nnn 2 Ae AO Oe AO BE EE tae ~ ome. SS —- % te ——— P ata old trees of Dene Woods were singing t grows. it appeared now in the evening sunlight, the Proprietors. WEARY WAITING. ! BY WILLIAM ROSS WALLAOE. Weary, weary, weary waiting For the sound of strife to cease, For the music of hosanas Round the templed shrines of Peaee, For the nation’s perfect peace. Weary, weary, weary waiting For the brothers, hand in hand, Once again at Union’s labor, For the glory of the land, For the blessing of the land, Then, O, then, what joys shall heaven All the hearts where hatred made Darkness where Love’s sunshine glittered On the mountain and the glade, Then but wrapt in battle’s shade, Erring brothers, be but loyal! O, but clasp the noble Right! it is yours as well as ours, And we will forget the fight, Marching on in God’s own light, Byer brothers now in light. LURED AWAY. THE RY OF A WEDDING-RING. : % By GCG. M, B., or of “THROWN ON THE WORLD;” “LOVE WORKS .S WONDERS,” ete. CHAPTER L A BOND HUSBAND AND A DISCONTENTED WIFE. king at themas they lie in the shop-win- dows.of the venders of old gold—wedding-rings z / of size—worn, bruised, taken most of them from that will never more be raised to ca- ress or to threaten—who realizes the tragedies that belong to their history ? The love of which they were the outward symbol is oe on earth ee ate tached to étigse old worn wedding-rings ? I haye a story to tell of one—the ring that Paul Waldron placed on his wife’s finger—a ring f plain, thick gold. he birds that had built their nests in the their vesper hymn; the forest glades, the dells and knolis, the dark, tangled shrubs, were all bathed in a flood of golden sunset light. 14 the eastern side of the wood stood the pret- le cottage that had been given to Paul aldron for himself and his beautiful young ife—a cottage such as poets delight to sing of— Ibcovered with wild roses and woodbine, and rith trailing sprays of jessamine, its windows amed with flowers, its rustic porch overgrown rith scarlet creepers, and its large, old-fashioned arden containing almost every sweet flower rsofull of richest fragrance, the roses all ae the little brook close by singing as it ran, the birds filing the air with jubilant song, the cottage in itself furnished matter for a poem. At the door, looking intently down one of the broad woodland paths, stood a young and most beautiful woman—Ismay Waldron, Paul Wal- dron’s wife, and mother of the lovely little boy playing on the grass. She was only nineteen, ‘and marked by great girlish beauty. She had hair of shining brown, which looked like gold in the sunshine; it covered a head of most perfect shape and symmetry, falling in waving masses round a neck that was also per- fect—it was such hair as the old masters loved to paint in their famous pictcres of Mary Magda- lene. She had eyes of an indescribable violet hue, with a golden light in their clear depths; they were bright and proud, but the long silken lashes softened them into wondrous beauty. Her brows were straight, and her forehead was white, rounded at the temples, and full of idealtiy. She had ripe red lips, the upper one short, the lower one full—a beautiful mouth that would have made even a plain face lovely; the chin was deli- cately molded, and the curves of the neck and shoulders were full of grace. Ismay Waldron was that most perfect of all poems—a beautiful woman. Her dress was quite plain, but the homely material only showed the marvelous beauty of her girlish figure to greater advantage. The hand thatshaded her eyes was white and graeeful. One might have wondered how she—living in a sottage, the wife of a man who worked hard for his ‘daily bread—came by this dainty beauty, this delicate, graceful leveli- ness that would have been fit dowry for a queen. Suddenly her eyes brightened, anda low, mu- sical laugh came from her lips. She heard her husband’s footsteps, saw him in the distance, and hastened to meet him. Paul Wa'dron had the true Norman type of face—dark, handsome, full of fireand power. He had dark eyes, from which an undaunted soul looked out on the world, dark hair that clustered round a noble head, firm, well-closed lips, a tall, manly figure, a free, independent carriage and bearing, as though he felt himself to be any man’s equal—and so indeed he did. His whole face changed and softened when he saw his beautiful yeung wife. “You are waiting for me, my darling,” he said; ' ‘waiting and watching for me.” She clasped her little white hands round his arm, and they walked slowly home together. “You have not been dull to-day, Ismay, hope?” 2 STREET & SMITH, _ 27, 29, 31 Rose St., P.O. Box 4896, New York. NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER 1 13, 1875. “1 i} i ‘i wl . c Hi i nS THE ah : PA SS \ . \ ay ni ‘eS = S {i = | Za’ ci Z hy ty i fe SS i : a | —~ 4 S ee ee ™~ —~ = on dannii ? ee Se coamiem e ——=— y him- self. ‘She loves dress and jewels—these are wo- man’s toys.” He took himself to task for having, even for a moment, felt impatient with her. “Should I feel vexed because the birds love the sunshine,” he said to himself. ‘‘or the. butterflies love flowers? They follow their instincts. My beautiful Ismay, in loving all things, bright and fair, only follows hers.” “Sf money could not buy beautiful things, you would not care for it, Ismay,” he said, looking earnestly at her. Sbe laughed aloud—that sweet, musical laugh which stirred his pulses and thrilled every nerve, as some soft strain of musie would have done. “You shall have money,” he said. I will never cease working untill have won for you your ey CHAPTER IT. A LITTLE MYSTERY. Martin Schofield, Esquire, was Lord of the Manor of West Dene. He wasa wealthy man, and one who enjoyed life to its full extent. He had a great aversion to all kinds of responsibility and trouble; he had a land-agent who managed one portion of his estate; the woods of Dene and the farms beyond them were under the care of Paul Waldron. By eourtesy Paul was called the squire’s steward, but in reality his duties were more those of a head keeper than anything else. He was the son of peor parents. His father had been the head gamekeeper at West Dene Manor for many years; his mother was an amiable, gentle woman, whose very life was centered in that of her boy. They had given Paul a fair edu- cation—somewhat above his station. The boy was naturally quick and clever, but his chief de- light lay in mechanics. He liked all kinds of machinery; he enjoyed finding out how he eould improve upon anything he saw made; he longed to learn some practical trade, but his parents were not willing. “The squire had always prom- ised,” they said, ‘that their son should have the charge of the West Dene woods, and it was not kind of him even to wish for anything else.” So, to please them, he accepted the squire’s offer, and before he reached his twentieth year he was mas- ter of the keeper’s cottage. “T can study,” he thought; I shall have long hours to myself, and I can work out the ideas that | have lain so long in my brain.” But in ashort timea change came over him. He went one day to a pretty little town called Ashburnham, and there he met his fate. There he saw what seemed to him the loveliest face ever created; there he saw Ismay Hope, and from that moment until the hour of his death he loved her with a deep, true, lasting love, and gave no thought to another. He was walking down the principal street of Three Dollars Per Year.| FRANCIS 8S. STREET. Two Copies Five Dollars. No, 45. FRANCIS S. SMITH. said Mrs. Hope; “nor have I the least idea where she comes from, or who her parents are. One summer night—it was very warm, and I was standing at the open window, watching the pass- ers-by—I saw a woman loitering near my house —in my own mind I called her then a lady, and I am inclined to call her so now; she had a pale, beautiful face, with wavy brown hair; she was very poorly dressed, and held by the hand a little child. I saw her turn aside and dropa letter into the post-office; then, when she walked on again, her face grew paler, and her eyes had in them an agony of entreaty when they met mine. I saw that she could hardly walk, and that ina few minutes more she must fall, so I spoke to her, and she, looking at me, said: “ ‘Oh, if you would but let me rest for one half hourin your house! Will you, for the love of : | Heaven?’ “T could not refuse such a request. She entered my house never to leave it alive. ** ‘My very heart seems chilled,’ she said, when I had placed a chair for her. “She sat down, and then called to her child: “Ismay, my darling,my heart is growing cold! And immediately afterward, when I went to help her, 1 found that she was dead. The cor- oner’s verdict was that she had died from disease of the heart, increased by over-fatigue and priva- tion. We buried her—for all the neighbors were kind, and, looking at the beautiful dead face, no one could suggest a work-house funeral for her. We buried her, and then my husband said he would never part with the child. She was so like | her mother that the resemblance startled me. We buried the mother and kept the child.. My hus- band almost worshiped her, and she has been ealled Ismay Hope ever since.” “You never discovered anything about her mother?” asked Paul. “No. Our vicar, Mr. Kirdell, inserted some ad- vertisements in the papers, and made some in- quiries, but all was in vain. The poor mother had round her neck a little gold locket con- taining the portrait of a gentleman, and, be- side her wedding-ring, she wore one with a motto inside it. The vicar took them aH away with him. I fear we shall never know who that poor dead woman was.” “And the—the child—has been as a daughter to you ever since?” questioned Paul Waldron. “If I can persuade her to love me, Mrs. Hope, will you give her to me?” And then the coy, blushing beauty came in, and Paul Waldron was more enchanted than ever. It was not long before he bad told her how dearly he loved her, and had asked her to be his wife. There were times when she puzzled him. There was something about her quite dif- ferent from other girls; she was so refined, so gentle, her very beauty was of an unusual kind —dainty, exquisite, unlike the rosy beauty of the eountry girls. He found, too, that her head was filed with romance. Who her mother was formed an endless subject of thought for her. “T am sure,’”’ she said one day to her handsome young lover, “that my mother was a lady, even though she was wandering through the streets with me alone.” “What makes you think so ?” he asked. “T cannot tell. I feel sure of it. And I feel sure of another thing, Paul; and that is that, though I have been brought up in this homely fashior, I am a lady myself. You may laugh at me, butI feel like one—or rather how I imagine a lady should feel. I love all things bright and beauti- ful; [ detest everything mean, sordid, and little. I feel as though I had tastes which could never be gratified, longings which can never be realized. I have strange sensations always of not being in my right place.” They were sitting under the spreading shade of a Jarge oak tree, the evening sun in its full splendor making everything bright. The néxt moment he was kneeling: at her feet. “You are not in your right place, darling. Your place is in my pretty cottage—that must be your home.’ You shall be my queen, and I will work the little town when he met her. Her lovely face, over her lips. him—a great golden blaze of light seemed to have fallen at his feet, and he walked on, dazed, giddy, and eonfused. the end of the street. “T must know who she is,” he said te himself. “T feel that 1 must win her.” His soul seemed on fire; there was to be no more peace, no more rest for him until he had won her. He did not leave Ashburnham that day until he had been introduced to Mrs. Hope and the beautiful girl who had so completely stolen his heart. Mrs. Hope was a widow; her husband had been in the Civil Service, and she was left with barely sufficient to live upon. Paul told her frankly that he had seen her daughter, and had fallen in love with her. “Many people do that,” was the quiet reply. “But I must tell you, although we call her Ismay Hope, she is not my daughter.” eloquent words, she told him Ismay’s story. make money some day.” heart’s desire.” “Ske is no child, not even a relative, of mine,” her light, graceful figure, her wealth of waving | browr hair, the pretty blue cloak—he remember- | ed the picture while he lived. He looked earnest- | ly at her as she passed, and a faint smile rippled / That long, lingering gaze amused | her. Asasudden glow of warm sunshine will! bring to life some late-blossoming flower, so that | half-smile, that one look at her seemed to bring | Paul’s whole soul to life; a new world opened to | Then he turned back to see where she went. | She entered a small house that stood by itself at Won by Paul’s manner, his handsome face and: for you as no man ever worked before, because I love you as no man ever loved.” He wooed her as women are seldom wooed, with such eloquence and truth, such love, sueh tenderness, that she could not resist him. His handsome face, his musical voice, his devotion, all touched her heart as nothing else could have done. She was too beautiful not to have many admirers, but noneof them had pleased her. This handsome young keeper, with his dark eyes and thrilling voice, was quite different. His great passionate love touched her—his utter and entire devotion flattered her; beside which, he talked of one day being rich, and that was the one grand wish of her heart. She knew that she was beautiful. To have her beauty adorned by costly dresses and rich jewels, to live in a grand house, to have servants to wait upon her, seemed to Is- may Hope the very acme of bliss. She did not stop to consider how vistonary af- ter all was Paul’s idea of growing rich. He would show her occasionally models of steam- engines or of looms, and tell her that a patent for this invention and that improvement wouid make him a wealthy man. He painted the future for her in glowing colors, and after many months of ehivalrous wooing he persuaded her to be his wife. Did she love him then? Many times in the dark after years Ismay Waldron asked herself that question. She believed she dids his devo- tion, the flattery of his great love, was as need- ful to her as the air she breathed. It was a grand thing, too, to win the loye ef the handsome teen fe