough and awkward, I sup. pose." "O, no; their manners are quiet, reserved, and a trifle stiff, but I soon got used to that." "We have missed you very much, and in con- sideration of my impatience to see you, you must pardon this early call. I have a number to make to-day, and called as soon as I could that we might be able to have a good talk. You found no really congenial society in Westonville I presume?" "O, plenty." "Yes-do describe them; I love dearly to hear you describe people. I promise to be a delighted listener as long as you will talk." OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 249 "Agreed," Marian replied, little dreaming her fair friend was on a visit of investigation. So Marian told her of her uncle, of the doctor, of his bright-eyed sister, and transcendental mother, of Melville and his gentle lady-love, something of the minister, but nothing of Ernest King, except once in relating some unimportant-occurrence his name escaped her lips, accompanied by an unmistakable blush, which Lucy saw and determined to remem- ber-but as she made no remark, Marian hoped her momentary confusion had been unnoticed. In return for Marian's account of Westonville, and its residents, Lucy gave a history of her own proceedings during the summer, the name of Sey- mour Scott figuring so conspicuously in every de- tail, that Marian renarked that she had heard that Mr. Scott was her very devoted knight. "I never think much about it," answered Lucy, ' unless it is forced upon my attention. It is very hard, almost impossible for me to believe any one loves me, though he may swear it a thousand times, and give me any quantity of proofs." "But why?" "It is my nature; I cannot help it." "So you won't believe in Mr. Scott's protesta- tions?" "He does lovq me devotedly, just as men in novels love, ready to peril life and happiness for me-but still I cannot believe him." "That is queer!" "It is very evident that he al but adores) me, "* I page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 250 MAARIAXN ELWOOD; but it is not my nature to be, easily persuaded. You know how reserved I am, and how difficult it it is for me to allow myself to be loved." "Bt do -you not love him?" "I am too young to think about such things- I shall eat, drink, and be merry for many years, I hope, before it will be time to think of marriage." "But if you are old enough to be so greatly worshipped, 'you surely are old enough to know / how you regard that worship." '"I can't control the feelings I unconsciously inspire. Seympour says he loved me from the first moment he ever saw me." "But if he has said as much as that he must have received a final answer?" "No. Mamma told him that. I had never thought on the subject, and that I liked him very well.- He asked her if he could not, visit us the same as before, as he hoped my feelings would change. He seemed to feel so wretchedly that mamma said yes, Have you heard from Gua Waldron since your return?" "Not much. Do you see him often?" "Quite often." "Does he ever speak of me? Do you think he likes me still? ' "I cannot lay that flattering 'unction to your soul '" -' Perhaps because he says nothing about it." "You, Minnie, are a very sweet, nice girl, but --pardon me-yours io not exactly the nature to \ ' . OX, HiOW GIELS LIVC. 251 be desperately and hopelessly loved. It is not your fault. Now H-" "Inspire superhuman adoration, no doubt., I am sorry Waldron is so early rejected. It is a bad precedent. If he so easily forgets his first love, I tremble for his second." "I understand you; but have no fears for me, I like his distant respectful attentions, but shall not allow him to approach nearer." Marian started, she was thinking of Carrie, and was sur- prised enough to hear Lucy so quietly appropriate her interest. Lucy now bade her good morning, inviting her to be very sociable. . . page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 RCRIAN ELWOOD; CHAPTER XXV. "In sooth it is appalling I The cold, relentless falling, The weary, dreary, splashing and dashing of the rain, That fiercely drives at Mabel, with cheek against the pane." "Oh I my soul's joyl If after every storm comes such a calm, May the winds blow until they have awakened death." FoR two long days the November wind had worked its angry will upon the city, for two long days he had veinted his fury and muttered his grief. At times he flung the dull, heavy rain against the rattling windows, and laughed at the wearied looks he encountered. Then as if ashamed of his petulance he lay muttering and moaning, then springing up with redoubled fury, howled around the houses, and rushed savagely through the streets, leaving confusion and dismay wherever he went. It was the third day. Not fast and thick, but slow, steady, and untiring the rain came down. The ever dreary brown stone houses looked drearier; the dark overhanging clouds helping the wind and rain to make the earth most dismal and sad. For hours Marian had sat by the window, oR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 253 watching tired horses drag lazy carts through the muddy streets obedient to the half-muttered curses of their drivers, hearing the beggar boys' cpm- plaints as they crouched along the cold streets, and feeling the general gloom take unwonted possession of her heart. In vain she seeks aid from the self- control she has but lately studied, in vain she tries to read, the letters on which she occasion- ally forces herself to bend her eyes are nearly illegible, and convey no meaning to her mind; spiritless and sad, her hands folded absently over her book, and her dark eyes-gazing wistfully on the dull streets, and heavy clouds, she seems the image of leaden grief. But suddenly a brilliant flush mounts her cheeks, her eyes joyously brighten, with a half suppressed scream she bounds to the door, and opens it to welcome Ernest King. Surely some fairy wand in her short absence has converted the house into a palace of delight, for never on the 'brightest summer day has aught seemed so brilliant as now appears the drawing- room into which she enters with him. "Oh, that I had a great roaring fire here to welcome you!" she exclaimed as she drew him the most comfortable arm-chair; "and not such a mean apology for warmth as comes sneaking up here, ashamed to show its face. And so I really see you, in New York, my own home. I can hardly believe it, I am very glad.' "I can scarcely realize it myself,' he said; "it page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 254 MARLAN ELWOOD; seems as if I had made some strange mistake, or, been suddenly transported to your uncde's." "Surely there are no such dull days in -that fairy land?" "You only staid while the beauty and bright- ness lasted. There have been many dull, gloomy days in Westonville since you left it." "Is everybody well? Is my uncle?" "Quite well. I have a letter from him to your mother." "Really! Why, that is extraordinaiyy! My uncle so rarely writes; but give it to me. Mamma will be overjoyed to have a letter from her vener- ated brother; besides I want her to see you. I'll be back in a moment." "Do not go! H-I-am afraid I shall awake in your absence, and find it all a dream." She blushed, but ran up to her mother. Mrs. Elwood opened her brother's letter, and read it aloud long as it was. Marian thought it all too short; for nearly every word was in praise of Mr. King. You must see him," Marian said; but Mrs. Elwood had a sick headache, and protested she could not stir from her room, and the more Marian urged, the more vehemently Mrs. Elwood protested her utter inability to lift her head from the pillow. "Give him my compliments," she said, 'tell him I am ill; ask him to dinner to-morrow." "To-day, mamma, to-day?" Impossible." OR, HOW GIms UVE. 255 "Yes, to-day. It is wet and rainy; yes, to. day; do say to-day." "But there is no one to look after things.' "Am Inobody?" "You . pretty work you would make of it!" "At least, let me try, and if the dinner is bad to-day, I'll ask him to come again to-morrow, and you can retrieve your reputation." An hour passed very quickly by. Marian, armed %s her mother's representative, descended with all ue dignity to the kingdom of pots and kettles, and nformed the cook that if she did not give them the ,est dinner ever mortal planned, she would cut her brever. "Now," Marian said to Mr. King on her eturn--"now tell me to what fortunate circum. tances I am indebted for this visit to New Cork.'" "The ' circumstances' came so suddenly that I ave scarcely yet had time to think of them. My msin, a Boston merchant, has a house in this city; Le head of it died a very short time ago. My usin proposed to me to fill his vacant place, and I *eagerly--too eagerlyperhaps, accepted, and hur- ad on here with incredible speed.", "But I thought when I was in Westonville at you had given up business? , "Yes, in consequence of very discouraging--I wan--it was only for a time-my health not being ry good-but now I have returned to it with re- wed ardor.", page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] MArN ERLWooD; "And now you will be here all the time? " " I suppose so.". Mr. Elwood, having first heard from his wife that Mr. King was in the house, and though not disposed to like any one on Mr. Weston's intro- duction, was still, persuaded to go down and' see him before dinner. Mr. Elwood never talked, but he was quite penetrating, and soon treated Mfr. King with a greater degree of attention than he usually showed to his most influential friends. Steve swore eternal friendship for him at dinner. Lucy, her mother, and Mr. Scott came in after dinner. Mrs. Merton, surprised to see Mr. Elwood in the drawing-room, more than surprised at his sociability, at Marian's amiability, and Steve's re- spectful bearing towards Mr. King, procured an opportunity to ask Marian who he was. For the life of her Marian could not resist the temptation to lionize him a little, so'she answered gravely, "Mr. Ernest King, a Boston merchant, here on very important business. He retired last winter, but as he is so young and active, he did not care, I suppose, to be any longer idle. Perhaps were I in his place I would marry a lovely young wife and travel." "He is wealthy?" Wealthy ? why, just think, they have import- ing houses in Boston, New York, and I don't know how many other cities; though generous, he is far from being extravagant." OR, HOW GRLS LIV. 25'7 "IHis being at your house is a sure proof of his good standing." "I shall think you quite ignorant if you have never heard of the lCings." " He is certainly kingly looking," Mrs. Merton replied, though fifteen minutes before she had voted him only rather good looking. "Why, he is a king in many ways," Marian said, as she left Mrs. Merton, andwas not surprised five minutes after to see Mr. King submitting'with polite good nature to be talked at by Mrs. Merton; he caught her eye, saw its mischievous expression, remembered their conversation in Westonville about this same Mrs. Merton, the dislike to sup- port a false character, even in sport, causing him considerable embarrassment, which he with diffi- culty concealed. Escaping as quickly as possible from Mrs. Merton, he crossed to Marian, and lean- ing slightly over her chair, asked if this was "the Mrs. Merton." "The self-same," laughed Marian, "Did I not describe her well ?" "Extremely well-excuse me-did you-you have not practised on her credulity by making me out a brainless nobleman? " "0, no, I knew you could not support the character, and I should have been found out im- mediately." "That young lady is Lucy, is she not ?" "Yes, you warned me not to do her injustice, and I perhaps did so in speaking asJ did about her. page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 258 MA lIN ELWOOD; I am anxious to make reparation, so please come, and prove you have not let my foolish suspicions prejudice you against her;" and she contrived to engage him in conversation with Lucy. Mrs. Mer- ton watched them while she'vigorously cross-ques- tioned Mr. Elwood. Mr. King, desirous to please Marian by attentions to her friend, threw aside some of his provoking reserve, and Lucy, anxious to torment Marian, whose confusion on her first re- turn from Westonville, on mention of Mr. King's name, she had not forgotten,-not unwilling to plague Mr. Scott, joined to half a dozen half-defin- ed, equally amiable motives, exerted herself to be particularly agreeable to her new acquaintance. Mrs. Merton, highly delighted with the favora- ble aspect of things, requested Marian to come and see her soon, adding that if Mr. King could find time, she would be most happy if he would accom- pany her. Mr. King bowed his thanks, and it was finally agreed that they should visit Mrs.'Merton just one week from that night. "Will you come too?"Lucy asked of the silent and sulky Steve. . "No, thank you," was the gruff response, and Lucy said no more, but took her leave with her usual grace. Mr. King went -soon' after, having promised Marian to come the next day, to see how much better than she. her mother could prepare dinners. While Marian joyfully sits by her window and counts the stars, we will follow Lucy home. , OiR, HOW GIRLS LVR. 259 CHAPTER XXVI. "Falling out of lovers, Renewing is of love." "There is nothing like having two strings to one's bow." THE rain had ceased, the stars were out, and the sidewalls nearly dry; but there was no moon, and Mr. Scott silently'offered his arm to Mrs. Mer- ton to aid her in descending the steps, without taking the slightest notice of Lucy. After a few moments silence Mrs. Merton, supposing Lucy was well taken care of and it being too dark to see the heightened color on Mr. Scott's sallow cheeks, talked a great deal about the family they had just left. 3"Minnie is a nice girl in her way," she re- marked. "So amiable and kind-hearted," returned the gentleman; "I never saw her to such good advan- tage as on this evening: she is remarkably handsome, too, such brilliancy and animaationn! I detest brunettes," said Lucy. "Blondes are generally considered lovelier, page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 MARIAN ELWOOD; gentler, but to that rule as to all others there are exceptions," Mr. Scott observed. "Brunettes are always flirts," remarked Lucy. "Ah?? he answered; "permit me to disagree with you. I have invariably found brunettes more frank and sincere than blondes." "Lucy is a blonde," interposed Mrs. Merton; "can you possibly find any one more frank or sin- cere than she is?" Mr. Scott had a horror of Mrs. Merton's voice when it uttered the shrill notes of reproach, so he bit his' lip, and made no answer. Encouraged by this, Mrs. Merton continued, "You are most unjust to Lucy, and are always ready to run after every pretty face you meet." "Is there any reason why I should not?" he asked in a low hoarse voice. "None at all," answered Lucy; "you are perfectly free to adore every brunette in creatiop." "And not every blonde?" "Every blonde but one, who will receive no measured or divided love." "That," he exclaimed, forgetting his jealousy-- "That 'she can never receive, for my love is as limitless as the air we breathe." "I can never believe that, while you are so ready to condemn me," Lucy said, and neither spoke again until at the house Mrs. Merton left: them, when Mr. Scott exclaimed fiercely, "Lucy Merton, thi4 trifling must have an end! for four months you have been trying to under- stand your own heart; for four months I have OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 261 waited patiently, but now my patience is exhaust- ed. If you have a heart toundernd, understand, derst it at onee; if you love me, tell me so; if you do not, I think I can bear to know it." She looked dignifiedly indignant, and made no answer. "So you have no answer? very well; it will be a fine thing to tell the world that after four months' study Miss Merton could not understand the language of her heart, the existence of which, of course, no one will'doubt." "Sir, you are impertnent!" "I am, am I? unreasonably so, of course; oh yes, I am unreasonable, very unreasonable. I should apologize to the sweet Miss Merton, and say it is right and honorable that I should wait three times four months for her to understand her own heart. Now answer me, Lucy Merton-yes or -no?" "You shall have such answer as I have to give. I never asked your weak-hearted affection-I never asked you to speak to me. In 'consideration of your earnest entreaties I have tried to like you; can I do so if, whenever I am nearest to succeed- ing, you break out into such reproaches and in- sults?" . "So the plain truth is a reproach, an insult, is it? I wonder on which side are the most insults? Who takes note of the trials heaped on my head? Those are of no account.-Answer me, Lucy Mer- ton, will you marry me, or will you not marry me?" page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] 262 MARIAN ELWOOD; "Would you have me marry one who does not love me?' "No, but I have told you often enough that I do love you most devotedly." "But you do not act as if you loved me." "What would you have me do?" Be more confiding.7" "Confiding! you give me so much reason " "I think you must hate me, or you would not talk to me as you do." "Hate you I sometimes I think I might." "But hatred comes only where loye has been, and, Seymour, have you ever really loved me?" "Loved you? Never woman was so worship- ped, so adored, as you have been by me.-Not a star in the heavens has seemedso bright to me as your smiles; not a cloud in a wintry sky has ever been so unwelcome as your frowns. Loved you? Yes, more than the bird loves the sunlight, more than the captive loves liberty! All nature breathes your name-did it not I could not love it. If you were to send me from you I should die; the world would have no charm for me! I am sure I should die, and my death, sweet Lucy, would be at your door, and my pale, speechless ghost would haunt you. Yes, my angel, I love you more than words can tell."- "But even if you do love me, can I hope to be happy with you while you are so forgetful of it?" "Dearest, but hope to be happy with me, and I OR, HOW GXLS LIVE. ) 263 will be gentle as a lamb, Forget my love for you, my angel,", Mr. Scott continued, 'for making love was his forte ;f "it is impossible to forget it; it would be happier for me if I could Forget it, why, my charmer, my love for you is my life, my existence; I can never cease to love you, my adorable, and can never forget my love for you. "It is too bad I cannot change the color of my eyes to please you! ," "I protest I never oncelooked at Miss Elwood's eyes, so much' do' yours haunt me; and I am certain if I did look att them I should find them positively ugly." "Then you think her more sincere.'than I am?" "Forgive me, my angel, I was wrongly angry, and now that you will love me--, "I;1 try to love you. I did not say I did or would for certain., "Well, now that you will try to like me, I ill not talk so any more; I have not for so long a time adored you for your simplicity, naturalness, frank. sess, and smincerity, to find any thing in Miss Elwood to compare to you!," ' "But you seem to like a great many better-. md before you knew me; I am sure you donot ove me!" "My angel, before I knew you For several virtues I have liked several women-never any J page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] ) 264 MAANR EILWOOD; With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owned,. And put it to the foil. But you, oh, you I So perfect and so peerless, seem created Of every creature's best ' And now I shall go no mote a roving." "Jealous," Mr. Scott said, as he lighted his cigar, " a good sign in any one less vain--but what's a woman good for without vanity? Nothing- couldn't win them at all if it wasn't for that. I was mad, though; I know she only flirted with that conceited fellow at Elwood's to pique me-but- confound her! she's no business, to flirt! She's mighty hard to win; or is she like Cressida 'hard to seem won? ' but never despair; I'll win her yet, coquette as she is." "Well, Lucy," Mrs. Merton asked, entering the room soon after Mr. Scott left it; " how-- did you manage him? I heard him talking quite angrily. I hope you made it up?" "Certainly. I would have let him storm a little longer, but my boot hurt my foot, and I was sleepy." "Don't say any thing definite yet awhile. How did you like that gentleman at Marian's?" "Very well." "I think Marian's manoeuvring mamma hunted him up. I asked Marian and Mr. Elwood about him, and received xvery favorable answers from both; they are pretty reliable people about such things, though I believe Mr. May called there OR, HOW GEIns LIU . 265 several times after his father failed. We have a week yet; there can be no harm in being polite to him, and if the inquiries I make prove what they said to be true, I will ask a few friends to meet him. And Mr. Scott? "With prudent management will do very well. I can keep him for any length of time. But what did Marian say about Mr. King? , "I don't remember exactly; except that he was an importing merchant, immensely wealthy and very aristocratic; that he retired from business, but not desiring to be idle hasreturned to it again; she says he is generous to an extreme, which an admirer of yours must be, Lucy. I never saw old Elwood so polite to any one before, did you?" "No, nor Marian either. Oh! how I should like to bring down her pride I I detest her!" "So do I. What if you were to cross-question Stephen? ti "He is so rough I hate to go near him, and very likely he knows nothing about it. However, don't you say any thing to anybody, and I will find out if it is true. 'Don't you think Marian likes him? I wish sheloved hhun , "Marian may love his wealth, but she is in- - capable of any feeling besides." "-She is very romantic, and notwithstanding that ridiclulous foolery about Elinor St. James, is all ready to adore any one who will take the right way to win her. I am sure she likes Mr. King; awfullyplebeian name, isn't it? I wish it were 12 page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] 266 MARIAN ELWOOD; Worthington, Livingston, Arlington, .;,r some such name. I wish to Heaven Marian liked Mr. King. I can never tell how I detest that girl. Do you think she is handsomer than I?" "Handsomer than youl Is a half-civilized sun-browned French peasant handsomer than Raphael's blue eyed Madonna? Why, she is only a conceited, overgrown girl, while Mr. Lester told me the other evening at the theatre that you were the loveliest dream of beauty imaginable, and then apologized for saying it." "I never condescended to envy Marian," Lucy answered, "because I always knew I was far superior; yet few people have discernment enough to see it. Marian is one ofthose vain shallow girls one can read at a glance, and no one ever needs to study. Leave this work to me. I delight in anything complicated and; difficult.' I only wish this were even worse. Did you ever see Marian weep?" "Never." "Did you ever see her low-spirited?" "Never." "Would you like to?" "I am wicked enough to answer yes." "You shall be gratified; you shall see her weep most bitter tears. We'll see who is conqueror; :dark-eyed Marian Elwood, or the simple Lucy Merton. Good night." OR, HOW GIRLS IVE. 267 CHAPTER XXVII. "Celui qul trompe est tromp6 deux fois.'i A FEW mornings after, Lucy drove to Marian's and invited her to go shopping with her. Marian had lately declined several invitations from her, and felt as if she ought to accept this one; so she went to her room to dress, and Lucy left to amuse herself, walked impatiently around the drawing- room, into the library, looked into the hall, but seemingly disappointed, she stood a moment irresolute, and then walked quickly to a balcony at the rear of the house, where Stephen had made a laboratoryi out of the remains of Marian's old conservatory. The glass walls were half covered with several different styles of curtains, which the young gentleman's ingenuity had fastened more for use than for ornament; one door was a little open when Lucy appeared upon the balcony, but before she reached it, was hastily shut by some one With- in. The space between the scanty curtains enabled her to have a full view of Stephen's large head with a wealth of thick brown hair, bent diligently over a ponderous leather-bound volume open on his page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] 268 nARTAN ELWOOD; knees; while one hand held a little tube between two large bottles, the other meditatively tapped his forehead. It was too pretty a picture to spoil, and nothing but the emergencies of Lucy's case would have induced her, though she had not a very great 'eye for the beautiful,' to have disturbed him. She waited a moment, and as he did not raise his head, she tapped lightly on the glass; he took no heed, she knocked louder; Stephen lookedmore absorbed than ever, she knocked very loudly the third time; then he looked up impatiently, and said, "Minnie isn't here." -"I know it," was the smiling answer. "You know I never come to the house without inquiring after your labors. Let me in; you have room enough for half a dozen in there," He opened the door slowly and sullenly, and immediately resumed his book. "For so handsome a fellow," said Lucy, "you are most unmannerly. Put up your book, and talk." Stephen growled out something about "being busy." "What have you so important to do?" "Nothing that you could understand any thing about; I must hurry through, for I have an en- gagement down town," Stephen answered with great importance. "Who with?" said Lucy. "You are very inquisitive-" OB, HOW GIRLS XIVE. 269 "Because I don't believe you--, "Well, don't believe me then. I tell you I have an engagement with King--, "That gentleman from Boston?"' "I don't know any other King, do you?" "But he hasn't been two weeks in the city-do you know him so well already? "Yes-Minnie knew him, and she told me lots about him-", "What did she tell you? "I haven't time to tell." "You are very saucy. I don't care what Minnie told you about Mr. King, who is perhaps some poor country professor." " "By jingo! A country professor! by Jove, he is worth a dozen Seymour Scotts!" "Perhaps; but Seymour Scott is very wealthy, and of an exceedingly good family." "And I'd like to know if Mr. King isn't too?" Lucy looked incredulous. "For all I know," said Stephen, anxious to re- deem Mr. King, for whom he had a great venera- tion-" for all I know he may be an English earl in disguise." "An English earl! Marian has been making fun of you! English earls don't go into business." "Yes they do. Don't the Percy deal in coal, and Northumberland in cod, or some such thing? Minnie knows the exact articles; and if the earls themselves do not, their sons may, if they wish, page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 :MARIABN iWOOD; to support or enlarge their patrimonial estates," Stephen answered triumphantly. "But Mr. King is an American??" "I don't know any thing about it! Heay have been born in Terra del Fuego for all I know." "But is he so rich?" "I tell you I don't know any thing about it I he acts like an earl, and Min said--" Well, what did Minnie say? "Iain'tt -going to tell you what Min said, only he is better than any man New Yo, I tell you!" "Perhaps that is what Minnie said?" "No, 'twasnt,-there's Min calling you.- Look here! don't you tell her I told you Mr. King was an English earl-because-I don't know-per haps he isn't. Keep mum-remember the aqua- cologne., "You are a very illmannered boy; I'd send you back to college," "S'posing I wouldn't go? "I'd find some way to make you'. "S'posing you couldn't." "I would," Lucy said, and joined Marian. ", Your brother's blunt good nature," she said, as she took her seat in the carriage--" your broth- er's blunt good nature is positively charming." "I am afraid you find the little monkey imper- tinent sometimes?" , "Never, only honest." Sib "You surprise me; I thought Carie Sibley OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 271 was the only one who ever got any thing civil from him. He calls my father the governor, my mother by every possible name-shakes me half to death if I contradict him-and has the servants in such excellent discipline that the mere raising of his fin- ger is sufficient to scatter them in all directions, Poor little Sophie trembles like a leaf if her duty calls her in the direction of his lodgings;-and the little wretch is withal so comical and witty when he chooses, and talks so good-naturedly even while he chastises us, that we have none of us the heart to scold him, though I know we ought.", "Iie seems to admire Mr. King very much." "'0 yes--but he stands slightly in awe of him--- "Yet he is any thing but awe-inspiring." "As we generally understand the term, true; but Mr. King's manner has so much repose, yet so much firmness, that it commands respect, while it forbids embarrassment. Let anybody talk big to Steve, and Steve will laugh him to defiance, but Mr. King has a strange influence over him, from his very manliness and absence of all assumption." "By the way, this brother of yours is some- thing of a romancer. Do not say that I told you; the story he told me of Mr. King's being an Eng- lish earl in disguise, would have done credit to a much more professional head." "It is not possible," Marian exclaimed, her conversation in Westonville, and the knowledge of the mortification it would be to Mr. King if he page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 272 MARIAN EILWOOD; ever heard this story, flashing upon her-"it is not possible he could have told you-that--any story about Mr. King?" ' "I am sure he only drw upon his imagina- tion." "I assure you he did," Marian exclaimed, earnestly. "There is not one word of truth in it -it is all a fabrication. The little wretch won't I scold him for this!" "I implore you not to; promise me you will not." "Then you must promise not to believe one word of the stuff he told you." "You surely do not fancy I am so foolish as to imagine an English nobleman would come to this country, and become a merchant, when he has probably already more money than he can spend. It is only a good joke." "Certainly, but even as a joke, I would rather Steve had not said it. It is all nonsense, and I pray you do not repeat it to any one, least of al to Mr. King." "Do not be uneasy about it, it is nothing at all." "Nothing at all; Steve is forever bothering me in some way. But, on my word, Mr. King is a native of Boston-his father has been dead several years. Mr. King is a merchant-" "Now, do not say another word about it; I under- stand Steve perfectly. I saw Gustave Waldron at the theatre last night." OR, HOW GRLS LIVE. 273 "Did you? Poor fellow! I never hear his name but that I blush for my former conduct; somehow it does not seem so bad to have flirted with others." "I wonder you do not smooth the matter over with him-he may make you trouble some time." "I do not fear that. If I thought he felt it very keenly, and if I were sure he would not misunder- stand me, I would like to make friends with him again." "I know for certain that he still smarts under the mortification of your refusal," Lucy answered; "and it was so decided, I don't see why you imagine it possible for him to misunderstand any thing you do." "If I were sure of that I would make friends the first opportunity." "Do, Minnie; it will make him so much happier." "Mother," Lucy asked her mother when she reached home-" mother, earls' wives are coun- tesses, ar'n't they?" "I believe so, why?" "Mrs. Seymour Scott is a pretty name, but 1 know a prettier one." "Not Mrs. King?" "Bah! no-but my lady Countess, Madame la comtesse-the Countess -Lucy is not bad." "Is your head turned, you silly child?" "Perhaps so, but wait until you see a coronet upon it, and perhaps yours will turn too." 1*2* - page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] 274 lARIAN ELWOOD* "What do you mean?" "Nimporte; time will show. What day is this? Tuesday? I wish you would invite Gus Waldron for to-morrow night." "How will Marian like that? "Quite well i "She did not ask you to do it?" "Not exactly. I think we had better be very polite to Mr. King. By the way, mother, coronets are made of diamonds sometimes, arethey not?" "Yes, if the family is wealthy enough." "And all the family jewels descend to the wife of the oldest son, don't they?" Isuppose so; are you going to write a romance that you are so particular?" "Mamma, some people write romances, others live them;" and without a word of explanation to her anxious parent, Lucy Went to her room to meditate on her anticipated triumph over Marian. w , oR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 275f CHAPTER XXVIII. "Good now I play one scene Of excellent dissembling, and let it look Like perfect honor." MR. :KING was. not fond of society, and the evenings he had spent at the Elwoods had passed in such quiet happiness that he dreaded a change, and with some embarrassment-intimated to Marian his old fogy dread of a crowd. Marian, too, had been so happy, had lived in such a beautifuldream, that to go among her old friends, -talk common talk, and breathe common air, seemed a real trial, but she checked the absurd feeling, and smiling, said to Mr. King, "I have sat here so many evenings embroider- ing so diligently, that I have half forgotten the world outside. But you, if you are not particularly interested, can entertain yourself as you have done here, with this difference, that there you will be talked at constantly; they will feel hurt if you do not go." "I have no fear that I shall not find much to interest me-but- '0, never mind the but! Though, if it 1 page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] 2MASAN JULWOOD; 276 . RLWR Q JL4OD; would really be disagreeable toyou, Steve will go with us." "I was most disagreeable to hesitate a moment; the pleasure of accompanying you and Mrs. Elwood, will amply compensate me for all the troublesl that can possibly follow my unwonted dissipation." Very well, then I will go and dress." Mr. King had seen Marian in trouble and in joy; but not even when her tearful eyes sought counsel from his, not even when she thanked him for aiding her to conquer her pride, had she seemed half so beautiful as when, on her return, she stood beside him with her rich evening -dress sweeping majestically around her, her dark hair softly braid- ed, and falling gently beside her beautiful forehead, and her eyes, no longer coldly, proudly brilliant, but tender, soft, and dreamy, half hidden by their long lashes. He, gazed long and earnestly at her, as she bent slightly over an obstinate bracelet, that would not clasp. He saw her turn to him as if to request his assistance, he saw the slight shade that passed over her radiant face as she again and again essayed to fasten it, but he looked on as one in a dream, and was not even awakened when she made known her trouble; he fastened the bracelet silently, she tightened her glove, and he continued his reverie. "You seem quite thoughtful," she said, after a fewmoments' longer silence; "perhaps Ihave done wrong in urging you." j OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 2" "No, no; I was wondering if you would be always as happy as you look to-night." "God is very good," she answered, without raising her eyes. Mrs. Elwood now joined them, and in a few minutes they reached Mrs. Merton's. Mr. King was neither vain, imaginative, nor conceited, nor did he often notice particularly the precise manner in which he was received, yet, accustomed as he was to the plain, honest, un- bending salutations of stern New Englanders, it was impossible for him not to perceive the unmis- takable deference paid him jy Mr.- and Mrs. Merton, and the marked attention of their daughter, which not even his quality as their guest, and Marian's friend, seemed to justify. Mentally reproaching himself for thinking any thing about it, he seated himself beside Mrs. Elwood, unable to turn his eyes from the lady of his love, whose heart, full of sunshine itself, was unconsciously seek- ing to impart it to all around. From his admiring meditations he was aroused by Lucy Merton's silvery soprano beside him. "In welcoming you to our house," she said, "we cannot sufficiently regret the disagreeable season of the year which prevents our making this, your first visit, as brilliant and entertaining as we would desire." "The kindness which prompts the wish, is in itself far more acceptable than any thing it could suggest," he answered. , I page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] MABIN ELWOOD; "In assuring my mother that such would be your feeling, I was certain I did not misunderstand you. 1 hope that you will kindly remain long enough to see that we have fashion and beauty here as well as-elsewhere," Lucy said. "I do not need a longer residence in this city to be assured of its fortunate superiority in that regard," he replied, politely. "You must not think our society cold and reserved, indeed you can never find it so; to those who have not the open sesame to its charmed circle, it is cold and unsocial. Permit me to say that as my sweet Minnie's friend, I should have liked you without having seen you, but as my mother said to my father, that you could desire no more favorable introduction than your-excuse me-I scarcely thought how complimentary the sentence ended." "(I will consider it most flattering, and sincerely thank Mrs. Merton for her kind opinion.' Lucy, half believing he would never thaw, until she but a little more life into her conversation, yet afraid of offending his aristocratic ears by some not perfect expression, sat for a moment silent, then calling her usual confidence to her aid, for every moment was precious, she said, as if unconsciously, "How lovely Minnie is!" an expression of irrepressible admiration passed over Mr. King's face, as he turned to look at Marian; it was gall and' wormwood to. Lucy, who, however, calmly continued: "For years she has' been my dearest friend, OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. yet, if I mention her name, I am invariably accused of overrating her beauty, and .passing too chari- tably over the only shade upon so bright a crea- ture." "A shade?" "I should not thus have spoken my thoughts; yet as I gaze upon that queenly form, commanding homage with every movement, and see those eyes full-as one would think-of soul and mental beauty, I cannot but sigh-almost weep for her unwomanly infatuation; there is no one who knows her hard-hearted enough to behold it un- moved." "Unwomanly infatuation?"Mr. King said, more puzzled than alarmed. "May I ask how long you have known my friend, for in spite of all, she is my friend?" "I had the pleasure of meeting her for the first time in the early part of the summer."' "You have been acquainted with her all this time, and do not know to what I allude?" "I know nothing of Miss Elwood," he replied, "but that she is more beautiful in mind and soul than even in face and figure." "Then from me," Lucy cried-" then from me you shall never know more!. You may hear it when it will be painful for you; yet she is my friend, and I will never turn traitor to her. She is beautiful as the young aurora, too beautiful for aught but simple candor and sincerity to find place in her soul." Mr. King, still unmoved by Lucy's page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 280 BMAnAT ELMWOOD; uggestions, thought it some strange prejudice; perhaps Miss Merton alluded to her religion, he asked her; he thought that she said she did not mean that, but the entrance of a gentleman pre- vented his hearing distinctly. The new comer was tall, graceful, and handsome, of that style young ladies just from school pronounce 'splendid' and interesting.' He seemed to be well acquainted, for he spoke to nearly every person as he passed; he was introducedf to Mr. King, who, however, did not hear his name; he was standing by oMrs. Elwood's chair when, Mr. King heard Lucy say to her mother, "Se Marian. I might have knownit! How can she act so!" Mr. King looked and saw Marian, her fce fairly crimson, move a step or two towards the new comer, whose color instantly rivalled hers. Mr. King wondered exceedingly, as well he might, for he heard nothing of Marian's conversation. Marian was standing with Carrie Sibley when Mr. Waldron, for, of course, our readers have recognized the handsome'stranger, entered the room; a sickening feeling of intense mortification was the first emotion caused by his unexpected appearknce. Pride advised her to hide it under an appearance of haughty indifference, but she paid no heed to its suggestions, and to atone as much as possible for her past conduct, she humbly resolved to do all that remained for her. It was for this reason that, instead of haughtily returning Mr. o10, HOW GRILS LtVE. 281 Waldron's cold bow that she extended her hand to him saying: "You forget that you have not yet congratu- lated me on my return to New York."2 "I am not so forgetful as you may wish- imagine me, I mean,' he replied coldly. "Will you allow me to teach you forgetful- ness?" "You would find me a stubborn pupil; I should reject your instructions, for I need something to remind me of the vanity of earth." "Mr. Waldron," she said, after a moment's in- ward struggle-"' Mr. Waldron, if I cannot teach you to forget the unfortunate infatuation which forced me to play so unwomanly a part, will you not, at least, allow me an opportunity of proving that, freed from all unnatural influences, I can be as true a friend as I was apparently a heartless- enemy?" He misunderstood her; Lucy had so assured her that he would not, that she had spoken most plainly; the blushing humility of Marian's face, the sudden change from coldness to delight of the gentleman's, were not lost on Mr. King, who, ashamed to take advantage of her thoughtlessness to watch her actions, now turned to Lucy. Had he waited another moment, he would have seen the gentleman, paler than on his first entrance, appear earnestly to plead for something; the lady's now firm, but kind expression seemed resolutely to refuse. page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] 282 . MAR&n ELWOOD; "There is something in it," thought Mr King, "that I cannot understand, but certain am I if I had a right to ask, I should hear nothing that would be unworthy of her." Still he did not feel as comfortable as when sitting by her side in the family sitting-room, he read, or she sang his favorite songs.- Lucy carefully avoided any allu- sion to Marian; taking no notice of the ominous frowns gathering on Mr. Scott's lofty brow, she smiled her sweetest smiles for the benefit of her new acquaintance, while he, feeling that she was very kind, and that he was ungenerous not to be grateful for it, made several vigorous efforts to show himself excessively pleased, but only succeed- ed in making several very ceremonious. speeches, which, even to himself, had a staid, insincere sound. He was earnestly wishing it was time to go home, when Lucy exclaimed: "Is not that waltz inspiriting; I really cannot permit my friends to be quiet when there is such a temptation to be moving. Will you let me find you a partner?"Without waiting for an answer, she arose, and speaking louder, said, all must dance. Mr. Scott immediately secured Lucy's hand. She professed herself extremely distressed that Mr. King would not dance, hoped he would not find it dull, regretting excessively that her duties as hostess did not permit her to remain, and to his infinite delight she left him, and joined a little group around Marian, which seemed the scene of some startling event, to judge by the wondering On, HOW GIBRS LtVE. 283 looks of the few persons who formed it. Mrs. Merton ceased striking careless chords, and- Mr. King heard, "do not dance?" repeated several times in as many different voices, then he heard Marian requesting them not to mind her. "Why, I declare, it's abominable,' he heard the tall gentleman say. "No, no, Mr. Waldron," was the answer; M' rs. Merton is waiting, pray do not mind me." "Come! come!" cried Mrs. Merton; ' do not tease her. Come!" Ina few minutes Marian was left quite alone, the tall gentleman being with difficulty induced to join the dancers. f r. King made his way to her side, and was received with a smile that would have destroyed a much deeper jealousy than his. You still adhere to your resolution, I perceive," he said. "Yes, but to save myself all that teasing I might almost have broken it-had I not-" "Had you not?" "Had I not seen you looking very earnestly at me as if you doubted my courage.", "I did not for one moment; I knew you would not dance.', "I felt worse because mother dances, and it seems so strange for me not -to when she does." So the music and the dance went on, and bright lights flashed over sparkling eyes, and merry feet kept time to the beating of youthful hearts. Round page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 284 MARIAN ELWOOD; and round flew the dancers, and their voices mingled gayly with silvery laughs. Some are dreaming of wealth and fame, many are blushing at "praise of their own loveliness," yet, what is their fancied happiness to that of the two that silently watch them? "Come! you lazy girl!"Mrs. Elwood cried; "we should have been home an hour ago. Come to 'the dressing-room; we shall not be long, Mr. King." As soon as Marian had left the drawing-room Mrs. Merton and Lucy came to condole with Mr. King. "Really it was a shame for him to be so quiet; would he not choose a lady now and they would play for him; really, he must, Mrs. Merton would not hear of his refusing." Mentally regretting the day he ever went to a dancing school, Mr. King put his arm around Lucy's waist, and they performed a polka with considerable grace; he complimented his fair partner, and his partner's mother loaded him with praises; and when he had made all the pretty speeches he thought neces- sary, he joined Marian and her mother, who, shawl- ed and hooded, had came down stairs just in time to see the concluding performances. Mrs. Merton was persuading Marian to go to see Romeo and Juliet the next evening, and Mari- an was making all manner of excuses. "Verily and indeed," Mrs. Merton said, to Mr. King, "Miss Elwood has become a perfect puritan since her visit to Westonville. I want to make up - ' , OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 285 a party to go to the theatre to-morrow night, and she objects; won't you helps me to persuade her?" "If you cannot-well-persuade my. mother while I think. Do you," she asked in a low voice of Mr. King-"Do you think I ought to go, just to oblige them, when I had a thousand times rather stay at home? I do not need your silence to convince me that I am very selfish. Yes, Mrs. Merton, I will honor you with my company." "A thousand thanks! I presume I owe this entirely to your eloquence, Mr. King, and in re- ward will express a sincere wish to have you join us D" "I regret extremely that an engagement to dine with my partner will render it impossible to accept your kind invitation, Mr. Kng answered. "O, I am very sorry," Mrs. Merton replied. "But I hope this will not be your last as well as your first visit." He assured her it should not be. Lucy smiled very sweetly, and blushed, or tried to, as she bade him good night. "So, after all," Marian said, as they reached the street-"So, after all, I am condemned to go to the theatre with Mrs. Merton, without any one to help me survive it. - I wonder how I was for a moment unselfish enough to consent! I always laugh at Romeo, and can't at all appreciate Juliet. It's a desperate pity that am not engaged to din- ner to-morrow. Why did you not say you would go too? I wish you had Mr. King." d2- page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] MAfRTAX EMWOOD; "Do you, really? What time ought I to be in readiness?" " About half-past seven or eight." "I might, even if I were a little late." "0, do! Steve shall come-you will easily find us out, and our side will be as strong as Mrs. Merton's. I am so glad! Do you know-I am afraid I am not one bit improved since the days when I proposed moonlight rides, after half the town was asleep." lIe laughed a little, and soon after they reached home, and he bade them good night. Marian's respect for Romeo was considerably increased on the following evening, and Juliet's character was for the first time fully understood and appreciated. Steve commented on the theatre, the people, the stage, the actors, and their dresses; was very rude to Lucy; asked Marian half a dozen times what that woman was gasping about, and entreat- ed Lucy to tell him if she did not think his patent salts would revive her. Finding no one would ex- plain the play, he prepared to go to sleep, Mr. King having promised to wake him for the farce. o0, HOW GURLS LIVE. 28 CHAPTER XXIX. "Love is a great transformer."- FOUR months have passed since Stephen slept, and Marian wept over the sorrows of Romeo and Juliet, Afterwards; in hastily running over in her own mind the occurrences of those four months, Marian was surprised to find in what quiet happiness they had passed. She, who for years had considered a lighted, crowded drawing-room, the embodiment of all possible enjoyment; to be the brightest there the height of human felicity, and had thought an evening spent alone tiresome be- yond endurance sthe who gloried in scorning com- mand or advice from any one; who had known no other earthly law than her own will, no other guide than her own wishes; she, to whom.acting reason- ably, and controlling impulse, even thinking seri- ously had seemed impossible, now beheld herself conforming all her thoughts and actions to anoth- er's half-guessed wish. Had he known his power, had he desired to use it, he could have moulded her to any shape, raised her to any height. Yet page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 288 MAIA ELWOOD; she could never have so loved him had not each day disclosed some new virtue in him, or given some, new proof of his deep religious nature, and practical goodness. She often recalled her half-forgotten childhood, and her convet days. The htle conventcchapel with the mellowed light that fell softly through the crimsoned windows, the gleaming of the altar lights through the curling incense, the gentle tinkling of the silver-toned bell, the solemn peal of the organ, the dark statue-like forms of the kneel- ing nuns, their saintly and chwldlike expressioi as theye3 pt prayeirfl guard around the white-veiled girls-zall this came back to her, together wia the hall-awed and half-rapturous inspirations that had been borne to her in those devotional hours; but- she remembered too, that the high resolves, the enthusiastic homage, the ardent hopes which then rushed tumultuously yet half dreamily'through her mind, flitted with the dissolving incense, the fading lights, and the dying music, and once outside the chapel door, her lip curled as contemptuously, and her light laugh was as ready as ever, to ridicule the artless love and simple faith of her devout associates . . .. - ^ The solemn grandeur of the ceremonies of the Catholic religion, its outward beauty, ever so inti- mately connected with the development of human genius, captivated her imagination, filled her heart with delicious rapture; buit to its severe require- ments, its practical holiness, she determined to be t'-J OR0, BOW GIlLS LIE. 289 indifferent. Much faith he may have had sleep ing in her soul, but it was fhr from being the gentle, trustingfaith that sees the loving hands of canalmighty Father in the rustling of every leaf, in every gleam of sunshine, and every sigh of the wind; not that confidence that, planting -itself on never-doubting, never-wavering belief, rests against the strong arm of Divine Love, and bids the world and the devil defiance. No, her reason told her God had established a church upon earth, that no one could come to him save through the gates of the Church, and that this, his Church, was the One, Holy Roman Catholic Church. Sure of this, content to bend her knee in adoration, not pen- ance; to offer enthusiasm, not sacrifice; homage, not humiliation, she had ever lived; but now, that happiness--which she considered sent in mercy to raise her nearer to Heaven--had softened her heart, she, turned, involuntarily, in gratitude to the giver. Hie was still the grand and glorious God her intellect and imagination had worshipped but he was also a tender friend, who had sent her a beautiful gift; she could speak to him of the hopes that must:be secret to all mortal friends. It was to him she could go from the ballroom, or firom her simple every-day duties, and offer every act, however slight, in which any good had min. gled, for the one she loved.' She thought God had made him the instrument of his merc;y, the tie )y which to bind herto .Him; she prayed oftener br him than for herself, feeling his good must be page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 290 MARIAN EWOOD; hers. She rejoiced when by restraining an impa- tient word, bearing unmeritedreproof, or perform- ing some unpleasant duty, she could add something more to the little treasure she was laying up for him in Heaven. It would, no doubt, have been far better had no earthly motive mingled in the constant, perse- yering efforts she made to live up to the com- mands of her religion. Yet, surely, He who dis- dains not the vilest sinner's prayers, did not look unkindly on the simple love that referred all to Him, recognizing his goodness in all that she re- ceived, and by every exertion and prayer seeking to render herself worthy of the blessing he had sent her. It was not the words that Ernest King spoke, nor yet the little of his life that she sometimes learned, that incited and encouraged her in the life she was endeavoring to lead. At first, his very presence had something in it that forced her to be dissatisfied with all less perfect than she thought him; his kind, but silent, approval if any good act of hers became known to him, induced her to re- double her exertions; but, afterwards, so full of repose and peace did she find her new life, that she could not but love it for its own sake, while the consciousness of becoming daily more: worthy of the love of the noble Ernest King added a glow to all that was so bright id her heart. Her life was indeed most happy; no more wild storms of pride and anger sought to drive all faith OR, BOW GIRLS. LS E. 291 and hope from her soul. Almost every struggle of grace against nature was decided in favor ofthe former. With a heart full of sunshine, which beamed from her radiant face, her eyes ever filled with a dewy, twilight loveliness, her voice low and thrill. ing as the morning songs that welcome in the young aurora, she was indeed a " reature of life and light., Wherever she went, whether trailing her silken robes through the mazy dance, or wheth- er moving noiselessly around the couch of pain, she was followed by prayers and blessings. She was herself unconscious that the light of love, falling on her frozen heart, changing it to a fertile garden blooming with bright and kindly virtues, had also gilded her inhtercourse with all the world with its own bright hues. Ernest King, with his deep, passiomite nature, his warm and manly heart, sees all this, and much more- than my weak pen has power to record. Her kindness is extended to all, and though he sometimes dreams that her thrilling voice and dewy eyes have a tenderness for him they have not for any other, yet must his heart hope and tremble while his tongue must be silent Beneath the light of her magic smiles, which he so reverences, yet dares not ask, and tries not to seek, he endeavors to forget the dark shadow that for years has hung ovel his life, blighting its hopes, and heavily clouding the love his, heart can- not overcome-that his lips mustnot speak. Some. page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] 292 MARIAT ELWOOD; times he dreams that it is dissolved in the sunshine of her presence, sometimes that her voice has com- manded it to leave him, and that her hands have led him from beneath its. influence; but he knows that not even she can aid him in this; yet with new hope, and unceasing prayers that if it be Heaven's will to remove it from him, he' struggles on, and each day thanks Heaven more fervently for per- mitting him to thus love, and vehemently implores that if sorrow must result from it, that it maybe doubled on his head, and pass over hers, and leave her as bright and happy as he sees her now. Mrs:Elwood had, at first, welcomed Mr. King in consequence of her brother's praise; afterwards, his quiet, unobtrusive attentions, and his excellent disposition, won her, heart; and 'knowing him to be a stranger in the city, she had joined Mr. El- wood in urgently requesting him to spend all the time he could spare with them. Thus he was sure of a cordial welcome from every member of the family. . Mrs. Elwood's interest in him was not at all diminished when she perceived that Marian was not indifferent to him. She had never seen any one to whom she could so readily confide her dar- ling daughter; so without speaking her wishes to any one, without putting herself between them, or throwing them unnecessarily together, she let things take their course. So passed the four months for Marian and Mr. King; let us look after our other friends. CarrieSibley has still the same imaginings as OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 293 before, though Gustave is now no longer in favor, whether this is owing to an imperfect line in his last poem, or the practical advice of that universal spoil-sport, Lucy Merton, we confess ourselves at a loss to say, having besides a dim suspicion that Stephen Elwood's horror of poetry, keen sense of the ridiculous, joined to a universal contempt for mc 'ancholy young gentlemen, may have contribu- ted in no small measure to drive poor Gustave from his insecure footing in Carrie's--ancy. Gustave Waldron, smiled upon by the timid Lucy, has, in some way he would find it impossible to explain, been convinced by her that Marian is not indifferent to him, and in time may lovea him. Patience and constancy is Lucy's motto, and how- ever repugnant to his poetic temperament, it must be his too. So received kindly as an injured friend, he sees Marian often enough to keep himself in re- membrance without appearing in his old character of adorer. Seymour Scott has kept the charming Lucy in bouquets all the winter; but his unsentimental papa, refusing alike to pay his debts or, increase his allowance, the young gentleman mentally curses all timid girls who take eight or ten months to find out how their hearts are disposed Lowards their clamorous adorers, and to forget his troubles he writes Lucy thirteen Spenserian stanzas about his love and despair, for which he receives a smile, a sigh, and a casting down of the eyes, and another scolding from his unsentimental papa, and unpleas n. unla. page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] 294 MARIAI EWOOD; ant cross-questioning from an unsympathizing mar- ried brother. Mrs. Merton has chaperoned her darling daugh- ter all the winter, and faithfully reported every compliment that in earnest, in jest, or in sheer en- nui, has been addressed to the ever-smiling mamma in behalf of her charming child. She is rather puz- zled about Lucy's plans, but as the young lady professes herself quite happy, quite secure, and talks strangely about coronets and earls, Mrs. Mer- ton tries to consider it all right, though thinking it very strange that she is not confided in more deeply. Lucy herself-but she would quite disdain conm- ingat the end of the chapter-so we will give her the beginning of another. OR. HOW GIRLS LIVE 295 CHAPTER XXX. "Irints srewdly strew, mightily disturb the spirit, Where a barefaced accusation would be too ridiculous for calumny." "Why has there been no Eden here below, Without a serpent in it? 1 "UCY had been content until the last year to work according to her mother's counsel, but becom- ing dissatisfied with the little given her to do, she had suddenly taken into her own hands the grand task of winning a coronet, aid crushing Marian, whom she always envied, into the very dust. But Lucy was not impulsive, hers was a calm, calculating nature, and she would do nothing rash, a coronet was something well worth waiting for. So, hav- ing found her hints about Iarian, on the second evening that she met Mr. King, wholly harmless, he being so blind that he could not see blushes visible to every one else in the room, and which, had they appeared, under the circumstances, on her face, would have aroused Seymour Scott to a perfect frenzy of rage and jealousy, and concluding therefrom that Mr. Ring did not love Marian, or page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] 296 MARIAN ELWOOD; else that Marian had explained all to him, which last, considering her character, she considered im- possible, she resolved to bide her time, and lose no opportunity of winding herself into Marian's confidence, and resume her former intimacy. It did not, however, take her long to discover, that Mr. King was not as indifferent as sheimagined, but philosophically concluding that no such com- plete sympathy and perfect understanding could exist between two persons for any length of time, she did not allow it to alarm her. She met Mr. King very often at Marian's, and he visited her house several times. Without appearing to intend it, Lucy was always beside him, and endeavoring to break down the barrier of his polite reserve. She hoped, too, he would perceive how much more calm, rational, and womanly she was than Marian, for Lucy always boasted that her character required deep study to be appreciated, while Marian could be read through at a glance. She read all the English high-life novels she could find, determined that when she appeared in England she would not be ignorant of its manners and customs. So the four months passed; the position of matters at the end of that time proving that idleness could no longer do any good, deter- mined her to commence operations at once. I have never been informed of the exact date of Satan's entrance into Paradise, but it has always been my private opinion, that it must have been about the middle of June, that most delightful of OR, HOW GIRLS LVE. 297 months, when the Garden of Eden must have worn its most fascinating garb. For it-always seems as if the time when every thing is brightest and happiest, is that chosen by the Evil One to vent his envious rage. lMr. eKing had been absent from the city for a whole week, and Marian had mingled with all her actions pleasant fancies of the things she would say on his return, preparing little surprises, a new song, anew drawing. She was very busily engaged on the latter, an improvement on a rough sketch of her uncle's oft mentioned garden gate, and humming one of his favorit songs, when Lucy entered. Marian, not permitting herself to regret the interruption of her pleasant employment, arose, and smilingly received her visitor; it was just after lunch,} and Lucy took out her work, saying she would sew-, while Marian could go on with her drawing; but every line and shade she had made had recalled some bright thought of Aim, and she could not resume it now, while conversing on indifferent subjects; so she laid it in her portfolio, drew a chair to Lucy's side, and looked in her basket for work. There was a half-finished purse commenced the night before her riding party, she had neveir made one stitch on it since: there was a collar, but he had copied the design for her, and all that she had embroidered on it had been watched by him; she could not work on that now. Lucy saw it, and held out her hand to look at it, but Marian threw it quickly into her basket, and 13, page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] 298 MARIAN IMSWOOD; in despair seized a crochet-needle and a ball of cotton, but he had wound that cotton the very evening before he Went away; was there any thing that did not speak of him? "As you seem disinclined to be very industri- ous, suppose you hold this skein of cotton for me," said Lucy; "that is not much for idle hands to do." "With pleasure," answered Marian, drawing a stool in front of Lucy, and seating herself, held up her hands for the skein, and Lucy looked down into her eyes, and could not but acknowledge that they were beautiful exceedingly. The skein was in a snarl, and it took more than half an hour to wind it, for each rested every few minutes if the other's remarks had anything strik- ing in them. "By the way, Minnie," said Lucy, as she placed the second skein on Marian's hands, and watched her beautiful face, though her tell-tale eyes mechanically following the movement of the thread as it passed round and round, were hidden from Lucy's penetrating gaze; "by the way, you have never told me by what process of reasoning you came to see the folly of your-disbelief-your -you know.". Marian did not raise her eyes, but she colored slightly as she answered, "It was a slow process, which you would find very uninteresting." "I wish you would tell me, for, Minnie, I am sometimes afraid I am travelling the same road, OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 299 only from where you are now, to the point you started.", pi ' "Impossible! "I wish it were," Lucy answered sadly, and forgetting her task held the ball of thread quite still; but I am afraid it is only too true. I am sick and weary of life; could I but be sure there was in the world one true, manly heart, though of an old or married man, I would then feel my trust restored.", "Dear Lucy," Marian said, raising her sweet eyes to her face, and meeting only a calm despon- dent answer in the eyes that half avoided hers she continued: "Dear Lucy, you should notgive way to such feelings, they are very unjust, and will make you as wretched as they did me." "How can I help it? I know no true man capable of love.', "Does not Seymour Scott love you? Perhaps something has occurred, something been misunder- stood, do not let it remain so. It must be dreadful to have any thing against one you love. Explain it to him, if he, loves you it will only increase his affection for you." "You would not have me demand, much less give an explanation; it would be unwomanly," said Lucy. "No, no," answered Marian, "it would be most womanly.", "Would you do it?" "Certainly., page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] 300 MArIAN ELWOOD; "But if you felt you had been injured?" "I could then do it much more easily." "It is impossible. You would not, could not do that." "I would; I would not lose a moment; think, he suffers as much as you do." "Why, Minnie, would you advise me, would you yourself sue thus when you should be sued?" "I would. Hie may have been hasty, and regrets it now, but human pride is hard to conquer; a little word from you may drive the demon from his heart; can you hesitate to speak it?" Lucy was rather taken aback by Marian's humility; however, she consoled herself with the reflection that people often talk a great deal better than they act; so she hastily drew up a plan of attack, and became so absorbed in her thoughts that she began absently to unwind the cotton she held in her hand, while Marian, her hands still holding the skein, leaned one arm on Lucy's knee, and looked inquiringly at her. "You are very kind, Mininie," she said, rallying, "and I may bring myself to act as you advise; but as I said in the beginning, my trust is on the wane, I am sick, tired, and worn out. Minnie, do you believe any men are as good as women?" "As good as women! O, Lucy, so much better. I know one noble-hearted man, who would not sacrifice the slightest suggestion of duty for all the wealth andfame in the world. If you OR, HOW GIRLS LtVE. 301 could but know him as I do! know his firm integrity, his simple piety. Good aswomen! Lucy, I cannot talk." , "But you can/ fe him all you say, and not for all the world would I destroy that belief in him that at this moment makes you so beautiful and enviable. I could pray that you might never- Minnie, if you, or I, or any one, should have a firm trust in another's truth, and some one else should know it to be misplaced, do you think that person is bound by friendship or duty toshow-the other her mistake?" - "It would be like lancing a wound, very hard at the time, but for the patient's good. However, I hope I shall never be called-upon to perform the operation; I should not fancy it," answered Marian. "It is sad," Lucy said, with some appearance of irritation, and fixing her cold, blue eyes asif absently on Marian's--"It is sad, oh! it is very sad, to press faith and hope from a loving heart t! No-no-I cannot do it.', "(I hope you will never have occasion.', "It is too late to wish that now. Minnie--do you love Ernest King very much? , Marian's eyes instantly sought the ground. how do you know that I love him at all?" she asked. "arian, dear Marian, do be serious with me. You know I love you dearly; have I not often risked your 'friendship by advising you when you page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] 302 MARTA1r ELWOOD; required it, yet would not receive it? Am I now the simple-hearted girl I was a year ago? No, Minnie, you cannot tell what changes have come over the spirit of my dream; but from my own experience, I would speak to- you. Do not think I am foring myself into your confidence.; if you answer my questions answer them seriously." "What would you know?" "If, in so short a time, Ernest King has won such place in your heart, that it would break it to believe him other than he seems?" "I have; and if my life were my own I would stake it on his candor and truth, and yon'blue sky is not more heavenly than he!" Lucy looked at her long and sorrowfully, until Marian, starting up, exclaimed, . "Lucy, why do you act so strangely? For heaven's sake, speak-tell me what you are fancy- ing." "Nothing, Minnie, you are so imaginative your- self; that you think all the world the same. Now, 'I am very practical, I never fancy things; I weigh all things, and speak what I know, never giving rash utterance to my fears-now-look at my cotton all in -a snarl." "It is my fault, I will undo it immediately- but tell me what you are meditating about "OW." "Nothing-nothing. Do not look so fright- ened. Sit down." "I am not frightened. I know some one has } , On, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 303 been saying something against Mr. King, and you-you believe it." "You are mistaken , I never heard of Mr King's doing a dishonorable thing in his life.," "Then what did you mean a few minutes ago? "Just noshing at all." "But you say you do not say things with- out a reason. You think something of Tr. King you much sooner than I would?", "I had forgotten it." 'rI is true, nevertheless. You have a good dis- position, Marian, considerable character and will, but your affections rule you, and what you wish to seeyou dosee Your wish is father to your be- lief I have alays liked you; have always feltdeep ly interested in you. I hope Ishall not pain you, but remember what ybu said about the doctor's lancet. Now, minnie, w hat I would say is this. You love Ernest King, and your hope that he loves you con- strues every worud and look of his as you wish it. I am not the only one who has noticed it., Mal nan's neck and face were instantly crimson. Lucy looked at her, and a glanbe of malignant triumph flashe from her yes, but it was only momentary, I and s he continued: page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] 304 MABIAN ELWOOD; "I am sorry to say this, Marian, for there is nothing men and women more despise-but, don't mind it; perhaps my eyes have deceived me, at any rate he has no right to sneer at you, since it was done for his sake." "He is incapable of sneering! If I have shown that Hlike him-and he does not think of me, he - wouldnot have come here so often." "You overrate him, darling; he is a very honorable man, I have no doubt, but few men -feel called upon to discourage a lady. If he loves you, it is all right." "If-I never thought about it, I suppose I believed it." "Well, I do not blame you. Men will swear by every thing we consider binding, and laugh at it the next moment." "Mr. King couldn't do that." "Then you believe his vows of eternal fidel- ity?" "He has never made any." "Well, his protestations, declarations, or what- ever you choose to call them." "Lucy," said M rian, her color rising, "I do not recognize any right you have to speak so to me. No doubt, you mean it kindly; I know Mr. King better than you do, and I am not conscious of acting in any way that deserves your censure." "I am sorry you are offended," Lucy answered, quietly; "and I regret that I came here to-day, since I have thus been hurried into expressing what OR, HOW GIRLS LIv. 305 would have been better eft unsaid; let us forget it all,' and if you ever feel less conidence than now, copersa de"'liiibu I cean tsay anow perhaps you will:remember LUecy Merton's reluctant "MoredconstantadmIrer? t affectio e ilayed in opposing her fears to your hopesitate I wish,"u Marian said, after a long pause--, I wish you whould tell me all you man u have said, can say nothing against Mr. King. Perhlaps not, Minnie, but I an say, and I I I never fib." do say, my Minnie deserves a :more constant ad- mnirer." "a res onstant- pro ed ? es. IfSeymour Scott were engaged to m and should-- "Go on, why do you hesitate? "Impute it to vanity, to vhat feeling you will, I think a gentleman engaged to you should be less attentive to-me." "Oh, is that all?, Marian cried, laughing heartily, while Lucy bit her lip, and .colored angrily-' Is that' all? What an 'ado about nothing!, I give you fall and free permission to try all your arts upon him, and if you suc- ceed I will be the first'to congratulate you. It's a fair fight, for I am not engaged." "Good heavens! not engaged Oh, say that you are!" "I never fib." "Has he not proposed? , NO."o page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] 306 MARIAZ ELWOOD; "Nor never told you he loves you? ' No.^ "Never made love to you?" "Lucy--", "It is infamous!"Lucy cried, "worse if possible thus to sport and trifle with your feelings; draw you out-force every one to see how much you love him, and to remain free and uncommitted himself. It is shameful: were I a man I would shoot him I - "It is not shameful! He is acting rightly and for the best. He has right and good reasons for every thing he does. Lucy, I hate you; you are incapable of appreciating the delicacy of his char- acter. I wish you no worse fate than to be treated as I am." Lucy made believe to shudder. "Perhaps," she said, musingly, "if I should come to feel as you did once I might receive some such punishment." Lucy kissed Marian affectionately on leaving, begged her to forgive her if she had spoken unkindly, and then quite pleased at her acting she turned home. Marian re-entered the library, and endeavored to resume her drawing, as she-had yet an hour or two before dinner, but her thoughts were out of tune, and she pushed it to one side, and mechani- cally wrote all manner of names and scraps of poetry on some waste papers lying near her, and recalling Lucy's words, she tried very hard to reason with herself, to say Mr. King had paid her too marked OR, HOW GIRLS Lrvx. 307 attentions to be unaccompanied-by an explanation as it is called; that it was not right for him to visit her so much, and others so little; that despite all she had shown too much regard for him; but it was in vain; what one moment she said 'must be so,' the next she passed over with a trusting smile; to doubt him was impossible; and in all that referred to his actions, she felt certain Lucy was rong ;her own, had she really merited such censure, the tears came to her eyes at the thought. The twilight came in at the windows and filled the far corners of the room, while the ruddy firelight fell around her; still she did not notice, but with her arm resting on the table, her head lying on it, the tears, partly of love, partly of mortification and partly a half-expressed longing for his% return falling from her eyes, her pensive hand tracing again and again the name she loved; she mused over her life since she met him. "I were unworthy of his love," she thought, ",did not my whole soul reject such suspicions. Have I shown I love him? Am I not proud of loving him? Yes, it is my glory, and come what will, Ernest King, I will love thee!I Death may take thee from me, but pride deceit, never! She looked very beautiful sitting in the twilight, it giving a soft glow to the cheeks on which the tears were falling from eyes, most lovely in their faith; and so thought Ernest King, who, concealed by the darkness, stood a moment by the open door and the next was by her side, Only brighter for page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] 308 MARIANT ELWOOD; the transient storm, she rose to meet him. He held her extended hand firmly, for a moment, and looking inquiringly into her eyes, said gently, "What has gone wrong with my lady bird now?" "O, only a little morbid nonsense. I am so glad you have come back;" and she bounded lightly across the room, and in a moment more was steadily pushing an arm-chair towards the fire. He went to assist her, and when they had placed it comfortably, she Stold him to take it, and he, ever obedient to her slightest wish, did so; she drew up a little ottoman,;ear enough for the firelight to fall around -them both, encircling them with its 'Celestial rosy red, Love's proper hue.' "I am almost afraid to speak,' he said, 'lest I shall destroy the enchantment that reigns here." "Indeed you will not.- Tell me how fared your Boston visit; you shortened it?" "Yes, I wandered about like an unburied ghost, if I may speak so here, and turned back as quickly as possible. Those cold east winds sent a chill through me, from which I have scarcely' yet recovered." "I perceive you are quite hoarse, sit nearer the fire. Can't mother doctor you? She has remedies for every different shade of illness under the sun. I will go and tell her." She had nearly ieached the door when he called her back saying; "Do not go, I am subject to colds, it is nothing at all." "So much the worse, you may get the con- OR, HOW, GIRLS LIVE. 309 sumption oh! if you only knew how I tremble at the very sound of the word'!", "Please come back," he replied, half laughing I dont think I am going to have the consumption I saw our f1mily physician, while in Boston; and he congratulated me on my surprising improvement since my removal to this city. So now, won't you come back? , She did as he desired, and looking up intohis facethought ' If he should die. Perhaps he guessed what was passing through her mind, for he thoughtfully pushed back the hair from her face, and did not seem to notice thatthough s blushed deeply, she did not appear angry. "Ma- rian, he began, it was the first time he had ever so addressed her, and as he half timidly and half sorrowfully pronounced it, she marvelled at the exceding music of her name. "arianmay I call you so? , "Certainly. Always, unless you like Minnie better." "No, Marian is queenly, and gentle too, like 'Mary. Marian," and he looked earnestly into her unpraised listening eyes,-"Marian, if I should die, would you forgive me all the trouble I ever caused you? 'i "You have never caused me any!" she ex- claimed; " never can, but by speaking so." "You would be sorry if I died," he said, more as if asking himself than her the question. "Sorry! Oh! why do you speak so? I am sure there are many happy days in store for 'you." page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] 310 MARIAN ELWOOD; "I hope so," he' answered, cheerfully, and smilingly banished her fears. They both watched the bright fire in silence, a coal fell out from below, the upper parts sank down immediately. "There go my castles!" cried Marian; " what was yours like?" "Most unlike a castle," he answered, smiling. "What was yours? "A country house, which, as the fire has so well taught me, would be desperately uncomfortable at this season of the year." "True," he answered; she went to the piano, and sang soft and low, while he listened in silence, and thus they might have passed the whole even- ing, regardless of all sublunary matters, had not the discordant clang of the dinner-bell startled them from their dreams. Lucy would have lost her usual unmoved demeanor, had, she been pre- sent, and there had been light enough for her to see the look of earnest devotion with which Mr. King greeted Marian, as she arose from the piano; and she would rather have doubted the success of her acting, had she seen the sunshiny brow, and heard the merry sallies with which Marian en- livened the party at the dinner-table. OR, H1OW GIRLS LrXV. 3" CHAPTER XXXI. "Jealousy and envy bore her up, To mingle poison in her rival's cup." "And thou art gone, thou loved and lovely one, Whom youth and youth's affections bound to me- Who did for me what none beside have done, Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy thee- What is my being? Thou art gone from me." IT was three days after Mr. King's return from Boston, a bright, cold afternoon in the latter part of February, and Broadway was crowded with promenaders, all rosy and smiling, for there was something in the clear, bracing air that heightened every one's energies and hopes. Ernest King, walking home from ' down town," partook of the universal excitement,a deep flush on his cheeks was not at all a bad contrast to his marble white forehead, and clear blue eyes-indeed, so well did his unusual animation become him, that of the many fair promenaders he passed there were few who did not mentally pronounce him "splendid," and half wished they might see him again; he must have been very happy that afternoon, for he had given up his usual staid, sober pace, and was page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] 312 MARAN ELWOOD; walking with a briskness that not even the weather quite explained. Afar up he sees a stately form that he fancies is not unfamiliar to him; he walks even faster, and-ah me! unlucky wight! he steps full on a lady's dress! Scarce looking at the eyes he knows are flashing angrily at him, he makes his gravest bow, and "begging pardon," is going on, when a soprano there is no mistaking exclaims, "Oh, Mr. King, is it you? Then I won't be angry-" "Ah, Miss Merton?" he says, politely, "I re- gret my awkwardness so much the more. Did I damage your pretty dress seriously?" "Not in the least," answered the charming creature-"you must have, had long practice in getting off from ladies' dresses, you did it so nicely." "I am very glad," he replies, Straining his eyes to look after the stately lady, who is, however, hidden by the crowd. "How invigorating the air is!" exclaims his companion. "I feel as merry as can be, don't you, Mr. King?" The question is a puzzler, so he says something about "glorious weather," and Lucy talks ration. ally for his express benefit. They had gone on a few blocks when Gus Wal- dron passed them, walking very fast; he turned half round, raised his hat to Lucy, and was soon lost in the distance. "He is trying to overtake a certain somebody," OR, nOW GIRLS LIVE. 313 Lucy said. "Oh! what a contempt I have for that man!" "Have you?" was the listless response. "Yes, the most unmitigated contempt for him, and I am not one to take likings and dislikings vithout reason and reflection,"n "Perhaps you do not like poets? , "O yes, I do; true, great geniuses do very well for the subject of romantic day-dreams, but are not worth much as friends. Yet it makes'no differ- ence to me what a man is, if he is honest and man- ly. I would rather be the loved wife of the lowliest laborer, than press the most brilliant coronet on a neglected head.", "Then it is not because Mr. Waldron is a poet that you do not like him?' Mr. King asked, for the sake of saying something, but Lucy thought he wished to avoid any allusions like those in her last remark. "His manners are good,' she answered, "his appearance rather prepossessing; but it is his dis- position, want of proper self-respect, that I despise. I hate to speak uncharitably," she added, after a pause, " and perhaps I have said too much against him-you may think him worse than he is; so it would be best for me to tell you, at once, all about it, and then your opinion will be your own, and not the result of what may be prejudice on my part." "Certainly," he answered. "It is a long story, but you must be patient. ". page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] 314 MARIAN ELWOOD; About five years ago two girls, one sixteen years of age, a lovely creature named Elinor, and a -wild, spoilt, self-willed child, about thirteen years old, named-what is a good name? Who was the most heartless woman that ever lived?" "I cannot pretend to say--my education has been shamefully neglected."- Well, so has mine; but I will call her Anna, because it is short. Now, notwithstanding the difference between their ages, Elinor and Mari-- Anna, I mean-were great friends. Elinor was immediately introduced into society, and in less than a year was engaged to a cold, selfish fortune- hunter, who, afterward finding a wealthier heiress, married her, and left Elinor, who sank beneath her grief and died. Ishould have borne proudly up- but size died-not, however, before Ma-Anna, over whose mind and heart she had acquired un- limited control, had been induced by Elinor to make a vow to avenge her death-for Elinor was a strange mixture of weakness and strength-and Anna, persuaded that men are all tyrannical mon- sters, has kept her promise all too well. Well, I never could understand why she made this vow so solemnly. True, she was governed by her love for Elinor-was too young to know the full force of what she was saying, besides being} addicted to strong language when excited; but to account wholly for her hatred of men seems impossible. She flirted desperately after her friend's unhappy death, and the Evil One seems to have aided her, OB, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 315 for her success was wonderful. Among her latest victims, Mr. Waldron is most conspicuous. She used every art to arouse his love, until in the face of others' experience, laughing at the-warnings of his friends, and declaring she was artless as a dove, he proposed,." "And how received?' Mr. King asked, with an interest that surprised himself, and delighted his fair tormentor, who answered quickly, He was refused, not -kindly, but scornfully. In her excitement, she even prayed that Heaven might curse her if she ever loved. Now, what I despise in Gustave is, that knowing all this, he still seeks her, and believes in her arts and smiles." Perhaps the lady now regrets her refusal, and the--unjust-feelings that inspired it." So -I would gladly believe; but even if it were so, that does not excuse Mr. Waldron, he should treat her with the contempt she deserves." "It is not easy to think harshy of a lady one loves." "But do you think a lady who has universally pronounced men heartless, false, and tyrannical, and has acted towards so many as towards Mr. Waldron, is worthy of respect? "There may be more in it than we know." Alas, no. II, notwithstanding this unnatural infatuation, cannot but feel interested in the lady. She herself told me the story of her lost friend- the revenge she took on her faithless lover-and repeated to me nearly every word that passed bel page: 316-317[View Page 316-317] 316 MAIiI ELWOOD; tween her and Mr. Waldron on the morning of his refusal. And to all my warnings and remon- strances she returned no other answer, than that she liked her own way best, should continue in it, and the more men she made suffer the better." "You did not desert her?" he asked, warmly. "Perhaps I ought to have done so, but I could not, and still sought to saye her, to warn her, if I could do no more. Was I wrong?" "Noble, generous girl, ' he exclaimed, carried beyond himself,-" noble, generous girl! still be kind, charitable, and forgiving towards her, and Heaven will bless you!" "For such praise as that," she thought, as he hastily left her, and turned down a side street,- "for such praise as that I could perform many a nobler act than that of to-day. Noble, generous girl,' ha! ha! that is the beginning. Now, Mari- an Elwood, commences my triumph! 'Heaven will bless me!' I feel as if he had cursed me. Yetfor a coronet, and to be revenged on her, what would I not do?" Two hours after a bright light burned in Er- nest King's room, but it seemed to him to shed a pale, bluish glare on the confusion around; a trav- elling bag half filled, a trunk partly packed, folded clothes, papers, books and boxes occupied one end of the room, while at the other, against the win- dow, with folded arms, and stern, pale face, leaned Ernest King. Was it the same Ernest King who, two hours ago, walked so gayly up crowded O i, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 317 Broadway? whose flushed cheeks, and happy eyes had been so universally remarked? "It is a lie!" he suddenly exclaimed, "or else a bitter, bitter dream. What right have I to call her false?--Has she ever made a single promise, has a single word-on which I could build a hope ever passed her lips? Never.-To me she has been all loveliness and candor. I have seen tears in her eyes-a deceitful woman never- weeps. Shall I leave her in this unmanly way?-Shame, that for one second I could have doubted her truth! Yet even as deceivers are painted is she-so win- ning, so bright, so beautiful.-Shame on me; I will go to her for pardon for the momentary suspi- cion; I will tell her how I love her. No-no-not quite yet must I tell her that-not until I am sure my dreadful -doom is wholly reversed. Yet what bliss to tell her all-to see her beautiful eyes beam- ing with sympathy-I must! I must! Alas! I am very selfish!-I have not been fortunate enough to arouse any feeling deep enough to cause her to give more than a passing sigh for my fate. Yet to be mourned by her.-What am I saying? Her love would be the greatest earthly blessing to me, but to herself misery, misery. Ah! what have I done that my happiness should be her sorrow?-Just hope enough to enable me to linger around her, yet dare not speak. Oh! what have I done to deserve this!-I have spoken calmly when my heart was breaking with the contest between my selfishness and my love for her. What have I done that this page: 318-319[View Page 318-319] 318 MtIANR ELWOOD; should come to me? Forgive me, oh my God! what have I done, that so much good has been granted me?" Then he prayed ferventlyfor forgiveness and strength, and after arranging every thing in his room, left it to seek Marian, firmly resolved to leave her now, before it was too late. It seemed like signing his own condemnation to bid her good- bye, yet it was best. And with something of the same courage that sustained Abraham on his jour- ney to the hill where Isaac was to be sacrificed, he offered to Heaven the darling love of his heart. Marian was at a concert with Mrs. Merton, but Mrs. Elwood was delighted to see Mr. King, and he was soon comfortably seated in a large arm-chair near the fire, listening to the low tones of Mrs. Elwood's soothing voice as she told him stories of her early life, or better still, repeated some remark of the child Marian. Could he destroy all by saying he must leave? Was it-necessary to do so? Suddenly a new idea struck him-he would tell all to Mrs. Elwood, and she should decide for him. But scarcely had the preparatory "Madam" reached his lips, than the sound of a merry laugh in the hall drew her from the library; a moment afterwards Marian, with red cheeks and laughing eyes, bounded lightly into the room. At the concert Lucy had accidentally mention- ed a long walk up Broadway with Mr. King, and talked a great deal more about him than Marian on, How GIRLS LIVE. 319 just liked, and she was not now exactly unwilling to show Mr'. King, who might have walked home with her just as well as with Lucy, that she could sometimes be lively without him,--so she went farther into the room, and pretending not to notice how kindly Mr. King placed her chair near the fire, took a seat at a distance from him, and talked rapidly of all she had seen and heard. "Who came home with you?", asked Mrs. Elwood. "Gus Waldron.'--"Gus Waldron,", thought Mr. King, ( Gus Waldron, Mrs. Mcrton, picked up an old maid, and as there was not room for all in the carriage, it was proposed that Lucy or I should walk, you know I am always readyfor that, and as Lucy had had a long walk on Broadway-" "So had you-", Mrs. Elwood interrupted. "O-I-am-of no consequence!-', It would have been something of a relief to Mr. King to have "hanged Miss Merton," but he was silent, and Marian continued. "Well, as Seymour Scott was too attentive to Lucy to mind me, I was in as mortifying a position as you can imagine when Gus Waldron came up- said it was a shame for us to drive, and offered me his escort, which I was obliged to accept." I shall not let you go anymore with Mrs. Merton if she behaves like that." "I have no desire to go with her again-though she was profuse in her apologies." "I don't think you cared much," Stephen ex- page: 320-321[View Page 320-321] 320 MARIAN ELWOOD; claimed, from a lounge in the drawing-room, "as long as you had that baby-faced Gus with you." "O, no, I was quite delighted," she said, laugh- ing, for it was always in this way she'answered her brother's railleries, "quite delighted, I assure you, to have a moonlight walk with my baby-faced fiend." "Humph! shows your taste. I wish some one would shoot that fellow! Mother, I do hopeyou won't let Min marry him." "Minnie shall marry whom she pleases," answer- ed Mrs. Elwood, laughing. "And I," added Marian, "will not marry Gus-. tave Waldron until he promises to have you for groomsman, if-you will only be quiet now." "Will you procure the same favor for me?"Mr. King asked. "If I can," Marian answered, enjoying the joke, "but I don't know how many assistants the happy man will need." "A number, I should think," answered Mr. King; "' a large number, considering the load of honor that will be laid upon him." Marian did not like the tone, and as she raised her eyes, she saw for the first time since she met him that there was no smile in his; she did not think of it at the moment, but changed the conver- sation. He arose soon after, shook hands with Mrs. Elwood, and without appearing to see Marian's ready hand, bowed, wished her good night, and was gone. OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 321 "I don't think he is well to-night," said Mrs. Elwood, as-she laid aside her work, and prepared to leave the room. "Who-Steve? "No, Mr. King-he was very pale when he came in, and very much flushed when he went away." "The heat of the room, nothing more natu- "But I think it is more. I should not wonder if he should have a fever. I hope not-it is bad enough at any time, but alone, and in a boarding- house, would be very sad.", "I guess he is weU enough," Marian answered, taking up a book from the table, and throwing her. self on a lounge. "Are you going to stay here?"Mrs. Elwood asked. "Yes." "Not long, I hope? "It is late-you will spoil your eyes--," "No-no--, "Will you put out the gas?" "es." "And move the chairs from the fire? ' "Yes-yes," somewhat impatiently. "And won't leave any papers near the ill at tend to every thing (I will attend to every thing." page: 322-323[View Page 322-323] 322 MARIAN ELWOOD; "And if you open any of the windows, be sure to close them?" "Yes, yes." "And if you go down stairs.-" "I will not -" " ell, come Steve, now you will remember every thing?" "Yes-"- "The gas, the chairs, the Windows." "Oh, yes! every thing!" "Well, then, good night, don't read too late; come, Steve, dear." "Yes, I am coming, "answered Stephen, yawn- ing, and slamming the door behind him. Marian' threw down her book, and started wildly from the lounge she walked two or three times around the room in uncontrollable agitation. "Oh, what have I done!" she exclaimed, again and again-" oh, what have I done! If he should die now! and I should never see him again! What shall I do? He is gone, remem- bering only my light words. It's a bitter cold night! oh, if he should be sick and die now, and not have forgiven me!" She seated herself on her favorite ottoman, and laid her head on the arm of the chair he had occu- pied, and folding her hands gazed dejectedly at the fire. Every word she had spoken, every word of his answers, rushed to her mind!-Oh! if he were but sitting in that chair, would but lay his hand kindly on her head, call her Marian, Lady-bird, but OR,' HOW' GILg LIVE. 323 say he forgave her. But in vain she closes her eyes and tries to think he is there; in vain, and it is long before her rebellious heart can remember her wild imprecation, long before she can say her grief is merited. page: 324-325[View Page 324-325] 324 -MARIAN :ELWOO0; CHAPTER XXXII. And is he gone? On sudden solitude, How oft that question will intrude 1 'Twas but an instant passed and here he stood, And now 1 without the portal's porch she rushed; And then her tears at length in freedom gushed, Big, bright, and fast, unknown to her they fell, But'still her lips refused to say 'Farewell,' For in that word, that fatal word, howe'er, We promise, hope, believe, there breathes despair." THREE days passed away, by Marian in anxious uncertainty and regret; by, Mr. King in pre- parations to go South. It was the evening of the fourth day, Mr. King's arrangements were all concluded, and there remained nothing but a few farewell calls to be made; he came up from town early enough to call on Mrs. Elwood before her dinner hour. He was quite calm; he would express his gratitude to Mrs. Elwood for all her kindness, the same to Mr. Elwood-ask Marian not to forget him, though he really imagined he wished her to-assure her that he would remember her,-that he could promise with a good conscience-wish the whole family all happiness and prosperity, and this done OR, HOW GuRLS LIVE. 325 would take his leave, seek another land, and await with resignation and prayer the fate that heaven ordained. Marian was sitting in. the library, forcing her- self to study her German lesson; never before had the uncouth type appeared to her so unintelligible; the letters seemed to turn and twist into every imaginable shape, and half the time she was hunting up words in the dictionary that were far from being in her lesson. Still she persevered, spite of the tears that so often dimmed her aching eyes, and not for one moment did she pause to lean her head upon her arm though it throbbed and pained her so she could scarcely hold it up. 'Mingling prayers with her endeavors she studied on, and had nearly finished when a well-known knock at the door sent the blopd from her hot cheeks to her heart; she was unable to rise, she put her hands to her head, they were cold as ice. "Come in," she said, and still as a statue she sat until he stood close beside her and took her cold, reluctant hand i his. As if that revived -her, the color returned to her cheeks, the light to her eyes, and taking some books out of the chair she always kept for him,. threw them on the lounge, and leaving the table sat on an ottoman near him. "Mamma has been so anxious about you," she said, " she was afraid you were sick." "I am sorry she is not at home that I might relieve her fears." "So am I; she has gone to a dinner party page: 326-327[View Page 326-327] 326 MARIAXN ELWOOD; at the Mertons'; I had an invitation but did not care to go." "I had an invitation bit had not time to accepts You were studying German, do you like it?" "For its literature, yes. But I am so glad you are here, now, for I want to show you a drawing of mine; I commenced it while you were in Boston, and was finishing it the afternoon you returned, but was interrupted, and have not touched it since; it does not look quite right; I hope you recognize it." He glanced at it, the memories it called up almost prevailing over his stoical determination. "It is very well done," was all he trusted himself to say. Marian was sorely disappointed; she could not but remember the pleasant fancies that had mingled with it. "It is right it should be so," she thought, "but it is very hard." She laid it aside, did not return to her low ottoman, but took an arm-chair at some distance. He sat still for- som moments and watched her, as she bent over her work. Suddenly he started impetuously from his chair; she did not look at him, perhaps her eyes were not as dry as she wished them; she did not see the expression of wild devotion that passed over his face; she only knew that when he spoke his voice was low and steady, that his brow was serene, and that his eyes smiled as mildly as of old. ' I must make you a very short call," he said, . , - OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 327 "I have but little time. I leave the city early to-morrow morning. I regret extremelynotseeing your father and mother. Will you be so kind as to give them my thanks for their kindness." "Did-you-say you are---going--away? "Yes-I shall be gone-two or three weeks-- perhaps more. Good-bye., He could not trust himself another moment, shook hands with Marian, turned, and had walked half 'way up the drawing- room, before Marian, who had been listening with a bewildered look, for there was a feeling at her heart that it was a long farewell, rose slowly, and putting her hand to her ha called him back, he took several quick steps towards her, and then stopped, as if waiting for her to speak. This is so sudden," she said. "Is-it-not.- Must you go?"' "Indeed I must." "Must you go now? , "Yes, my time is very precious," and he was going. "Oh, stay! For Heave',s sake stay! Just a little longer!- He made no answer. "If you must go," she said, recovering herself and approaching him, "accept my most fervent God speed, and come back soon." He simply bowed and reached the door, and she again recalled him. "I have not been well to-day," shefaltered; perhaps it is that that makes me so fearful. Oh page: 328-329[View Page 328-329] 328 . MAIA1 ELWOOD ; do not go yet! Wait-stay with me until my father comes." "Do you fear-" "I know not what-but-I-feel-if you go now I shall never seeyou again-never see you again. "And if you should not, oh, Marian, think kindly of me!" he looked at her in his earnest way, and then calmly wishing her all happiness left the house, and poor, fearing, trembling Marian. f / OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 329 CHAPTER XXXIII. "There, where I had garnered up my heart- Where either I must live, or have no life- The fountain from which my current runs, Or else dies up; to be discarded tiere. " ' IT is then as I feared," said Lucy, a few weeks afterwards; "oh, Marian, it was an inspiration from heaven that taught you to hate men, it was to preserve you from this trial." "No, no," answered Marian, a "I was very wrong, very wicked, and I deserve some punish- ment for it. But you are mistaken in supposing Mr. King's absence surprises me; he came and bade me good-bye the day before he left, and said he should be gone two or three weeks." "Did he say he would come back at the end of that time?"' "He said 'two or three weeks, perhaps more.' "And you, with all your penetration, were deceived. But, Minnie dear, be a woman, do not encourage him to fresh acts like this, by weeping and pining for him. Do not, for heaven's sake, let the world that has so envied you, the men that vainly adored you, see you weep for a heartless-- page: 330-331[View Page 330-331] 330 MARIAN ELWOOD; "He is not heartless, you shall not speak so of him. He is noble and honorable, and his conduct towards me is prompted by the kindest feelings. Let us drop the subject, I do not like to speak of it.'" "But you must speak of it; you are, I see, like all girls, convinced of your lover's perfections; you can still believe him all that you say, and yet not show the world, by remaining shut up at home, that you are breaking your heart for him." "I have been out these last few weeks nearly as much as in the beginning of the winter, and as much as is necessary I shall still go, and the world may put what construction it pleases on my actions., "But if you are willing all the world should consider you a spiritless, pining girl, are you willing they should call Mr. King cold, selfish, heartless?" "' They dare not!"Marian exclaimed, her eyes flashing; "there lives not the man who dares breathe a word against my kingly Ernest."' "But they will! They will see your pale face, hear of your unusual retirement, will ask the cause, and must blame Mr. King for it. And if any one says ' we seldom see Miss Elwood nowadays,' there are plenty to answer 'no, since the perfidy of that King-'" "Lucy," interrupted Marian, "'say what you choose of the rest of the world, but dare not over again utter his name. It is too holy for your OR, HOW GIRLS LIME. 331 lips! Lucy, I would hate you if I dared hate any one!" "Have you forgotten what you said about the doctor's lancet? Be generous, Marian, and hear me. I have no interest-what interest can I have in deceiving you-- "Do you suppose, Marian interrupted, with ineffable scorn, "that if I doubted his truth I could believe yours? ) "AIarian, you are ungenerous, unjust ; you have no right to taunt me when I seek to do that which I consider my duty. You. cannot turn me away, I love you too much, and, in spite of your scorn and anger, I will do the work I intended; as I once predicted the evil, I now offer a palliative. Sit not moodily considering the past. Would you forbid the world to couple his name with your sorrow? Then cast every shadow from your brow, walk your father's halls like the princess you are, remember him if you will, but let it be in secret and alone." "I am very hasty, Lucy, and we have been friends for a long, long time, and I should not have spoken so. Whatever trials come to me, I recog- nize as from the hands of a God whom I have fear. fully offended. If Ernest King has left me-for- ever-it is between God and him. Men shall not dare not, condemn him. Where is there one good enough to cast a stone at him, were he even all you think him? I will think over my conduct and plans, but, for the future-excuse me-I am page: 332-333[View Page 332-333] 332 MARIAIB EITWOOD; not angry-I wishno allusion or interference. You understand me?" - "I do; I see that pride and bitterness are strong in your heart. Remember, Marian, sorrow is sent to soften us." "Yes-I know; it is not pride-but-I was never unhappy until you first spoke of this subject, and I am convinced that I shall never be happy until you cease to speak of it; therefore, I demand of you a solemn promise never to allude to it in any way after this." "I promise, on condition-- " "No conditions; will you promise? Pro- mise-- "I promise, said Lucy, andleft her, now almost certain of the long wished-for coronet. Marian with a calmness that frightened herself went over all that had ever passed between them; his last visit, his earnest good-bye; then, uncon- sciously uttering her thoughts, she said: "He meant that for a last farewell. ' If yo never see me again,' he said, '-think of me kindly.' So I will, Ernest, more than kindly. He, was sent to show rde how men can love, he has taught me that, as Cod ordained; .and now the curse I invoked has come upon me. He has fulfilled his X mission, and gone. Gone! where? Oh! where, / where is he now? To thy guardian care, oh, my 'God! sinner as I am, I confide him, the firm, the "good, and noble one. And as I thanked thee for ,my love when it was happiness, so now I pray for OR, HOW- GIRLS LIVE. 333 grace to bear the sorrow I deserve; and if ever my weak heart refuse to receive the Chalice Thou ; hast sent' me, accept for that moment the sub- mission of this. -Yet--olh-alone-to lIje long years, see thousands of people, and never the one face I cannot forget!-ralk fro'm roonm to room, ) turn to see his eye following me, and see empty space!-meet other eyes, but his never!-sit in this. room where he has so often been, see the chair so long preserved for him, and feel a chill going - through my heart, and the darl clouds of sorrow sinking heavily on my soul, until all life will be' weary and sad! i "Gone! Shall I never see him again? My head grows dizzy; where can I find peace? ; Peace? What would I with peace, with resig- nation? Give him back to me!-my life, my all. Ernest! Come back! Ah me! the shadows mock me, and not even echo replies. Shall they call him false because I repine? No, I will do honor to him, and perhaps stifle the voice of my despair. I will/ Shall I pine here, while busy tongues profane his naine? One word against that dearest name shall be well revenged. "To-night I will go and stand beneath the glare of ball-room lights-hear the voices around me-talk lightly and gayly-yet I know, though high, though low the music swells, I shall hear naught but the wailing as of, a broken spirit, see nothing but a calm, pale face; and sad, tender eyes. "Shall I dance? Why should I not? Who is page: 334-335[View Page 334-335] 334 MARIAN ELWOOD; there to care now? Why should I not? No- no-for the shriekings of remorse would mingle with the wailing music, and silence forever the well remembered 'I knew you would not dance.' 'Tis a weary, weary thing to do!, But they shall not say he left me {o sorrow. But will they say so? No, they will call me the false one-for-they will remember my-former life--Edgar Snow-Gus- tave Waldron.-No, no; do what I will, the world will call me the false one. Let them-I deserve it. "They will say he was refused, or that he heard of Gustave and left me. No dne can condemn him. But why did he go? why leave me thus alone? He gave no cause, no reason. Oh! surely no one was base enough to tell him that fearful story. Lucy? Oh, no, she could not--she knew I repented it most bitterly-she could not! Why did he go? She might-Oh! can tears, can prayers never blot from my memory that wild promise by Elinor's grave-its wicked fulfilment? Had I not enough mourned it, had I not offered enough in atonement to be spared this last punishment? I have lost him. I might have lived loved and happy, might still hear his voice, still see his kind eyes, but for that. Where is he? Why can Inot find him, and tell him I was blinded-mad when I acted so? But he scorns me now-Oh, where shall I turn for hope, for comfort now!" ' , . , OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 335 OCHAPTER XXXIV. "Down the street, beneath the blue, Crowds swarmed as they were wont to do Bells in every belfry rang, Canaries at the windows sang, The war of life, like a cold sea, Closed o'er a single misery., "'MmNaI," said Lucy, one afternoon, a few weeks afer the conversation recorded in our last chapter-. Minnie, I am going to take a wlk, will you come too?" "I have a very bad headache." "It is a fine afternoon; everybody's out, and it will make you feel much better." , "I am very disagreeable to refuse,," Marian thought. oIt is not right for me to." Aloud-- "Wait a few minutes, and I will go.," Lucy dared not break her promise, and kept clear from all forbidden ground. They made amusing remarks on the people they passed, and Marian's headache certainly diminished. They were about turning up, when Marian suddenly caught Lucy's hand and stood almost still-Lthe ap- proach of adistingu4 young gentleman explained it. ^^-, s page: 336-337[View Page 336-337] 336 MARIAN ELWOOD; "Dr. Emery!"a she exclaimed. "My Morning Star " returned the gentleman. "Do I indeed see thee again! Here in Broadway's crowded mart? And whither bend thy steps?" "About three more blocks down, and then up." "And will my Morning Star permit me to ac- company her?" , Marian looked at Lucy, whom the doctor had not even noticed; she nodded, and he was intro- duced, and they. resumed their walk. "How long have you been here?" asked Mari- an. "Why did you not come to see me? How does every thing go on in Westonville? -How is my uncle?-You will find us very stupid, Lucy." "Not at all, I feel very much interested in Westonville, and really pray that the narration may be lengthened for my particular benefit." "Now, doctor," said Marian. "To answer your first question, which, as it re- fers wholly to my own movements, is the easiest to consider, I have been in this goodly city just three weeks. I have an office,: No.- Bond street, and shall be most happy, ladies, to render you any services -" "Thank you, we had rather be excused. How is my uncle?" "As gentle as a lamb; yet, methinks that often- times a shadow of sorrow passes over his face as he 'mourns the pleiad lost.' But he bears it well-- would I could say as much for others. Poor King up. th'e agy'in a wyquiite-pping ous havgierny le e? that I' mea allytoommdce, an J y e. J-y d r ioift . .. . iiidi n Over. co e h ois^ s e "What scruples?"a * pwo Li ae hn r A feo d sur:e oano t :,' eln, ," We AG noe seoiftat, Otis, mwa s B. .. t hel t,^ wy , L camet, o - . Y k ,.- ' T'"Qe dtor looked thougltfl a. moment, and page: 338-339[View Page 338-339] 338 -MAp IAN RLWooD; then commenced an insignificant conversation with Lucy, while Marian soliloquized- "My noble, generous Ernest. It was not scorn of me, thank God I that took theefrom me. The rest of my life shall not be solitary and sad. 'No mother was ever more sacrificing, no sister more devoted, no friend more affectionate than I shall be to theel I will find him; yes, thank God, I shall see my noble Ernest again!".and she turned to the doctor with something of her old brilliancy beaming from her face. "Is it long since King left New York?" asked the doctor. "Nearly two months." "Does no one know were he is?" "He cared to make but few acquaintances in New York, and is, I believe, capable of directing his own movements." "'Then,' said the doctor i"it must be true that he is dead." "Dead exclaimed the others. "Yes, I heard the report in Boston, but did not believe it, supposing him still in NewYork. I was afraid he could not get through the winter, though an old family physician-a great ass, by the way--told him he had only a tendency to consump- tion, which a little care would overcome. I told him differently. If he would have submitted whol- ly to my treatment, I would have got him safely through the winter, and very likely through the spring, and all the world knows it is much pleais- OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 339 anter to die in summer. These old fogy physicians -confound them!" Had Mr. King any friends or relations who dould attend tohis affairs?" asked Lucy. "A cousin in Boston, I believe.' "Where did he die?" she asked. "I regret to say my information is excessively limited; but I have a dim remembrance of some- thing about Cuba. But, as you seem interested, I will write for particulars." "O o, no," cried Lucy. "Yes, do," said Marian. "Even as thou dost request will I act. Whew! pardon me! New York ladies are very handsome -and the men very ugly." "Do you think so?"Lucy asked. "Yes, I notice that every man I pass) looks as if he had been bitten by the green-eyed monster, and grown very sallow and sour from the effects." "How strange!" remarked Lucy; "to me they seem any thing but sour.' "Very natural, very natural indeed," replied the doctor. "But," he added, turning to Marian, -"but why art thou silent, thou voice of my- heart?" "Did you address me?" asked Marian. "I did myself that honor. Shall I tell you about Bill Melville's wedding-lucky dog!" "Yes, do." And while Dr. Emery gave a comical account of all that occurred, mimicked the minister's sanc- page: 340-341[View Page 340-341] "O MBIAX. ELWOOD; imoniousness, and Melville's half-fiightened vows --all intermixed with comments on the passing la- dies, 3arian walked up Broadway, bowing, smil- ing, sometimes- shaking hands with some friend, raising her skirts from the mud or stepping care. fully across the streets, as if there was no bitter grief at her heart. Then she went home, and tried to do all that she should do; living like one in a dream, and me- chanically repeated the prayers she had said for him Bve e she had loved him. One night she found Erself slowly repeating the jDe profundis, and then, for the first time, she wept. "Yet," she murmured, "what avails it that I weep? Can my tears recall the dead? Can they put life into the clay-cold limbs, animate the sightless eyes, give power to the mute lips? What avails it that I groan in anguish? Tis nothing to him now that I have no peace, no hope, no faith, no love, in all the world; nothing to him the, stars we gazed on, and thought so loving, are mute and cold. I may go to our favorite walks, and it will be nothing to him that I shall wander through them alone-the thorns piercing-my feet, and the branches he has so often turned aside striking me unheeded. Nothing to him, though his angel eyes are watching me from the starry heavens, and see that my heart is breakingi while there is no one to whisper of hope to me. "Do thine eyes weep with mine, Ernest, or turn they coldly away? In thy celestial beauty and On, now GInLS TLvn. 341 holiness, dcost thou despise the frail child of dust,. Ernest, who never had a thought u didst not 'share with her? Tast thou no thought of the stricken heart and anguished soul that call upon thee in the night's stillness? O, come from the world of spirits, that once more Imay gaze upon thee from thy distant grave Sleep soft, beloved; listen not--hear not the voice of my anguish--an though I weep for thy noble form, too noble for earth, for thy generous heart, chilled in death, yet I will not ca1l thee back to this weary earth, though in" frenzied despair these longing arms are out- spread to meet thee; though they clasp but empty air, and the low laugh of mocking demons answers my cries--tyet I will not call thee from thy grave. Sleep soft, beloved, ani when Heaven has forgiven me my sin, I will be laid by thee, and moulde into dust by thy side. Sleep soft, beloved, oi will not weep tears that would sadden thee! I will be happy, Ernest, as thou hast often wished me!, , A few stanzas, written by her about this time, will help explain her feelings.' "sWhy do I weep? It isnot that the hand I grasped, Is crumbling into clay, And left thebood of crawing worms, Hidden from the light of day ;-. xd it page: 342-343[View Page 342-343] 342 M1ABIAN ELWOOD; It is not that the eye I loved Is cold and sightless now- And never, never more shall throb His broad and manly brow; It is not that each weary day, Life grows more dark and dim, And that in vain I seek on earth The worth I found in him; For I could bear that all I loved Should find an early tomb- Yes, I could'bear it, and not weep, Murmuring 'gainst the doom. Yes, I could live weary and lone- And watch the days go by- And in stern resignation mourn With scarce ; tear or sigh, Had I but been the one that knelt Lovingly by his side, And with tender cares have won him To bless me as he died." She neglected her drawings, her studies, her music. What was there to labor for now? Was it any thing to her that others should love her songs or admire her drawings, when he, to please whom she had conquered her inclinations and rest- lessness, was forever lost? But her religion made its voice heard through all her grief and never, not even inthe bitterest ravings of her sorrow, did she dare consider it other than a merited punishment for her wild, wicked words. And amidst it all her heart cried imploringly for power to bend beneath the chasten- t- , ? OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 343 ing ing rod. But religion taught her she could still love him, and aid him, more powerfully than ever while on earth, and in fervent prayers, and many mortifications, she importuned Heaven for his hap- piness; and if her trembling hand faltered when copying the drawings they had selected together; if the tears dimmed her eyes when she sung the songs she had learned for him; if her mind refused to comprehend the books they had read together, her soul was still firm, and all was offered for him to Heaven. She had consecrated her grief, and peace was her reward. ) ) page: 344-345[View Page 344-345] 344 1MARBLN ELWOOD; CHAPTER XX XV. "Time tempera love, but not removes, More hallow'd when,its hopes have fled. Oh I what are thousand living loves To that which cannot quit the dead?" "From fair to fairer day by day, A more divine and loftier way, Even Such this blessed pilgrim trod, By sorrow lifted towards her God." "Tears, Mrs. Pringle, won't gull me now." "In wedding you I thought I had a treasure; I find myself most miserably mistaken." MARIAN ELWOOD, free-hearted -and gay, with her dark hair thrown back from her proud, girlish face, with her ready wit and never-tiring mirth, with her flying feet and careless grace, decked in costly robes, her white arms boundwith sparkling gems, gayest in song, lightest in the dance, proud- est and liveliest everywhere, was, even with her closed heart and unbelieving soul, a beautiful crea- ture, fitting t9 exact admiration and homage. Marian Elwood, with lovelit eyes, braided hair, low, soft voice, with kind words, kind. smiles, and never-failing gentleness, offering in simple faith her happy love, all bright sumhine and soft tenderness, OR, HOW GIRLS LIVE. 345 was very beautiful, and none "saw her but to love her." But Marian Elwood, with her saintly eyes, deep, serene, and holy, her subdued voice, with her light footstep moving gently around the bed of pain, her white hand bathing the sufferer's lips, with her all-sacrificing charity, her sweet resigna- tion and simple humility, offering in atoning sacri- fice all that she loved-Marian, gentle, persever- ing, faithful, was most beautiful, fitting to inspire a dream of paradise, or show to the sorrowing heart bright rainbows of promise.. When once she had enabled herself to see in his loss the same hand that had given him to her, when she could say," the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord," she, devoted her life for God and Ernest's eternal happiness. Her studies were all resumed as we have seen, but she found her mission among the poor, the sick, and the dying. For she remember- ed, "I say unto you, if ye did it to the least of these my brethren, ye did it unto 4Ie.' . More than ever in the crowded drawing-room, more than ever amidst the brightest and greatest of the land, she exerted herself to converse well, while finding a seat by some aged rheumatic's chair. She read beautiful stories that she could repeat to others, whose only light in this world came through her. sShe often sat at twilight, surrounded by a group of ragged children, and while they could not see her fast falling tears, tell them that it is 155* ) page: 346-347[View Page 346-347] 846 - tMBIAN ELWOOD harder to be resigned to Heaven than to perform the most heroic acts, and applied her own ex- perience to their little lives. She did not forget the line Ernest King malked outfor her, and all, high and low, loved and reverenced her. Yet there came many weary hours to her, and after all day binding down her heart, it was hard to feel earth so lonely, and heaven still so far distant. To pray earnestly, fervently for him by night and by day, in the busy streets as in the lonely room, by the bed of poverty and want as in halls of fashion and plenty, this is all her life. Two years have passed away since Ernest King left her, and changed the world to her. Gustave Waldron again told her of his constant love, and this time her words were a's kind and inspiring as they had before been' scornful and saddening ;and now-as he looked upon her he wonders how he ever thought of loving her, for now he says: "I feel for earth, and sky, and sea, And all things beautiful in life, all that I feel for thee. Do I not love thee? No, I gaze on rose or lily bright, With the same look I fix on thee of wonder and delight. Do I not love thee? No, my ears in the spring time rejoice, As much in the bird's song as in the music of thy voice. Do I not love thee? No, the stars, the whispering winds, the flowers, The murmur of the waves at night, and the sweet citron bowers, ' Ia'e breathed into my soul a sense of beauty and of love, As keen as thy bewitching eyes can ever make me prove."* Mrs. Elwood mourned Mr. King's death with * Lady Fullerton. OR, HOW GIRLS LIRVE. 347 great grief, and often says he was-after Mr. Elwood-the best man in the world. She is still the same kind, careful -mother, and devoted wife. Stephen, or as Lucy would have us say, ktienne, is now about eighteen, tall, stout, and not as handsome as he hopes to be when he is a full- grown man; he still makes chemical experiments, though not exactly of the kind Lucy Merton so often witnessed, but such marvellous ones that Mrs. Elwood and Carrie expect him to be soon a valuable contributor to science. Carrie Sibley, thoughtfull nineteen years of age, does not seem more than sixteen, and is far less sentimental than formerly; her taste particularly inclines to the marvellous, and is always gratified by Steplfen's original stories, which are neither tame, few, nor short. Dr. Emery still hovers round Marian, yet some- times hinks of the blue-eyed Miss Clark, not sure but he will be forced to take up with her at last, cork- screw ringlets and all. He saw her as bridesmaid to his blooming sister, and she certainly looked very amiably at him. He has not succeeded as well with New York ladies as he thinks he deserves; whether his rhetorical flourishes most shock or alarm them he has never been able to discover, but it seems strange he has not become popular, as he surely has impudence enough. As for Lucy, all her dreams of a coronet fading with Mr. King's death, she prepared herself to comply with her mother's desires, that, as her father's affairs were in a most critical state, she would secure Mr. Scott im- page: 348-349[View Page 348-349] 348 - MAtA ELWOOD; mediately. The young lady, secretly mourningher lost coronet, with many smiles and many sighs con- sented to be Mrs. Seymour Scott.' And Seymour, delighted, serenaded her and brought her larger bouquets than ever, stoutly braving his unsentimen- tal papa. The wedding was a grand affair; the bride very pale, in white satin; Carrie, the bridesmaid, very rosy; Mr. Lester, the groomsman, apparently very sleepy; 'Mrs. Merton very smiling; Mr. Merton very blank; the guests very flattering. A trip to Saratoga followed, of course. Seymour was the most attentive of husbands; they had been married a week before he showed the least re- luctance to surrender his wishes to hers. Lucy had then but to fold her arms and look coldly in- different, to make him quite amiable again. After about a month's absence they returned to an elegant mansion on Madison Avenue, but they soon found that hymen's torch had not lighted them to perpetual happiness. "My sweet Lucy," said Seymour one morning soon after they returned to the city, " you have all day to read the marriages and deaths in; I wish you would give me the paper a few minutes, I must be in court at ten, and want to know the ver- dict in Brown's case; will you allow me?" "I have not the least desire to retain the paper. I merely took it up for a moment, and I think it would have been more gentlemanly to have waited until I had finished with it;" and she laid the paper on the table with a most queenly air. 1 ., OR, HOW GIRLS VE. , 349 "Perhaps I am as good a judge of gentleman- ly conduct as you are," suggested the gentleman. "You may be," answered his wife, "but I know my father never reads the paper until my mother finishes with it." "Is your father your standard of gentlemanly perfection?" "I wish you to speak more respectfully of my father; I did not marry you to have my parents insulted." "Your parents are good enough, I suppose. I never heard your father speak half a dozen words in his life, your mother kindly taking the task of talking from him."' "I am sure," Lucy said, putting her handker- chief to her eyes, "if Hif my mother, or my father-"- "Your father be hanged!" was the emphatic rejoinder; "I beg you to understand this much: I don't care if your mother reads half a dozen papers before your father, Ishall read my paper, and there's the end of it." And so he read his paper, and Lucy was very uncommunicative for several days, until a handsome bracelet made up the quarrel. Her father died soon after; his affairs were in such a state that Mrs. Merton was only too glad to sell her handsome house and live with her charm- ing daughter; and things at once grew worse for the doting Seymour. Sometimes the adorable Lucy was late to break- fast; her husband fretted a little, and Mrs. Merton page: 350-351[View Page 350-351] 350' - MWARN T ELWOOD ; rendered a thundering verdict in favor of her daughter. Again he was voted a monster, a miser- able brutal one, because he would not give Lucy and Mamma quite as much jewelry as the ladies thought desirable. One morning Seymour askedhis Charming Lucy if she had decided on what evenings to have her receptions. "Tuesday evenings," she answered. "Well, that's bright! Tuesday evening is my club night.", "But you must be, here," Mrs. Merton said, "for we could never get along without some one to look after the card-tables and wall-flowers, turn the music, and such things; besides, it would not look well for you to be away." "It wouldn't? Then why in the name of common sense did you not select a night when I could be at home? I told Lucy expressly that I was engaged on Tuesdays.', "True," answered Mrs. Merton, "but Tuesday is the most fashionable night. Everybody receives on Tuesdays." "If everybody receives on Tuesdays, I don't see how you can expect any one to be unengaged long enough to call on you." "Oh, well, we won't discuss the question. Tuesday' evening it must be, of course; and you 'iad better give up your club at once; I don't approve of clubs." " umph! Very sorry; ought to be abolished immediately, but such is the wickedness of this os, HOW GIRLS IVE. . 351 world that it never does what it ought. I am no better than the rest; so if you receive on Tuesday, you can, but Seymour Scott won't be here to see." "But you must, everybody will talk." "Change the night then.", "But Tuesday is the most fashionable." "Very well then, have it Tuesday night." '( Will you come? , "JVo. I have told you half a dozen times it is my club night." "Cruel, unfeeling," murmured Lucy. "Yes," added the mother; "most unnaturally cruel, to marry my poor child and then leave her to pine her life away like this To leavethe house to associate with a-set of low, vulgar fellows, instead of attending to your own lawful wife; you are a cold, heartless tyrant, to think the sweet child is to bend to your wishes." "Lucy knew my. wishes; she chose one night, the only night I wished her not to; let her take the consequences; as for you, madam, this is my own house, and I will be treated with the respect due its master by all within it." "Tyrant!" murmured Lucy. "Savage!" cried Mrs. Merton. " Do you not see you are breaking her heart? , "Can that be broken which does not exist? "Tyrant!" again murmured Lucy, with her handkerchief at her eyes. "Despot!" cried Mrs. Merton. "You see the poor child's father is dead, and there is no one but me to take her part, and thus you heap cruelties on page: 352-353[View Page 352-353] 352 MABIA ELWOOD; her head. You are a tyrant, and Lucy shall have a divorce." "Let her, I have no objections; but I will spare you, madam, the pain of perjuring your- self,"--ringing the bell-" bring Mrs. Merton's hat, shawl, and gloves," he added to the ser- vant. "Oh, Seymour, Seymour!" wept Lucy. "You had better see to your mamma's apparel. Now, madam," he continued, as the trembling maid brought the things, "you will please leave this house, I am its master, and intend to re- main so." "If mamma goes, I go too," said Lucy. "You'll remain where you are-this way, mad- am," he said, taking the astonished lady's arm- and a lady opposite, who was peeping through her blinds, told! her husband how politely Mr. Scott had escorted Mrs. Merton to the door, and won- dered very much if he would be so attentive to her mother. "My lady has the hysterics," said the maid, when the gentleman returned to the breakfast- room, in which the first scenes in this- last act of the domestic drama had occurred. "Hysterics, and be hanged to her,' he said, and finished his coffee, went down town, and no handsome bracelet made up the quarrel,-but hence- forth Seymour Scott was master in his own house. OB, HOW GanLS LW . 353 CHAPTER XXXVI. "Iow I trembled, Nor upraised to thine my eyes, Knowing well that I dissembled, In my meanfngless replies. Brook, and bird, and leafy bower, Silent grow when lovers meet." TEi third summer after MKing's death, Ma. rian-received a. pressing invitation to spend some weeks with her uncle in Westonville. For some reasons this invitation filled her with delight, but she still doubted her ability to walk resignedly through those sacred places; and knowing how much less active her life 'would be, thus giving dreams and memories fuller sway, she hesitated to go; but to be again in the scenes of her love, to say-here we walked-here he said this--here we met-here we parted-all this was beautiful as well ast sad; so putting herself under the protec- tion of ", im who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb," she left the city and entered once more the walls of her uncle's home.' He saw that a storm had passed over her proud spirit, but he saw it page: 354-355[View Page 354-355] '354 MARTIN ELWOOD;, had left her lovely, serene, and cheerful; he un- consciously softened his voice when he addressed her, and often wondered what power it was that sustained her. Not pride, for that would have made her cold, dark, and stern; not forgetfulness, for he too often saw starting tears not to be sure there was a great sorrow in her soul. It did not seem resignation, for that appeared to him a harsh- ly virtuous self-control; it puzzled him much, and one day he asked her-and she told him how she had learned from religion to take from grief its bitterness, and from memory its sting; how in the silence of the night she had called upon her Re- deemer, and he had poured oil on the troubled waters. "If I dared perhaps I might do the same," he murmured. And after that he never spoke harshy to her, and listened docile'as a child to. all she told him of her religion, One bright June morning, a little bird by Ma- rian's window awoke her with its matin song. It was very early, but the air was fresh and beautiful, laden with song and perfume. So she arose, and dressing herself wandered, as she often did, to the little chapel to hear mass. It was the same that she had attended on her former visit, somewhat enlarged, and a little less rough and, bare. She generally knelt near the door, but thismorning, by some unaccountable impulse, she made her way through the long line of benchesuntil she reached her old seat. She sank into -it, buried her face in OR, HOW GIRLS LIyVE. -355 her hands, and did not raise them again until the silence warned her that all was over. She then raised her eyes, in which the light of peace shown through memory's tears, to the altar, as if to im- plore strength, and then slowly turned them with a sad tearfuiness to Ais vacant place. But did she dream? It was not vacant; sadder than her own, holier than ever his eyes met -hers.' For one mo- ment she prayed her reason had not left her, then. shape or shade, be it what it would, she determined to speak to it. But it anticipated her, and a clear, but half-trembling voice, met her ear, while the church echoes answered to its. low accents-- Grief has well done its work if you do not recognize me-for I will not believe myself forgot ten," he said. But she was silent, she could not speak, and gazed wildly into his eyes. "I wronged you shamefully-your eyes tell me did." There was no need of more words; they knelt for a moment together, and then left the chapel. "Are you quite sure you are not a ghost?" Marian said, after some moments' silence. "For you have been supposed dead for a long time Where have you been all this time? a, In Cuba, until last week. My father and; two brothers died of consumption. I was always afraid of it, and one doctor whom I consulted thought I was doomed to be its victim, while another assured me it was not so. Between the two I gathered page: 356-357[View Page 356-357] 356 MARIANM ELWOOD; hope enough to to-4linger-round you-and not enough to-ask as many questions as I wished. I 'but I soon found {that was a most iinchristian feel- ing, so to xalke up for it I determined to live and do as much work in the world as it was possible. So forgetting all about my-health I came home, sand last week sawtmy old friend the encouragi1ng doctor, and he says he has no fear for me-and now, may I ask how you have lived all this tm e ?" "Yes; but first, did not some one tell you ever so many bad things about me-that I was heart- less-- "Yes8-" "And you believed it?" "Inrmy secret soul, no-but-but-" "The proofs were very strong, no doubt, and put in a very nice way. Now,I will assure you- "I am tyrannical and won't have any assur- ances. Whatever you thought at the time was earnest, at least; and you won't act so any more?" "unless-" Not with me? I could not bear it very pa- tiently." "Are you not afrid?" "Not much-'" Mr. Weston hemmed and pshawed-wiped his eyes--and told Mxarian not to forgot her promise to&look after his house when the Westons were no OR, rOW GULS LtrE 357 more; to which she replied that she had no doubt if he came near dying the gods would certainly make him immortal as an example to rising gene- rations. And as for that house going into stranger hands, it was impossible; but the old gentleman talked very often of crowning Ernest "King of Westonville." ? page: 358-359[View Page 358-359] gR Ax SLWOOD; 358 WAMRIAN JILWOOD; CHA PTER XXXVII. "Time has taught thee what it is to grieve, And to rejoice." "Oh my soul's joy, If after every tempest comes such a calm, May the winds blow until they have awakened death." - That thou art happy owe to God; That thou continuest such owe to thyself." IT hadrained all day; the beautiful June roses were weeping'for the sunshine, and the waving - trees sighed with sorrow and mourned with them; 'a chilly east wind had been sporting with their grief, but towards evening a spirit tender and bright, a spirit of soft power and lovely majesty, mounted the -western. clouds, and while the lagin fled at the glance of her eyes, subdued by her pres- ence, warmed by. her smile, the east wind mur- mured Lis love. and his penitence; and the beauti- ful spirit unlocked the portals of the west, and , robing the clouds in tissue and gold, she gathered them around her, and prepared them to rDeive the cday-god, as he sank to rest. 'Smilingly she went among them, until they smiled too, and vied OR, HOW GIRLS LIVS. 359 with one another in beauty and splendor. Now they blush and brighten, for see, his chariot comes; how regally he emerges from the dark prison in which he has spent the day; how slowly and ma- jestically he moves towards -the open door of his chamber; he sees the flying clouds that attend. him, he likes their, white and brilliant' garments, and he scatters his royal favors profusely among them, and they blush brighter than before. They linger long after he has gone--then one by one they wander up the azure skies, and gaze smilingly on the crowd below; but twilight wraps them in a soberer veil, and sends them on their way. The shadows of evening grow deeper and deeper-the moon rises up and gazes on many a fair scene, but loves best to linger near a cottage window where sit the noble Ernest and his lovely wife. His happy hand plays unrestrainedly with her dark brown braids. His eyes gaze on hers with a love that each day grows stronger and deeper, and her heart sends mute prayers of gratitude to ' Heaven. "He is a loving Father," she murmured. "Where I deserved evil he has given me good; and where I invoked curses he has sent me bless. ings. Ernest, let us pray that this happiness may not turn our thoughts from him. Let us pray that he may ever guide us, and ever receive the first homage of our hearts. Kneel, Ernest." And hand in hand, side by side, she in her grateful faith, he in humble hope, both in sincerest page: 360-361[View Page 360-361] 60 MAb1TAT MLWOOD; love, knelt nd renred their silent homage while the soft moonlight, stole in and, rested like a bless- ing on their bowed heads. The stars seemed to gleam brighter, as if to assure .them Heaven had heard their prayers, and that if ever the sun of prosperity should cease to shine on them, those- lovelit, faithful stars, would "Lend their rays To light them home to heaven." ; THZRETO, s
