6

BALLES AND... BEAUX.

[FEBRUARY 21, 1874.

 

 

The author of this exposition (which we find in
the Nyack Cily and Country) deserves:and will re-
ceive the ‘‘ Thank you, sir,” of every sensible per-
son: :

“IT IS NOT GOOD FOR MAN
by TO BE ALONE”

(Gen, ii. 18.)

 

When God, the great Creator, first formed this
world of ours,

And man, to dwell upon it, was placed in Eden’s
bowers,

Where fruits and flowers spontaneous on ev’ry side
there grew,

Adam, as a consequence, had but little work to do.

From all accounts, it seems, he neither plowed nor

sowed,
For all that he had need of luxuriantly growed
Without his cultivation, of either fruit or flower:
Yet Adam was not happy, e’en in that lovely bower.

The climate was so genial, no oa did he wear,
Hence he needed not a wife to keep them in repair;
And though he had no children to require a mother’s

care,
Yet Adam was not happy in that lovely garden fair.
Like, Alexander Selkirk, he was ‘‘ monarch” of the

place,
Yet, not like Alexander, did he ever have to chase
The wild, fleet-footed lama, to obtain his daily meat:
Yet Adam was not happy ip that lovely, lone retreat.

How long poor Adam lived in this solitary way
Before = found ‘‘a help-mate,” the Scriptures do

not say;
But, wate ** non-essentials,”’ they all agree as one
That ee imself declared, ‘‘Man ought not to be
alone.

Historians agree that no place benéath the sky
. Was ever found more beautiful and pleasing to the

eye;
Yet Adam, in his loneliness, was never happy there,
Till ‘* woman ” was created, its loveliness to share.

No doubt our ancient father did verily believe

That of all the flowers around him, the sweetest
was his Eve;

And he loyed her, too, most dearly, in his man-
hood’s early prime,

For — a gentleman—*one of the olden
time,

But a ed mishap soon followed this union of their
souls,
That would some hearts divide as distant as the

oles;
And though Adam ate the fruit, laid the blame upon
is wife,
Yet he loved her none the less throughout his
future life;

Nay, he even loved her more, when from Eden
driven forth—

Compelled to toil and labor fora living on the earth;

For he neyer knew till then what a treasure God

had Linh
To share his earthly trials and whisper hopes of
heaven.

Then Adam, it is said, lived a very happy life,
And Eve, no doubt, was happy in being Adam’s

wife; 3

And, with them for an example, and the facts so
widely known,

Men generally believe it’s ‘‘ not good to be alone.”

 

(CONTINUED FROM No. 3.)

ALIDA BARRETT;
OR,
THE DOOR IN THE HEART.
BY MRS. B. F. ELLET,

AUTHOR OF ‘‘THE COURT OF THE REPUBLIC,”’ “ wo-
MEN OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION,” ‘* THE
BRIDES AND WIDOWS OF THE BIBLE.”

 

 

CHAPTER X.
THE PRISONER,

Amma found ready admittance into the pri-
son. The individual she came tosee was walk-
ing the corridor.

She knew him at once for the gentleman who
had done her a service when she had been pur-
sued by the attentions of her youthful admirer.

Lovel was a noble-looking man; his tall and
powerful frame had the promise of great mus-
cular strength, and was matched by the’ evi-
dence of intellect in his expansive forehead,
deep-set eyes, and firmly-curved lips. At first
sight one could not fail to recognize in him an
aristocrat of nature’s own making.

The impress of a cultivated mind was not to
be mistaken. If he had devoted the best years
of his life to money-making, it had been with a
feeling that he was spending time and labor for
that which profited hin: comparatively little.
He might have “ swayed senates with a states-
man’s voice and eye.” Something: of self-con-
tempt, perhaps on account of this internal con-
viction, was noticeable in his: manher. _-Cer-
tainly, he was in no wise lifted-up by his pros-
perity.

He was pacing the corridor, apparently in
deep. musing, when one of the officers informed
him that a lady had. called. to see him. | He
glanced toward the young girl, and saw at once
she was not the person he at first supposed. The

next moment he shook hands with her, and led |-

her to a seat. She threw back her vail as she
gave him the letter.

“You are very good, my dear young lady,”
he said, after he had read the missive,

““ No—I only obeyed’ the orders I received
from—my mistress, sir.” :

“She mentions you as a young friend of
hers: are you not her visitor?’

“No, sir; I sew for her: she hasengaged me
for a week.”

Alida’s instincts. revolted against being
thought higher in station. than she really was.
Besides, she might with propriety come to this
place as a hired messenger, when she could not
as an equal of the lady who had sent her.

“Tam not the less obliged to you,” observed
Lovel, reading her thoughts, and admiring her
delicate intuition, “for visiting .a poor pris-
oner.”

“T am already your debtor—” she began.

‘* And one you probably have been Jed to
think guilty of a murderous assault upon an
unprotected woman, That was the charge
against me, you know,”

 

“‘T do not believe a word of it!” exclaimed
Alida, with energy.

“Why should you doubt my guilt?”

“Because—the lady herself told me you were
innocent; and then, sir—”

‘* Well—you have another reason?”

‘You would not have been so kind to mé as
you were, sir, the other day, if you had not
possessed a generous heart.”

Lovel’s eyes glistened. He had not been ac-
customed to either gratitude from those he had
served, or justice from those who judged his
motives. He felt the more gratified by the girl’s
words, which he knew expressed her genuine
opinion.

He knew her now for the young girl he had
assisted into the omnibus, and recognized the
noble traits of her character by both her man-
ner and what she uttered.

“‘T must go,” Alida said, rising.
any word to send by me, sir?”

“ Let me think, You may tell Mrs. Burke—
No; I will write a line.” ;

He took out his pocket-book, and from it a
folded sheet of note-paper, and a pencil.

But, even with writing materials in his hands,
his eyes were fixed dubiously on the girl’s face.
Not with the gaze of admiration from which
she had already learned to shrink; but with a
look as if his thoughts were far away.

“T beg your pardon,” he said, after a few
minutes’ silence. ‘Will you give me your
name?”

** Alida Barrett.”

He wrote down the name in his pocket-
book,

‘* Where do you live, my child?”

“‘T shall be at Mrs. Burke’s all this week and
part of next. My home is in street,
No. —.”

Somehow, she did not feel that these ques-
tions were impertinent from Mr. Lovel,

‘You must excuse me,” he said. “You bear
such a strange resemblance to—a person I once
knew, that I am interested in you.”

‘“Was the person a friend of yours?’ asked
Alida, quickly,

“The dearest friend I ever had. One I
loved beyond all things upon earth,” he an-
swered, with evident emotion.

“Will you tell me his name?
been—my father.”

“Tt was not a man; it wasa lady. And if
she were your mother—”

‘Oh, no, sir; my mother is dead.
three years ago, at ——, on the shofe of Lake
Michigan, where we had lived.”

“Why did you say it might have been your
father? Is he living?”

““T do not know, sir; I have never seen him;
at least within my recollection.”

“Then he died when you were young! too
young to know him?’

‘No; I was always told he was living. But
he was away, in some other country.”

An exclamation of surprise escaped Mr.
Lovel. He rose, and paced the corridor several
times without speaking a word. Then he re-
sumed his seat.

“T hope you will not think me intrusive, Miss
Barrett,” he said, ‘‘if I ask a question or two.
You would. like to find your father, if he be
living, would you not?”

Oh, yes, sir!”

“You are sure he deseryed your affection
and confidence?”

‘“‘T am sure, sir, because my mother always
spoke of him so highly. She said he was a no-
ble-hearted and good man, though he had suf-
fered a great deal.”

“Why did he leave her, and you?”

“She never told me; but I know it. was for
the best. | Perhaps he went away to earn money
for our support!”

“Then you were in needy circumstances?”

‘“Not till about eighteen months before my
mother’s death. We always had plenty till
then.”

“And then—how were you deprived of the
means of living?”

“They had been regularly sent to us. When
the supply ceased, my mother feared that my
father was dead.”

“‘ How old were you then?”

“At the time of my mother’s death—fifteen
years old, sir.”

““Since then, you have earned your own’ liv-
ing, by work—eh”

“We had worked at home—my mother and
I—till she died; and after her death—”

“You came to New York?’

‘‘Not at once, sir. I worked at my trade
some time in Chicago and Milwaukee; but it
was hard to get along; and when I had learned
the business perfectly, I came to this city. It
is not more than eight months since.”

‘‘And have you lived all that time in the
same house, which you told me was your
home?”

“ All the time, sir.”

“Working at-your trade, sewing, I suppose,”

‘« Dressmaking!”

“Sewing is not healthful employment,
Would you not like to do'something less fatigu-

ing!”

“Tdo not mind the work, when I can get
plenty todo. But Iam a stranger, and I can-
not always'do that!” :

““You speak like an educated person; at

your manner is like one whose mind has
been cultivated.”

“T have learned the common’ branches, sir;
a have read as much as I could, when T had

“You would like to attend school? you are
so young, you could learn anything yet.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I like to go to school!” ex-
claimed the girl, clasping her hands: “But
indeed, sir, I must not stay here; it is growing
late. Will you please give me the letter Iam
to take back?”

“Have you

 

He may have

 

She died

 

Lovel wrote a few lines, folded the paper,
and placed it in her hands, He walked with
her to the gate of the prison, and whispered a
few words to one of the officers. A

“You must not come here again,” he said, as
he shook hands at ‘parting with Alida. “TI
shall not be here. The order for my release
has come, and I quit this place to-morrow. I
am going a journey. When I return, I will
see you, and we will talk about your going to
school. Good-by.”

Alida hurried out, for she was uneasy at see-
ing the shadows creeping over the sunset sky ;
the street lamps beginning to glimmer.

The officer laid his hand on her arm as she
passed out. .

“Wait here a minute, Miss; I am to get you
a carriage.”

““T do not want a carriage,” said the girl.
“T am going to take the Highth avenue car.
Let me make haste.”

“The gentleman said I was to get you a car-
riage, and he will be angry if I do not.”

“ But it will cost too much,” protested Alida.

“Law, bless me, Miss, the gentleman pays
for it! Here is the money he gave me. ‘Stop
you here a minute.”

He ran around the corner, leaving the girl
standing in ‘no little bewilderment,

“How good it was in “Mr. Lovel,” were her
thoughts, *‘to order a carriage for me! And
perhaps he could not afford it! He must be
poor! If I ever see him again, I will pay it all
back to him,”

She forgot to wonder at the interest.in her
he had shown, by asking so many questions.
She was usually reserved to a fault, and shy of
strangers; but somehow she felt inclined to be
communicative with him. He wasso superior,
and yet so kind! And shut up there for some
one else’s fault! Perhaps he was bearing the
punishment, on purpose to shield somebody
else!

Her thoughts had lighted upon the truth.
The prisoner not only knew who had committed
the assault for which he was arrested, but could
have proved his innocence, had he chosen to do
so, when he was examined. 4

Thé roll of a carriage was heard; the officer
ran back, and threw open the door.

“Get in, Miss,” he said. ‘‘ You need not. be
afraid. I’ve got you a’sponsible party, from
the livery stable in the next street, all ready
harnessed.”

Alida stepped in. She wished she had some
money, to reward the civil man; but she could
only thank him for his service.

‘All right, Miss,” he called out as the car-
riage drove off.

 

CHAPTER XI.
THE BANKER’s. SON,

Ir was nine before the carriage stopped ‘at
the gate of “‘West-End.” Alida sprung out,
thanked the driver, who had already received
his pay, and rung the bell. She made her way
at once to the apartment of Mrs. Burke.

That lady smiled approvingly as she received
the note handed to her by the girl, and read it
in silence. It announced the fact that the pri-
soner had his order of release, and would leave
the city to-morrow. ‘‘I am then going on a
journey,” the writer continued, ‘not a long
one, but which may be productive of good and
lasting results. Perhaps I may return with a
treasure greater than your wildest dreams,
Laura, have ever pictured.”

‘“He does not say how long he will be ab-
sent,” mused the lady, “and I must be in sus-
pense an indefinite time. He must have a
promising speculation in hand. He is not apt
to be over-confident.”

' Alida had gone to her room to remove her
wrappings. Mrs. Burke rung for her maid.

“Has coffee been served in the drawing-
room?” she asked. E

“Yes, my lady.”

Dinner was long over, of course, and the
new seamstress had not dined.

“Shall IT take Miss Barrett to the house-
keeper’s room?” inquired the French maid.

**No; order something to be served in her
own room!” she said.

This was done, and in a few minutes Alida
sat down to her little table, to partake of a re-
past far moré luxurious than any she had ever
before tasted.

“*T wish I could have Lottie to eat these nice
croquettes and tartlets with me,” she thought,
‘Cand to taste this delicious coffee and cream!”
Her sharpened appetite did full justice to it.

When she had dined, with a thankful heart
for this change in her circumstances, she went
to inquire if Mrs. Burke had anything she
wished her to do. Perhaps she would: lay out
sewing she could begin at early in the morning,
for she was in the habit of rising by day-
break.

“Tf you are not tired,” the lady said, “I
wish you would read to me for half an hour.
My Adele cannot pronounce English well
enough, and I don’t like to call on Clara when
she has company. If is her reception even-
ing.” 4

Alida blushed, for she was afraid she could
not read well enough to please so accomplished
a lady. But she only asked what book she
was to read.

“Let me see; what sort of reading have you
been accustomed to?’

‘‘T am not used to reading aloud, ma’am.”

“You would do well to learn. If you could
read well, you might be a companion to an in-
valid. This evening you may take what book
you are familiar with—not much matter what.
The sound of your voice will be soothing, and
my nerves require it.”

From the etagere full -of elegantly-bound
volumes Alida took a book of Common Prayer.
It never occurred to her that this might be a

.

 

welcome diversion to the disquieted nerves of:
the great lady.

She read one or two of the Psalms of David.
Mrs. Burke looked a little surprised at the
selection, but made no remark. She only set-
tled herself comfortably in her easy-chair, and
leaned her head against the velvet cushions.

“You read remarkably well,” was her com-
ment, when the girl had finished one of the
sacred lessons. ‘‘ Your voice is agreeable, and
very finely modulated.”

“T am used to the Psalms,” said Alida,
modestly, ‘‘and can read them better than
anything else. I often repeat them when I am
at work.”

“Do you know them all by heart?”

“Not all, ma’am, but many of them.”

“Go on.”

The listener became quiet as the reader con-
tinued, The girl looked at her, as she lay back
with her eyes closed, and thought she was
asleep. The clock on the mantelpiece struck
ten, and a weariness stole over the young
stranger,

As she laid_aside the volume the lady opened
her eyes. They were dreamy, and had a far-
away look.

“Did you say much to Mr. Lovel ?’. she
asked,

‘‘T answered his questions, ma’am.
was all,”

* Questions about me?”

There was a roused interest in the lady’s face
as she asked this.

“No, ma’am ; I would have told him noth-
ing, you know, and he would have been too
much of a gentleman to question me,”

“What did you talk about ?”

“He wanted to know about my parents. He
said I looked very much like a dear friend of
his, and naturally he was interested.”

“A dear friend?”

“T thought it might have been my father;
but he said it was a lady.”

“What lady was his dear friend?” exclaimed
the lady, coloring to her forehead.

“He did not say what her name was ; but
that he had loved her more than any one else
in the world!”

** Are you sure he said that, child: more than
any one else?”

‘*T am sure, ma’am; and he looked as if he
felt very sad at losing her.”

“Who could it be? Archibald Lovel, the
worshiper of any woman! I would have
made him tell me her name!”

‘He would have told you, ma’am, no doubt,”
said the girl. .‘‘ But there is no reason why he
should tell me.”

“True; you were a stranger to him.
odd he came to mention her to you at all.”

“He said I was like her,” remarked Alida,
innocently.

“Did he compliment you on your Mooks,
child?” é fe

“Oh, no, ma’am; how could he? He merely
noticed the likeness as an excuse for his asking
me who my parents were.”

‘‘T should like to know who the woman was?
Did he say how long he had known her?”

“No, ma’am; nothing at all about her.”

‘“He shall tell me all when I see him again.”

The girl ventured ta ask permission to re-
tire. c

“Certainly; you may go now. Ihave been
pleased with your reading, and with your
attention to my directions. You need not say
to any one where you went this afternoon.”

“*T will not, ma’am.”

They exchanged good-night, and Alida went
to the pretty chamber assigned her. The halls
were yet filled with soft light from the gas-
burners on each floor, and a summer warmth
was diffused over the whole house.

Her room was even too warm. She threw
open one ef the windows and sat some time
watching the far-off lights in the city before
she sought the bed, the most luxurious she had
ever slept in.

The morning sunshine came in at the window,
from which Alida had drawn the curtains, and
forgotten to close them. The light wakened
her suddenly.

She started up, forgetting where she was.
She missed the homely furniture of her den in
the attic, but could not remember how the
change had come.

For an instant swept over her that tantaliz-
ing dream, which the music and the sight of
old paintings had revived. But it was gone,
presently. She recollected that she had entered
upon what Lottie sneered at as menial service.
She was a dependant at the beck and command
of a mistress, and could no longer call her time
her own.

With a vague idea that she might be wanted,
she made haste to dress herself. There was a
marble washstand in a recess, with hot and
cold water, and a towel-rack loaded with fine
damask towels.

The temperature of the room was of a soft,
agreeable warmth.

The girl performed her ablutions, and put on
her neat, black dress. It was the very best
she had. She smoothed her waving abundance
of brown hair, and rolled the glossy ringlets
around her finger. No art could rival the
beauty of those curling-tresses. £

When she was dressed, not finding aught to
do, she went down-stairs, She was sure Mrs.
Burke was not yet up, and it would not be
proper to disturb her,” She did not even see
the French maid...

The porter in the hall, who supposed she was
going out, told her it was snowing very fast;
so she turned into the library, the door of which
stood wide open.

It was a long and lofty room, filled with
books to the high shelves, with a long table
covered with green baize, on which were globes,
volumes full of illustrations, and small writing-

That

It is

 

 

 

ee neon nr tN

 

 

 

 

a8
Fe xin PCR IIOT F

 

 

 

 

me nM ———- oa ae Sem

alain

crt