$5.00.a Year.

Entered at the Post Office at New York, N.Y. at Second Class Mail Rates.

As Copyrighted "1881, by BEADLE AND ADAMS.

 

N.ORR= Ca. |
September 8, 1881,

 

Published Every
Week,

Vol. IX.

BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,

No, 98 Wiiu1amM Street, New York.

 

 

Heaps of Money.
BY W. E. NORRIS,

CHAPTER I.
HERR EICHMANN’S TENANTS.
“ Tr is now rather more than ten years since the
inhabitants of the sleepy little village of Blasewitz,
near Dresden, were startled by the
intelligence that an Englishman, a
Mr. Howard, had taken Herr Hich-
mann’s house by the river fora "hae
certain, with option of renewal.
Blasewitz,known by name to read-
ers of ‘ Wallenstein’s Lager,’’ who
will recollect ‘‘ die Gustel aus Blase-
witz ’’—known by sight,too,to many
a holiday tourist—is a favorite
summer resort of the worthy Dres-
deners; and by such Herr Eich-
mann’s roomy but somewhat dilap-
idated habitation, with its spacious,
scantily-furnished rooms, its heg-
lected garden, cool with the shade
of fruit trees, and its lawns big |
down to the swift-flowing Elbe, h
been frequently occupied during
the hot months, and found not un-
worthy of the’ modest rent de-
manded for it. But that so lonely
and draughty an abode should have
been chosen by anybody—above all
by a foreigner—as a winter resi-
‘ dence, appeared’ to Blasewitz an
astonishing thing, and one requir-
ing explanation.
Hert Eichmann, when questioned
by the cronies with whom he was
wont to enjoy his evening pipe and
beer, had no very flattering ac-
count to give of his tenants.
“A clever gentleman,” he would
say, ‘‘and one who speaks German
nearly as well as I do; but over-
sharp in matters of.business. He
has got the house for nothing—ab- i
solutely for nothing, A well-man- i i
nered gentleman, I Arent you—
‘Lieber Herr’ here, ‘Mein bester i |
Herr Eichmann’ there! —always | i
smiling and polite, and always with HR
a good cigar at your service; not H
like an Englishman at all, in short.
But, for my part, I prefer the
others, with their rude ways and
their guineas, to this plausible Herr
Howard, with his cigars and his
coe purse. Iam out of pocket
by him—many thalers out of pock-
et; but at least he will keep the
house aired,and that is something.”
And Herr Eichmann, who was @
well-to-do brewer, would heave a
“at sigh, and gulp down a huge
_yraught of his own excellent beer,
having in nowise lessened the won-
derment of his friends by his de-
scription of the stranger. For in
some of the less frequented vil-
yages of Europe there still lingers
& remnant of the once prevalent
notion that every Englishman is a
miJlionaire. 3
As the season advanced, and
Blasewitz put on its white winter garb, and blocks
of ice came swirling down the brown current of the
Elbe, and icicles hung from every roof, the forms of
. Howard and the one daughter who constituted
all his family, became familiar objects to the vil-
lagers. He, tall, well-dressed, and of benevolent
oneeranes, the venerable aspect imparted to him
by his white hair and mustache losing nothing = a
certain erect jauntiness of carriage; she, youthful,
pretty and bright-eyed, always ready with a pleas-

aT
(he
i.

“ THERE

ant word or two in response to the gruff “Guten- |

morgen’’ of the peasants—such were ‘the Herr
Englander and his daughter as Blasewitz saw them,
nearly every morning trudging away towards Dres-
den, over the ‘silent snow. The young lady some-
times carried her skates in her hand, sometimes a
roll of music under her arm, It was understood
that her education was not yet completed, and that
she was taking music lessons from one of the nume-
rous professors of that art residing in the capital.
Those who felt any further curiosity as to the
LH

i

ul
nN
te
in

IS ONLY ONE WAY,’? MUTTERED LOKD KESWICK?
SOME GIRL WITH FRAPS OF MONEY!”

habits of Herr Kichmann’s tenants (and there were a
good many such) had only to apply to Christine the
cook, or Lieschen, the housemaid, in order to ob-
tain the desired information. The two women re-
quired no great pressing to state their knowledge
and ee of their new master and mistress. They
joined in shrill praise of Fraulein Linda. Never,
so they said, was there a young lady more kind,

‘acious and affable. Then, she was so clever!

he made all her dresses with her own fingers,

|

“1 MUST MARRY

No. 11

Complete in this Number.
Price, Ten Cents,

could cook a dinner like a practiced housewife, and
had managed scmehow to arrange and refurnish
the shabby old furniture of the drawing-room with
such skill that no one would have known it again.
And with all that, she found time to play the piano
like an angel. But Mr. Howard, it appeared, was
a somewhat alarming Herr. He was the strict-
est_of disciplinarians; nothing escaped his notice;
and the smallest shortcoming was sure to be visited
upon the delinquent by a steady, silent look, far
more térrible than any loud scolding—a look which
as Leischen said, was enough to
make one scream with fright, and
drop any plates or dishes one might
happen to have in one’s’ hands at
the time. Once, when Christine
had enor nay sent up the din-
ner cold, she had been summoned
to a short private interview with
her master, whence she had emerg-
ed bathed in tears, and casting her-
self upon one of the kitchen chairs,
had declared that she had never
been subjected to such treatment
before in her life.

“What did he do? What did he
say to you? the sympathetic
Leischen had inquired.

“Oh, he did not say much,” the
other had sobbed out; ‘‘but—but
he looked at me!”

In truth, Mr. Howard’s rather
prominent blue eyes could assume
a sufficiently truculent expression
= occasion. Probably his meth-
od of dealing with his inferiors
was the result of study and experi-
ence; it was, at all events, success-
ful. His house was better kept
and his dinners were better served
than those of many a richer man;
and, as time went on, it became
conceivable that his extreme fas-
tidiousness as to his food was
prompted not nie by mere carnal
ae but by the nobler motive
of a desire to make his house agree-
able to his guests. For, before
the winter was over, Mr, ‘Howard
took to bringing back a friend pret-
ty frequently to dinner from Dres-

en, metimes two, and, upon
rare occasions, even three gentle-
men would thus partake of Mr.
Howard’s hospitality. The Frau-
lein always went to bed at ten
o’clock, and usually the guests re-
mained for another hour or so,
playing cards with the master of
the house; but they kept earl,
hours, leaving for the most a
before midnight.

What struck Leischen as a singu-
Jar circumstance was that Mr. How-
ard’s visitors should be invariably
Germans. Seeing how large an Eng-
lish colony was established in Dres-
den, it would have been natural to
expect that.some pene its mem-
bers would have found their way to
call upon their countryman at
Blasewitz; but none came, nor,
with the exception of one or two
neighbors who thought it incum-
bent upon them to pay a visit of
ceremony to the new arrivals, did
any lady, English or German, ever
cross the threshold. Mr. Howard’s acquaintance did
not seem to extend much beyond the officers of the
Garde-Reiter, or Body-guard. It was for the
benefit of these gentlemen that Christine was ex-

ected to produce unpretentious but artistic little

inners.

At length, however, an exception to the rule pre-
sented itself in the person of an Englishman, whose
visits at first short and few, gradually increased in
length and number, till it became a. matter of course

 
 

 

HEAPS OF MONEY.

    

=

 

 

for a time upon the tranquil shores of Blasewitz. Given
aroving gentleman of not over-scrupulous character
and predatory instincts sharpened by necessity, and it
is not difficult to form a guess as to the probable man-
ner of his life. Mr. Howard’s finances were subject to
sudden and violent fluctuations. Sometimes he would
be found living in comfort, and eyen with a certain
amount of modest luxury, at Paris, Berlin, or Vienna;
anon he had vanished, leaving many creditors to de-
plore hisloss. Then, before the memory of him was
well out of men’s minds, or his bad debts crossed out
of his tradesmen’s books, he would reappear, smiling
and genial as ever, pay his bills, and recommence his
former mode of pores

This system worked satisfactorily for a longer period
than might have been expected; but a protracted

course of such irregularities must needs tell upon a

man’s character in the long run; and as the years went

on, Mr. Howard tell perceptibly in the social scale.

Respectable people fought shy of him; hotel-keepers

gave him a chill welcome, and British matrons declined

to occupy a place at the table-d’hole next to “that
disreputable person.” ‘ihere was nothing definite to.
be urged against the man. He had never been caught
cheating at cards, though perhaps it would be assert-
ing too much to say that he had never been suspected
of so doing; he was not known to have committed any
offense against the law, yet there was no lack of people
ready to affirm that he dared not show his face in

England. “The fellow is an adventurer,” these

well-informed persons would say, cautioning the un-
wary against being drawn into an intimacy with him,
“and the less you have to do with him the better.” _

Recognizing this hostile disposition on the part of his
eompatriots, Mr. Howard gradually ceased. to seek
their society, and withdrew more and more into the
companionship of foreigners, by whom he was
more cordially received. He liked, if possible, to
have a few English acquaintances in a, place, for
the sake of . appearances; but if he found
himself repulsed by these, he turned smilingly away,
and, like the immortal Major O’Gahagan, ‘‘shut him-
self up in the impregnable fortress of Dunkeradam.”

Foreign counts, princes, and high nobly _ born

Herren liked him .very well. A certain loud-

ness of voice and rakishness of demeanor. did not

jar wpon their nerves as they did upon those of

Englishmen; his frequent allusions to my “ brother-in

law, Lord Sturdham,’’ were held to be a sufficient
uarantee that he was what he represented himself to

Soae gentleman of ancient lineage; he was a good

shot anda lively companion. And, then, his daughter

was so charming! Graf Von Podewitz, Freiherr Von

Oberndort, and several othersof Mr, Howard’s friends

among the Saxon Garde-Reiter had already been van-
uished by the witchery of Linda’s bright eyes, and

thought the small sums which their amiable host was
wont to win from them at cards, after each of his socia-
ble little dinners, by no means too long a price to pay
for the felicity of passing a few hours in her com-

pany. 4
Teanine not, however, be supposed that any smok-

ing, drinking, or card-playing went on in Linda’s pres-

ence. Mr. Howard, whose most ardent wish it was that
his daughter should make a good marriage, was fully
alive to the necessity of enforcing a respectful de-
meanor towards her on the part of all the men frequent-
ing his house, and knew that, in his somewhat equivo-
cal position, too much care could not be exercised to
insure this result. Punctually at ten o’ciock, there-
fore, Linda took up her bedroom candlestick and bade
her father’s guests good-night.. She was not allowed to

_ see very much of these gentlemen, nor was she ever
left alone in their company for more than five minutes
atatime. In the case of Mr. Mainwairing, as we have
seen, a niuch greater amount of freedom was permitted
to her; but then Mainwairing was an Englishman ;
and that, as Mr. Howard conceived, made all the differ-
ence. He was not ill-pleased at the intimacy which
had sprung up between Linda’ and the young man
whom he had discovered to be the second son of a
wealthy Staffordshire baronet, andsometimes cherished
a hope that his friendship, brought about by a common
love of music, might terminate in the establishment of
his daughter in a position of ease and high respecta-
bility.

Within the whole wide range of creation there was
no single person or thing that Mr. Howard loved with
anything approaching to the same intensity as he
loved himself. Nevertheless, in so far as he was capa-
ble of feeling attachment to any mortal, he did care for
Linda. He had given her a good education; he had-sed~
ulously striven to keep her free from contact with his,
owr doubtful associates ; he had endeavored, by every
means in his power, to bring her under the influence
of irreproachable ladies of her own nation ; often, with
a humiiity not devoid of pathos, abstaining from in-
truding himself upon the society of these virtuous
persons, lest his presence, which he knew to be distaste-
ful to them, should prejudice his daughter in their
eyes. Allthis he had done; and though, as has been
hinted above, the smile which Mr. Howard usually

- wore before the outsidé world was apt to chen ES into a}
menacing frown if his dinner were ill cooked, or the
m r sum allotted by him to the payment of house-
hold expenses exceeded, he had not been, upon the
whole, an unkind father,

¥ The man could not have been altogether bad, or how
should Lina have loyed and reyerenced him as she did ?

—

In her eyes. her father was all that is lovable and admira- |

ble. She saw that he was looked upon coldly here and
there; “but this she attributed solely to his poverty
which she imagined—perhaps not wholly without reason.
to be the one unpardonable crime of which an English-
man can be guilty. To her this broken-down old ras-
cal was a noble, talented, and fascinating gentleman ;
and who could wish her to think otherwise? Ilusions
and fallacies are not without their uses in this world ;

 

and though Truth is a divinity which we are all bound

to revere, I don’t know that one is always the happier
for haying made her acquaintance. :

Mr. Howard, who had been of a practical turn from
his youth upward, and who was not given to the cher-
ishing of illusions upon any subject, had long since
arrived at as correct an estimate of his daughter's good
qualities as his nature admitted of. He thought fe a
good girl, cheerful in disposition, clever in the manage-
ment of money, and—what was most important of all—
undeniably pretty. It was gratifying to him to have
such a daughter in his house; but it would have occa-
sioned him no sort of grief to part with her. On the
contrary, he asked for nothing better than td\resign her
to the care of a husband of good family and comfortable
income; and in the absence of any more aligible suitor,
he was disposed to be yery civil to Mr, Mainwairing,
though he had no great personal liking for the violinist,
and suspected that his antipathy was more than recip-
rocated. :

He therefore reiterated his invitation to dinner, and
pressed the point sostrongly that Mainwairing, haying,
in truth, no valid excuse to put forward, was compelled
at length to murmur an acceptance. It was the first
time that he had broken bread in Mr. Howard’s house,
though by no means the first time that he had been
begged to do so, s

Mr. Howard, unlike the generality of Englishmen,
made it a rule. to conform, as far as possible, to the
customs of the country in which he might happen to
be residing ; for he rightly thought that only in this
way could areasonable amount of comfort be secured.
In accordance with this principle, he was in the habit,
now that Fate had landed him in, North Germany, of
dining at the astonishing hour of half-past five.

“Sorry to have to ask you to sit down to dinner in
the middle of the afternoon, Mainwairing,’’ he said;
‘put when one is in Germany, one must do as the
Germans do, you know.” : ?

“Tt is all a matter of habit,’ answered Mainwairing.
«! At the. Hotel Bellevue we dine at five o’clock; and,
upon my word. I think it is a very good hour.”’ :

“Yes, yes,”’ assented Mr. Howard; ‘habit is every.
thing, as you say. An old traveler like myself gets
accustomed to all sorts of queer things. Gad! we
should make them stare at the club at home, though,
if we asked for dinner at five o’clock, shouldn’t we?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Mainwairing, who never for
the life 01 him could help disagreeing with Mr. Howard;
“TI fancy it would take a good deal to astonish a club

| waiter. Which is your club, by-the-bye?”

Mr. Howard quite understood the insinuation vailed
under this query.
meekly; and indeed it was true that, even in his most
impecunious years, the exile had always managed to
remit his annual subscription to that exclusive estab-
lishment. ‘I used to belong to half a dozen others,” he
continued, enjoying his small triumph ; “ but I have
qiven them up, one by one. As a man gets older he

nds one club about as much as he wants. Aud they
give you a very fair dinner in the Buckingham.

“Very fair! Why they have the best cook in Lon-
don,” said Mainwairing. And he thought to himself,
«What an egregious old humbug you are! I don’t be-
lieve you belong there at all.’"

_ “Ah! well, you'll have a precious bad dinner to-
night, I’m afraid,” said Mr, Howard, ‘“There’s no use
in trying to get these German servants to understand
cooking. But I can give youa bottle of pretty good
Hochheimer, if you care about Rhine wine,’

“Oh, I’m not. particular,” answered Mainwairing, a
little ungraciously. ‘Would you mind trying over
that essage once more, Miss Howard, before we put
the violin into its case again?”

Linda seated herself obediently before the piano, and
music took the place of conversation till dinner was
announced. Surely Mr. Howard must have foreseen
the presence of a third person at his table that evening.
Surely so simple and yet so perfect adinner as that
which was ‘presently served in Herr Hichmann’s old-
fashioned dining-room could not have heen altogether
unpremeditated., Mr. Mainwairing, who, for all his
declaration that he was not particular, appreciated
good cooking as much as anybody else, allowed some
such suspicion to cross his mind as he helped himself
to mayonnaise, and wondered whether this impecu-
nious Englishman and his daughter fared as sumptu-
ously eyeryday.. And then, since one form of suspicion
naturally begets another, he began to ask himself what
could be the cause of all this civility on the part of a
man to whom he had always been rather persistently

rude; and even went so far as to select the exact terms.

in which he proposed to refuse the loan which he im-

agined that his host, might probably request of him |

before the evening was over.

But he dismissed such unworthy thoughts after a
time. Mainwairing, albeit an abstemious man, was no
more insensible to the effects of a bottle of excellent
Hochheimer than the rest of humanity; and by the
time tbat he was sitting in the garden before the house,
sipping his cafe noir and a capital cigar which
Mr. Howard had handed to him, his views of the world
in general were several degrees brighter than they had
been earlier in the afternoon. Musical proficiency no
longer seemed so utterly beyond his reach; his host’s
familiarity and yulgarity appeared to haye diminished ;
and as for Linda—well, she was always, and under any

circumstances, a beautiful girl; but had she ever look- |

ed so.lovely as she now did, sitting with her hands
elas loosely in her lap—somewhat quiet and silent,
as she gtexalls was in her father’s presence—the last
#ayR § the sun turning her golden-brown hair into a
glory cited iia? ecxia

The cherry-blossoms were flushed with the glow of
the dying day ; the river, sweeping out: from the dusky
shadow of its banks, caught flecks of gold from the
western sky ; the hills beyond lay bathed in ruddy
light, and all the earth was slee
stillness of evening. Mr. Mainwairing, furtively watch-
ing Linda from beneath his half-closed eyelids, fell into

“The Buckingham,” he replied, |

g in the dreamy |

 

a reverie, and began building all manner of preposter
ous castles in the air, while. Mr. Howard, loquacious
after his Rhine wine, poured forth into inattentive ears
a monotonous stream of egotistical anecdote about the
Court balls at Vienna, and hunting on the Roman Cam-
pagna, and my father-in-law, Lord Sturdham. Sud-
denly a quick movement from Linda brought the
dreamer back to earth again. Ze

“Mr. Mainwairing,’’ said she, ‘‘ you promised to take
me out in your boat some day, Shall we go now; or
are you too lazy to row after dinner?” te

“I’m not too lazy at all,’ answered Mainwairing,
“and I should like it of all things. But areyou not
afraid of the cold?”’ nw

“Tt won’t be much colder on the river than it i#
here,” said Linda. “Besides, I can wrap myself up.
May we go, papa?’’
“Eh? Go out for a pull? Well, upon my word, I ae
don’t think it’s a bad idea,” said Mr. Howard, who was — ‘
in a gracious humor. ‘What do you say, Mainwair-
ing? You won’t have to do all the work, you know; E
can take an oar. I used to be pretty good at that kind
of thing when I was at. Oxford. Indeed, I believe I
might have been in the University eight, if I had cared
about it; but Icouldn’t stand the nuisance of ce
you know. What sort of a tub have you got hold of?

Nothing much smaller than a barge, I suppose?” : ae

“The boat is Thames-built,” said Mainwairing, get- of
ting up and stretching himself. “Good enough for
me. Inever was in my college. crew myself.” And as
they walked slowly down to the river bank, he thought,
“Ought Ito ask him to pull stroke? I wouldn’t mind
giving odds that he doesn’t know an oar froma scull,
Still, one must be civil.” : :

But when Linda had seated herself upon the cushions,
and gathered up the tiller-cords under her arms, Mr.
Mainwairing thought, No, by Jove! he wouldn’t; and,
seating himself opposite to her, allowed his venerable
friend tu scramble into the bows, ;

Mr. Howard was not at all offended. He much pre-
ferred that the young people should have an opportun-
ity of conversing together than that he should be
placed facing his daughter, to whom he could hardly
be expected to have much to talk about, In order to
show that his presence need not be regarded as any ob- 3
stacle to confidenaial intercourse, he made a great show __ ey
of withdrawing into astate of mental absiraction, and.
whistled “La Donna e Mobile” out of tune while he.
drew his, oar jerkily through the water in what he
imagined to be perfect.unison with Mainwairing’s
measured stroke. Now, the Elbe runs pretty strongly
in the neighborhood of Blasewitz, and aman pulling
against the stream might find a better use for his
breath than to expend it in whistling. Linda very soon
perceived an unaccountable disposition on the part of
the boat’s nose toslue round on the side of her father’s
oar. By way of counteracting this tendency, she wait-
ed till they were very nearly at right angles with the —
stream, and then took a vigorous pull at her stroke-
side tiller-cord, continuing to tug at it till she had al-
tered her course, say from 8. by E. to N.N.E. This‘ap-

ared to her to establish a just equilibrium, andto _

ulfil the essential functions of a coxswain. It also
gave Mr. Howard the occasion to call out good-humor-
edly, ‘‘ Halloo, Mainwairing! pulling you round, eh?
Ope my word, I’m not sorusty as I thought I was.”
hen this maneuver had been executed some half-
dozen times, and had elicited an equal number of ob- ©
servations similar to the above, Mainwairing felt that
he must either stop rowing, or give way to bad lan-
guage. Remembering the presence of Linda, he very —
properly chose the former alternative... ee ; ey

“Don’t you think this is rather poor fun after dinner, ]
Mr. Howard?” he said. ‘Suppose, instead of strug-.
gling against the current, we let ourselves drift z
to Dresden? We might go and listen to the band fora
bit, and you could drive home later.” : ral

“Oh, yes,” exclaimed Linda, “ that would be deli
ful! But I don’t know whether we can,” she ;
checking herself. ‘It would make us so late; and —
papa has letters to write.” i

Which meant that Linda, had grave doubts as to
whether papa would relish paying the fare of adroschka _
back to Blasewitz. She need not, however, haye felt ‘a
alarmed. Papa was in one of his most amiable moods | ea
that evening. : y cs ;

“Anything you and Mainwairing please, my dear,”
he said, benevolently. “My leters can wait.” ee

So they swung round with the stream, and floating
smoothly down throngh the fast-falling night, had soon
left the vine-covered. hills of Loschwitz behind them,
and were in sight of the twinkling lights of Dresden.
Mainwairing brought his boat, alongside of the landing
steps and helped Linda to step out. Directly above
them towered the illuminated Bruhlische Terrasse, the
fashionable promenade of Dresden, whence came the
faint sounds of a distant band, the hum of yoices, and —
the crushing of many footsteps on the gravel. It was
one of the first warm evenings of the year, and all
ae citizens and their families had turned out te

oy it. : nee

‘CHAPTER II.
ON THE BRUBLISCHE TERRASSE,
DRESDEN, like most of the smaller German cities,

seen its best, or at all events its most peulians den. It
is a tolerably bright and prosperous. little town at the
€) D

present time ; but some faint shadow of the de
glories ic F
laces—so much too vast for the requ pi of

 
   
  
  
   
  
  
   
     
 
   
  
 

t

     

  

 

 

     
 

,

ervades

     

modest retinue of canary-clad footmen
the place with a certain melancholy.
lapse of close upon a century anda half )
its neighborhood are full of the echoes of the hunting.
parties and fétes and other splendid entertainnien'

with which Augustus the Strong, Elector of Saxony

of the last century hangs over
iminished court, with its circle of sober

   
   

      
  
 

  
 

oe

ae

4

 

ea,

 

 

  

t

4

 

HEAPS OF MONEY,

 

 

and the first Saxon King of Poland, was wont to delight
neighboring potentates. 5

Dresden’s devi of glory, socially speaking, came to an
end very shortly after the death of this stalwart mon-
arch ; and the town still seems to wear a decent sort of
half-mourning for him, much as Versailles does Louis
le Grand. There is a statue of him in the Neustadt, in
which he is represented bareheaded and‘ mounted
upon a rampant cart-horse—in so great a-hurry

to gallop off to his new Polish dominions, say the |
Dresdeners in their humorous way, that he has forgot- |
ten to take his hat with him.

No doubt the Saxons are well rid of their debauched
Hercules, who must have been very expensive to sup-
port during his lifetime, and whose only claim to the
distinction of a statue seems to have been his power to
break a horseshoe in halves with his hands, to bend a
broad silver piece between his finger and thumb, and
to spend an unlimited amount of money; but they are
proud of having produced him, for all that, and cherish
a sneaking kindness for his memory. In truth, it is
much easier to forget a good man: than an extravagant
one. Prime Minister Count Von Bruhl, for instance,
who, by all accounts, was neither good, great, nor wise,
has jeft his mark upon Dresden in an unmistakable
manner, and will’ be remembered there, in all proba-
bility, for centuries yet to come, by reason of the pal-
ace and shady gardens overlooking the Elbe, which still
bear the name of their former owner, though they have

/ long since na thrown open to the public. One can
fancy the little man strutting along his newly-planned
walks in his fine clothes—he had a suit for every day in
the year, they say—and the herd of powdered and be-
dizened sycophants trooping after him, and the honest
burghers staring open-mouthed at their gorgeous ruler.

A tar less ecknnoeane assemblage congregates on the
Bruhlische Terrasse, on warm evenings, in these latter
times. Long-haired students saunter «rm-in-arm down
the gravel-walks and stare through their spectacles or
pince-nez at the homely servant-girls who are flirting
with diminutive soldiers in sky-blue tunics with white
facings; smooth-shayen tradesmen, with their wives
and children, elbow couutesses whose coats of arms
show sixteen quarterings; officers with trailing sabers
and murderous spurs stroll up and down, not uncon-
scious of the admiring attention they excite; and of
course the itinerant Britisher, in his shooting-coat and
pot-hat, is not wanting.

- Through such a crowd did Mr, Howard, Linda, and
Mainwairing make their way after they had ascended
the broad flight of steps which leads up from the
river’s bank; and reaching the garden of the Cafe Bel-

_ vedere, at the end of the terrace, where the band was
pla: , were admitted, on payment of a few groschen,
into the enclosure.

“Now, this is the sort of thing I enjoy,” said Mr.
‘Howard, passing his arm familiarly through that of his
companion; and I dare say he would have been very
much astonished if he could have known what angry
and unchristian feelings were arouséd in Mr. Mainwair-
ing’s breast by this simple action. ‘ What I like about’
the Continent is the freedom from restraint—tho sans
gene and the out-of-door life. If we could give our
working-classes at home some amusement of this kind,
we should not hear of half the drunken assaults and

 

\ wife-beatings that make us a by-word among the na-

tions now. Look at these good People here. Give ’em
a glass of beer, a pipe and a good band, and they’re as
happy as kings. Depend upon it, Mainwairing, there’s
nothing like music to refine and civilize aman. Good
music, of course, I mean—Haydn and Beethoven and—
and the rest of ’em—not your rubbishing waltzes and
polkas,”’ says Mr. Howard, who would haye been puz-
zled to distinguish betwen Mozart and Offenbach.
“T like a good waltz all the same,”’ said Mainwairing.
“Yes, yes, of course; so0'do Lin its proper place, you
_know—in its proper place. I used to be very fond of
. dancing as a bachelor; and, though perhaps I ought not

_ to say 80, I was about as ‘good a dancer as you would

t

have met anywhere in those days. I recollect once, at
Vienna, poor old Strauss telling me that I was the only
foreigner he had ever seen who really understood the
waltz. Who was that lady you bowed to? Very fine-
looking woman! Is that her daughter? English, of
course. I haven't called on half the people here. Iam
afraid they must think me very uncivil. | But, livin

out ofthe town, one gets lazy about paying visits. And,
between you and me,” adds Mr. Howard, confidentially, |
«i don’t much care, now that my girl is old enough to
go into society, about making the acquaintance of peo-
le I know nothing of. Such alot of queer specimens
ravel nowadays that ono can’t be too ticular about

_ whom one knows. Don’t you agree with me?”

_ “Iam sure you are qnite right. But Miss Howard
must be tired of walking; don’t you think we might as
well sit down ?” said Mainwairing, who perhaps did not
much relish being paraded in the full glare of the gas
lamps by this loud-mouthed personage. _

ae trio accordingly seated themselves at one of the
little round tables which were dotted all over the.gar-
den;-and a white-aproned waiter coming up presently,
Mr. Howard was graciously pleased to order an ice for
his daughter and a carafe of cognac anda siphon for
himself and his friend. Mr. Howard had all the talking
to himself. Mainwairing subsided into silence and
- contem: on of the musicians; and as for Linda, shoe
was fully occupied in studying the features and cos-

_ tumes of the throng around her,

; ory
_ mode of life, and. upon
Tather took he y

_ Linda’s knowledge of the manners and habits of polite
society had been acquired principally at theatres, con-
cert-rooms, and other places of public entertainment.
Her y quick powers of observation and reten-

tive ‘ ee eee her solitary
the rare occasions when her

or her with him to aor ich assemblages she

‘was accustomed to watch closely the dress and bearing

of the ladies—particularly of the English ladies, who in-

terested her most—to take mental notes thereof, and

 

‘#hus glean a few notes for her own future use. During

the winter she had made good use of her eyes in the
Grosse Garten, whither the fashionable world of Dres-
den was wont to repair daily, and in a very short time
had become familiar with the features of nearly all the
members ofthe English colony, though she had not dis-
covered the names of more than half a dozen of them.
The girl, looking on alittle wisfully at the laughing,
chattering and flirtation from which she was excluded,
used to amuse herself by conferring imaginary names
and histories upon these’people, and watching them
work out their several destinies day by day. She

now recognized a few of these sitting near
her, and, among others, two ladies, evidently
mother and daughter, whose handsome faces

and fashionable attire had frequently attracted her
attention in the course of the winter. She had just
noted the fact that the elder lady was still wearing her
winter bonnet, whereas the younger had arrayed her-
self in anew and beautifully fitting costume more
suited to the season, when they rose from the table at
which they had been seated, and making their way
towards the exit, passed so close to Mr. Mainwairing’s
chair that he had to rise to make room for them. The
elder lady returned his bow with a smile and a “‘Good-
night,” and was moying on; but the daughter, a) tall,
erect blonde, who looked very self-possessed, very
handsome, and on the best terms with herself and the
world at large, paused before Mainwairing’s chair, and
looked him full in the face.

“« Well, Mi. Mainwairing !’”’ said she.
feel ashamed of yourself.”

“Not more than usual, I think, Miss Tower,” replied
the person addressed. “Is there any reason why I
should?”

“Well, considering that you promised to bring us
here this evening, that we waited more than half an
hour for you, and that we had to come at last without
7 escort, I really think there is,’ answered the young
ady.

Mainwairing dropped his hat, and made a gesture as
though he would tear his close-cropped hair.

“Tam coyered with confusion,” he said. ‘I don’t
know what to say. Itis the fault of my atrocious me-
mory, which has kept me in hot water ever since I left
the nursery. Please consider me humbled in the dust
before you.” :

“Oh, don’t apologise,” said the young lady. And
then, without troubling herself to lower her voice, she
added, with a significant glance at Linda, ‘You have an
excellent excuse, I see.”

“Could you possibly be induced to tee me if I
promised never to offend again?” asked Mainwairing,
choosing to ignore the last remark.

“T suppose I must,” answered Miss Tower. ‘There
are so few civilised people in Ahis dreary place that it
would hardly do to quarrel with one of them, would
it? Besides, I haven't really missed you. I have been
talking to one of the French attaches, who has been
ten times more amusing than you everare in your live-
liest moments. Come—to show you that I bear no
malice—you shall have the honor of accompanying me
toa picnic at ake cae to-morrow. It will be hor-
ridly slow, of, course; but we shall have a good long
ride out there and back again, which will be’ just a
shade better than doing nothing.”’

“YT shall be delighted,’ said Mainwairing. “What
time do you start ?’’

“ Twelve o'clock sharp. We will meet in front of the
hotel. By-the-bye, 1forgot to thank you for sending
methat music. I have practised it diligently ; and if
you will come in to-morrow evening’””—— ¥

The rest of the speech was inaudible to Linda; for
Mrs. Tower, who had shown several signs of impatience
during the above colloquy, now imperatively beckoned
her daughter to follow her, and she and Mainwairing
walked slowly away, talking as they went.

The later returned, in a minute or two, to find Linda
looking decidedly cross. He thought she had been an-
nhoyed by his leaving her so abruptly, and hastened to
offer an explanation.

“The ‘Towers are very old friends of mine,” he said.
“It was really too bad of me forget my engagement to
them. Thoy come from our part of the country, and I
have known them all his life.” ;

“Oh, indeed!” said Linda, coldly ; and not another
word of comment could Mainwairing’s account of Mrs.
Tower ‘and her daughter, and the reasons which had
induced them to spend a winter in Dresden, elicit from
her. But, after a time, Mr. Howard having sauntered
away to examine the programme, Linda turned sud-
denly round and exclaimed :

«Do you understand now why I wish to be rich ?”

“What do Py mean ?” asked Mainwairing, a little
surprised at this irrelevant query.

“Do you think if is pleasant to be treated as your
friends treated me just now?’ cried Linda, with some
warmth, “Do you think I am resigned to being des-
pised because papa—poor dear!—has to wear an old
coat, and because my dress is old-fashioned and has
been turned 2?”

“You are thinking of what Miss Tower said,” answer-
ed Mainwairing. “It was very impertinent of her;
but she is only silly—not intentionally rude. She is a
very good-natured girl.”

“Ts she? If we had been rich people, though, Idon’t
think she would have shown her good-nature exactly
in that way. And I don’t think her mamma would
have stared at me as she did, with the corners of her
mouth drawn down, and her eyebrows almost disap-
pearing under her hair, Here Linda gave a fair imitation
of Mrs. Tower’s supercilious expression. ‘All the
time you were talking,”’ she continued, “ every line in
her face, and every hair on her head, was bristling with
notes of interrogation. I could hear saying, ‘Pray, who
is this person ?’ as distinctly as if she had spoken the
words. Confess the truth, now—she did say 80, as
soon as you were out of ear-shot, didn’t she ?”

At this Mainwairing stammered, and became some-
what red about the ears; for some such inquiry had

“Thope you

 

indeed been addressed to him by Mrs. Tower, and hie
answer had drawn from that lady a pleasant remark to
the effect that the girl was really remarkably pretty in
her way, and that she had been told—though, of:course,
she could not vouch for the truth of the report—that
the father was a returned convict.

Linda laughed. “I suspect your friend had nothing
very complimentary to say about me,” she said. ‘ Yet
it is impossible that she can know anything whatever
of us, except that we are badly off.’”’

“I think you are rather too sensitive,’’ said Main-
wairing. “English people are always apt to put on
a rather stand-off manner towards anybody they do not.
happen to have been introduced to. It proceeds from
shyness as much as anything else.”

“Yes; I should think Mrs. Tower suffered a good
deal from shyness,” said Linda, dryly. ‘Then, after a.
short pause, she resumed: ‘I think English people,
when they are ladies and gentlemen, are superior in
every way to all other nations; but I think there are
fewer ladies and gentlemen in England than anywhere
else. It always makes me laugh when I read in the
newspapers, that old fiction about Englishmen having
a partiality for taking the weaker side; because, as far
a8 my experience goes, that is exactly what English-
men never do. So long as you are rich have a title,
they can’t be too civil to you; but if you are poor and
friendless and unknown, they are not contented with
ignoring you—they must needs insult you into the bar-

ain,’”
® “T hope you don’t include me in the general condem-
nation,’’ said Mainwairing. .

“No,” answered Linda, “I dont think you are like
the rest. I watched you just now, to see whether you
would look ashamed of us when your friends spoke to
te you, and I saw that you did not. I always liked

you, you know, from the first,and I now look upon .

you as a real friend. I always feel that I can talk to
you without thinking before I speak—just as I should
to papa,”’

If Mainwairing had been at all disposed to fall in love
with Linda, he might not have found this frank ayowal
altogether agreeable; but he was not in the least
so disposed, He had prudently examined himself with
reference to this point at the times when his visits to
Blasewitz were becoming more frequent, and had con-
ceived himself that he was notin danger of gliding into
any foolish attachment. In the first place, he had no
intention of falling in love with any one. Music was
his mistress, and to music he purposed, at any rate for
some time to come, to remain faithful. Secondly, his.
income was not sufficiently large to permit of his mar-
rying a dowerless maiden. And, lastly, he could not
under any circumstances, have brought himself to ac-
cept Mr. Howard as a father-in-law. Fancy that awful
man slapping one on the back and addressing one by
one’s Christian name! The bare thought of such a
thing made Mainwairing shiver’ from head to foot.
Being thus entirely free from any wish to become more
than a friend to Miss Howard, Mainwairing ought to
have taken her candid assurance as a great compliment,
and that he did not so regard it is only an additional
unneeded proof of the perversity of human nature.

«You talk as if I were seventy,’’ he said, in a rather —

aggrieved tone. j
Linda contemplated him consideringly for. a few sec-
onds from under her long eyelashes.
«You never seem quite like a young man, somehow,’”
saidshe. ‘Ican’t bear young men,’ she added, has-
tily, thinking she had been rude. A

“It seems that there are a good many classes of so-.

ciety that you can’t bear,’ observed Mainwairing,
rather amused, ‘What have young men in general
been doing to arouse your animosity ?””

“Oh, nothing special: only I never get on so well
with them as with older people. Young men are gen-
erally either sensitive or conceited, so that one must al-
ways be careful of hurting their feelings, And, then,
one soon gets tired of talking nonsense and listening to
labored compliments.”

“I suppose one does.” :

“Now, you,” continued Linda, “are not in the least
that sort of person. Howlong is it that we haye known
you now? Nearly three months,isitnot? AndI don’t
think I have once heard’ you make a pretty speech.
Indeed, you very often sit for half an hour without say~
ing a word.”’

“Tam afraid I ama very dull companion sometimes,’”
said Mainwairing, compunctiously. “But it is such
acomfort not to be perpetually obliged to make con-
versation when you have really nothing to say. I be-
lieve the principal reason why there are #0 few friend-
ships between men and women is, that most ladies
can’t be happy unless they are talking.”

“You remind nie of a queer old lady who was very
kind to me, afew years ago, at Florence,” said Linda.
“She used to say, ‘My dear, study the art of silence.
Any fool can learn to chatter; but a woman who has
got ideas in her head, and yet manages to hold her
tongue occasionally, may go far.’ She was an incessant
talker herself, nevertheless.”

“Most people who admire the beauty of silence are,”’
remarked hinge bint ge

“She was avery odd old woman,” resumed Linda.
“Do you know she had a most intense dislike to papa ?’”

“You don’t say so!”

“Yes ; she used to be so rude to him that at last he
was obliged to give up going to see her ; and, though
he did not mie that, it annoyed me. So that the ac-
quaintance gradually dropped. Papa used to think she
would leave me something when she died ; but she
didn’t unfortunately. I read her will in the lUustrated,
and I think the greater ‘part of her money went toa
home for destitute dogs, or something of that kind.”

At this juncture Mr. Howard , bringing
with him a tall, broad-shouldered young man, clad in
the blue tunic and silver lace of the Body-guard, who

bent low over the hand which Linda extended to him,

and who was introduced by her to Mr. Mainwairing as

 

\

 

 

 

 
   

16

HEAPS OF MONEY.

 

 

“No, indeed I have not. On the contrary, I have been
bored to death. The only thing that has consoled'me
has been the prospect pf petting back here. You don’t
know how Tf have looked forward to seeing ‘this dear
old room again, and you sitting at your piano. But
the piano has gone already, and you are’ going’ to-mor-
row ; so there is an eid of all my dreams.”

“Oh, but you will come to England, too?” said Linda,

ohéexfully. ;

“Shall 1? I don't know. There is nothing particu-
Yar to take me there, except that I want some clothes ;’
sand I can easily write to my tailor to send me them.
.And, supposing I did go home, I should never get you
to play my accompaniments for me again. No, that
eday is passed. By this time next year you will proba
“bly cut me if you meet me in the street.”

* What do you mean ?” cried Lindaindignantly. “You
“can’t really think I should do such a thing as that. It
sis not kind of you to speak in that way.”

* Well, perhaps you would not actually cut mo,” said
“Mainwairing, “because you have been brought up
sabroad, and it will take you some time to acquire the
habits of English society: but, for all that, you will not

be disposed to give up am afternoon to hearing me play
the fiddle. You.won’t have tho time, in fact.”

“« Why not?’ said Linda, “I think I shall have more
time to myself than I have now, because I shall not
have the housekeeping to attend to—and, oh, what a
biessing that will be |—but, whether I am busy or not,
I shall always find time to see my friends,”’

“Yes; but perhaps I shall not be one of your friends
then. Ah, you don’t know yet what the life ofan heiress
in Londonis, nor what an astonishing number of friends
she has to attend to.. If I were there, I should only be
one of a crowd, and I dare say not the most favored one,
I could tell. you exactly what your life will be. Yot
will have plenty of excitement, no end of balls and
dinners, and concerts, and afternoon teas—the usual
weary old round—and probably ‘you will delight in it
all at first. You will get sick of it in the end, like
everybody else; but by that time you will have so be-
come accustomed to it that you could not give it up if
you wished. On the whole, I can’t congratulate you.
You have got too much ofa good thing, you see; with
& quarter of your present fortune you might have been
happy enough. Ican’t help fancying that the time
will come when you will wish yourself back in Blase-
witz, in peace and quietness.”

“TI don’t think I shall,” said Linda, gravely. “It is
qitiet enough here, certainly; but there is not much
peace in Blasewitz or anywhere else for people who
are perpotually tormented by visions of unpaid bills.
I don’t think either I shall give up old friends for rew
ones, as you seem to think I shall,”

“H’m! Well, perhaps not. Bunt we are the slaves of
circumstances, all of us. What is sadly evident to me
is that. you and I can never be as pleasantly intimate
in London as we have been here.”

“Ti you are so sure of that, I suppose it must be so,”
answered Linda, coldly.

She was hurt at the spirit in which Mainwairing had
received her news. Why must he needs prophesy évil
things to her? 1f he had been a woman, she would
have been inclined to suspect him of jealousy.

There. was an interval of silence, during which Linda
made a show of occupying herself with apiece of need-
dle-work, whilé Mainwairing traced invisible designs
with his stick upon the wellworn carpet. Then he
rose and said; .

“‘T suppose I may as well go now., I hate affecting
farewells. Let us say good-bye as quickly as possible,
and get the thing over.”

. The words were spoken irritably, and almost rudely;
but accompanying their apparent roughness was 4 cer-
tain look in the speaker’s eyes which Linda immed-
iately detected, dnd in some sort understood. | She

thought he was really sorry to part with her, and with |.

this belief her momentary vexation passed away.

“You have never asked mo about your violin,” she
said. “T haye it, all safe, up stairs, Won’t you let me
hear you play once before you go?” ; :

“Tam out of practice,” said Mainwairing,
you haye no piano, to accompany ma upon,”

“So much the better. Iwant to hear you, not to
play with you.” —

Mainwairing smiled, for the request touched him in
his most vulnerabje point; nor was much pressing re-
quired to induce him to accede toit, Linda ran up
stairs, and returned in a moment, bearing in her arms
the precious violin. Mainwairing took it from her
with a word of thanks, and, after screwing up the
strings and tuning them as best he could, broke out
into the well-known pathetic air “Jours de mon En-
fance,”’ from the ‘‘ Pre aux Olercs.””

Then how he made that violin sing and sob, and
wail! What eloquence, undreamed of by the talented
composer of the ‘‘Pre aux Clercs,”” he drew from the
simple melody! What unspeakable things he made the
Beran notes whisper! The tongue, as everybody

‘nows, is not the sole means of expression accorded to us
mortals. There is a language of the eyes as unmistakable
‘under’ favorable circumstances, bien entendu) and in-

itely more compendious then audible utterances ;
there is a language of gesture too, and a language of
music, expressible by meats, of strings, or wood and
catgut, as the case may be, which is not hard to read.
Mainwairing’s tongue was tied by honorable scruples ;
but for some reason or other, which it is needless here
to analyze, he held himself free to say what he pleased
through the voice of his beloved instrument. The
rushing bow, the nimble fingers, the trembling, vibrat-
ing strings, did they not all combine and blend together
to tell, as plainly as could be, the story which the
brain that sot them all in motion declined to commit
to the less delicate medium of articulate speoch? Did
they not whisper of love, and moan of despair, and

_ sigh Farewell! as clearly as ever yet man spoke,
ut language of this kind can only be read aright by
such as are in entire sympathy with him who makes

“ Besides

 

use thereof. It is a mere waste of time to send 4
despatch in cipher to a man who has: not got the:key
to it. Linda, seeing much more cause for jubilation
than regret’ in the surroundiug’ circumstances,could
not fall’ in with Mainwairing’s' mood, nor understand
the melancholy and~if the truth must be told—some-
what lackadaisical expression which had overspread his
features, ' At the bottom of her heart she thought he
was making a'great fuss about a small matter, It-was
comprehensible, and even flattering, that ‘he should
mourn over the break-up of the Blasewitz establishment;
but there was'é house in London where, in spite of all
his cynical doubts, he would always be welcomed ; and,
in short, Linda had no conception that she was listen-
ing to what was intended for an eternal adieu. As a
musician, though, she could not fail to be struck by
Mainwairing’s splendid mastery over his instrument.

“ How could you say you wére out of practice ?”” she
cried, when at length he let the violin slip down from
his shoulder to his knees. “You are improved—im-
feat improved, Inevér hoard you play so well be-

fore,’”” . ;

“If IT played as well as Amphion or Orpheus, what
good would it be to me?’ he returned, rather enigmat-
ieally, “The days of miracles are past.”

Then he returned the violin to its case, said he would
send for it in the morning, and, a few minutes later,
found himself walking away towards Dresden in. the
warm, scented air of the evening, ‘He would have been
Panton to say how he got out of the house, or what

ad been the manner ot his leaye-taking.. The one idea
in his mind had been to get the wrench over as speedily
as possible ; for, though he believed something had been
said about meeting again soon, and though Linda had
given him a scrap of paper with her London address—
250 Lancaster Gate—written upon it, he was well aware
that he should never present himself at the door of
that mansion, and that it would be best for his peace
of mind that he should see Miss Howard no more. It
seemed to him that her riches placed far more insur-
mountable obstacles between them that her poverty
could ever have done. And as he -plodded wearily
along throtgh the gloaming, he' tell to apostrophizing
himself with vituperative epithéts. ?

“Ass! idiot ! beast!’ he exclaimed, cutting savagely
with his‘stick at the humble little flowers that grew by
the way-side. ‘You knew you loved her long ago ; but
becatise you saw that the old féllow wanted’ to catch
you, and because, forsooth, she was nota’ brilliant
match, you chose to run away. ‘Now you have lost her
und serve you: right! ‘She: seemed glad, to see me,
too. . :wonder—but what’s thé use of wondering ? ) She
is'as much out ofmy reach now as if she were married
already. She willbe married, I expect, before a year is
over. I give her about‘six: months to;forget my exist+
ence ; and I—I shall never forget her as long as Llive,
Nord, what a donkey Iam |’ s

Picturing to himself the scenes of gayety and excite-
ment into which Linda’s altered fortune must thence-
forth of necessity lead her, he asked himself ruefully
how long. an’ heiress, ‘and a beautiful heiress; withal,
could remain unspoiled by contact with the world.
Seeing; in his' mind's eye; ‘a prophetic: vision of Linda,
magnificently dressed, surrounded by male admirers
and courted by female toadies, the words of a certain
meldncholy Adieu rose in his memory!;:and as there
was nobody in sight, he solaced himself by repeating
them aloud. He was trolling out: ’ ;

‘Adieu | tu.vas faire un beaw reve,
. Et tenivrerd’un plaisin dangerenx;

Sur ton chemin letoile.qui se leve
Longtemps encore eblouira tes yeux.

“Un jour tu'sentiras peut-etre

Le prix @un coeur qui nous comprend,
/ Le -bién qwén-‘trouve a le connaitre,

Et ce qn’on soufire en le perdant.”’

Mainwairing, I say, was, spouting these sentimental
stanzas ore rotundo, wher, turning a corner, he found
himself, suddenly, face to, face,with, an elderly gentle-
man, who, having hada considerable amount of busi-
ness to transact in Dresden that, day, at his banker's
and elsewhere, was now hurrying home to Blasewitz to
dinner, with his. pockets.full of money and his, heart
full of contentment. > ds , '

“ God bless..my soul, Mainwairing!,is that you?”
cried the elderly gentleman. ‘Where the deuce have
yous) ig from ?’’ as 4 ‘

In the midst of all his sorrow, Mainwairing could not
help feeling some sense of amusement. and satisfaction
as he noticed the far from cordial tone of Mr. Howard’s
greeting.“ Oho! my old friend,” thought he ; “ tfmes
are changed, are they ?., Lb. was,@ big enough fish last
spring ; but now that we have got three hundred and
fifty thousand pounds at the end of our line, we ought
to catch something heayier, eh ?’’

‘(Been to my place?” inquired Mr. Howard, care-
lessly, but. mot without perceptible uneasiness.

“T have,” answered Mainwairing, composedly, quite
understanding what was passing in the anxious parent’s
mind. “Lonly returned this afternoon, and I went at
once to call upon Miss Howard. I am very glad I did
so, as it has given me the opportunity of having a nice
long chat with her.”

“Oh!” said Mr. Howard, looking at him. with keen
gray eyes. ‘I suppose she has told you, then, that we
are off the first thing to-morrow morning ?’’

“Yes. By-the-bye.I must congratulate you upon
your legacy.’ ,

“Thank you, Mainwairing, thank you. My: poor
brother’s money will bea help tous, no doubt; but

woalth brings responsibilities with it—heavy responsi--

bilities. Are you, too, on your Way to England ?”

“«T think not,” said Mainwairing, “But really T
don’t know ; I have no plans.”

“That’s the way to enjoy life!’ said Mr. Howard,
manifestly comforted by this announcement. \ “No
plans—-no bother—no- troublesome duties! “Between

 

you and mé, ee he continued, witha lapse
into something of his old confidential manner, “ I don’t
feel at all sure that we shall beany the happier for this
money coming in. Ishall.be obliged now. to live at
home ; and really I have got so accustomod, to foreign
life that I fancy I:shall find: going back: to English
society very slow work. ‘Well, well !.we mustn’t look
a gift horse in the mouth, I hope Ishall: see you at
my house in London.some day.”

“Thanks,” said Mainwairing. “Miss. Howard was
kind enough to give me her address.”

“Oh?” said Mr. Howard again, rather shortly.
“Well, any time you like to look us up; you know;
Main wairing—any time—always delighted to see you!
I ee keep: you standing any longer now. «Good-
night.” .

Mainwairing looked after the receding figure of his
affable friend with an amused twinkle in his eyes.
“ My house in London!’ he muttered. |‘ Poor little
Linda! I hope, for her sake, that her money is carefully
secured to her.’ tg

Then le returned tothe Hotel Bellevue sadly enough,
aan the evening in wondering what he should do
next,

By the time he had got to the end of his fourth cigar
he had made up his mind to go to Canada; for his
récent experience nad mot sufficed wholly to destroy
his faith in the efficacy of change of scene, :‘‘ Canada
will, at any rate, bea new country to me,” he thought;
«and I shall get plenty of fishing and shooting there—
which will be something. Butoh, ye gods! to think
that, if the Austrians and Prussians had put off their
quarrel) for a month or two, Imight have come straight
back here from Constantinople and:made, it: all right!
I have lost ‘my happiness and peace of mind, and I
am driven out,of Europe uniquely through the knavish
eed - Herr Von Bismarck—whom may Heaven con-

found |’ } f

* ad
CHAPTER X,
LINDA ENTERS UPON HER INHERITANCE,

“ Linpa, my dear girl, do. exercise’a/ little self-com,
mand,” said’ Mr: Howard. ‘It is quite natural that
these good people should be sorry ‘that we are. going.
They lose any easy place, liberal wages, and an indulg-
ent master; and of course they show their griefin their
unrestrained, vulgar way; but really it isn’t at all the
thing for a lady to burst into tears at parting with a
couple of servants,” 4

Linda obediently dried hereyes and endeavored to gulp
dowt the lump that would: keep rising in her throat.

She was sitting in the: carriage which had come to
convey her to the station; the luggage had been piled
upon the roof and atthe back of the vehicle; her father
was preparing to take his placeat her side, and she was
about to see the’ last-of the old house which had been
her home for so many months. Her life there had not
latterly at least—been so cheerful that she need have
grieved much over leaving it; but who ever.yet-quit-
fed a roof which had become | familiar to him-—did it
but cover a Dotheboys Hall or an official residence (and
we know) from. the repeated public assurances of our
rulers, how willingly the teriancy of the latter class of
dwelling houses is always résigned)—without a passing
pang of regret? It was not so: much to Herr Kichmann’s
housé that Linda ‘was ‘so sorry to bid adieu as to the
thousand mem ories which seemed, at this last moment,
to cling about it and identify themselves with it, so that
now, for'tle first time, the girl recognized, with a'sort
of shock; the'absolute and final breaking off from old
associations which she was about to accomplish. As to
what her future manner of life: was likely to beshe
could form little more than, the vaguest surmise ; but
she knew, at least, that it must. differ very widely from
that: which she was, upon the eye of casting off. With
a new and uncertain career opening before her, with all
present duties; habits and pleasures dropping into. the
background, and,with ‘Lieschen and Christine boohoo-
ing on the door-step in the most heartrending manner,
it was scarcely surprising that she should break down,
and display alittle of the: emotion which, her father
had denounced as unworthy of a sa

Linda’s distress did not, however, last long.. She was
herself again before the railway. station was reached ;
and Mr. Howard had no further occasion for complaint
during the long journey to London,

What, indeed} could have been more delightful than
that journey to a young lady’ born and bred in penury,
but by nature appreciative of small comforts? To
travel in a coupé specially reserved ; to lodge in the best
rooms of the best hotels; to order dinner without ‘any
uncomfortable misgivings as to the length of to-mor-
row’s bill ; to'drive to and from the station in a well-
cushioned carriage, instead of in the jingling omnibus
provided for the conveyance of the humbler order of
travelers—all these things may have little value in the
eyes of those who habitually enjoy them ; but to Linda,
who had-not as yet learned to regard such Juxuries as
matters of course, they were a source of pure and un-

mixed pleasure. There was an intoxication in this sud- .

denly acquired command over gold, a delirious glee in
the wicked extravagance of drinking champagne at din-
ner every Dight, which, for the time, went near to turn-
ing Linda’s head.

ir. Howard, too, exhibited at this time.an amount ot
amiability quite without a parallel in his daughter's
recollection. At Hanover, which was their first halt-
ing: place, he presented her with a very handsome
carved ivory fan before taking her to the operain the
evening. At Cologne he took a fancy to a heavy gold
bracelet which caught his eye in a jeweler’s window
and) bought it for his beloved child, who, as he fondly
said, need now no longer be without the trinkets that
women like. And at Brussels he went out to the flowey
market, thé first thing in the morning, and returned
with a huge bunch of fresh; wet roses, which he handed
to Linda when’she took her place at the breakfast table.

 

a —

———
4

 
 

 

 

HEAPS OF MONEY.

 

p | Hee

 

 

“Nota valuable present, my dear,’ said he, with
touching simplicity; ‘‘but I remembered that you
were fond of roses, and I thought that, by getting up
a little earlier than usual, Imight secure youa few be-
fore they were spoiled by the heat.’’

This modest offering affected Linda far more than the
bracelet or the fan had done. It was only the know-
ledge of her father's dislike to such exhibitions that
kept her from bursting into tears of love and gratitude
as she threw her arms round his neck dnd kissed him,
thanking him fervently for his goodness.

“ Oh, papa, how nice it is to be rich !’’ she cried.

Mr. Howard looked a little disconcerted. “I hope
you don’t imagine that I am more indulgent to you
than I used to be because you are an heiress now, my
dear ?” he said,

It was the first time that any allusion had been made
by him to the fact that Linda was the sole inheritress of
her uncle’s wealth, and the girl felt inexpressibly
pained and humiliated by it.

“Oh, papa !’’ she exclaimed, ‘‘ how could you think I
could be such a wretch ? As if you had not always been
as kind as any one could ba! Only, now that you are
rich and have not little things to bother you, of course
you have more time to think of me. As for themoney,
what does it matter whether it is yours or mine ?
Why, you havea right to everything that belongs to
me, hayen’t you ?”’

“ Not exactly, my dear,” answered Mr. Howard—‘ no
legal right, at least, Some people might think there
was a—what shall I say ?—a sort of moral obligation ;
but I should be the last man in the world to insist
upon that. My only feeling in the matter is that, tak-
ing into consideration your youth and inexperience, it
might be as well that I should help youin the manage-
ment of your inheritance—perhaps receive the inter-
est of yourmoney for you, or something of that kind.
But these are mere business details which it will be
best for me to discuss with Mr. Deane. We need not
worry about them just now.”

Mr. Deane, the senior partner of a highly respectable
firm of solicitors, had been a friend of the late Mr.
Thomas Howard, and was one of the executors to his
will. Jt was Mr. Deane who had written to apprise
Linda of her fortune, who hadsuggested the propriety
of her immediate presence in her native land, and who
had thoughtfully forwarded the necessary funds for
the journey, Linda declared her willingness to leave
the arrangement of affairs in the hands of this compe-
tent person and of her father; and so the subject
dropped.

A few days later, the young heiress, standing upon
the crowded deck of a Channel steamer, caught her
first glimpse of the white cliffs of England rising above
the sultry mists of a summer afternoon, and Dover Cas-
tle, with the British flag floating above it. Her first
impression on landing was one of patriotic pride.
The sober celerity with which the operation of transfer-
ring the passengers and luggage from the boat to
the train was accomplished, the absence of shouting
and flurry, and the liberty of movement accorded to
the travelers, made her feel that she wasin a free and
self-respecting country, where love of order was suffici-
ently innate to render vexatious restrictions and regu-
lations superfluous, The railway-carriages, to be sure,
were not as luxurious as might have been expected;
but the speed and smoothness with which the train
traveled more than made up for the deficiency ; and
the calm, rich beauty of the Kentish landscape filled
Linda with delight and surprise. Mr. Howard pointed
eet various objects of interest as they sped on
ward.

*‘ All this is So-and-so’s property,’ he said, with a
circular sweep of his arm. “I remember him very
well at Oxford; and a very good fellow he was. Heand
I were sworn allies at one time. I shall introduce you
to him, one of these days, Linda.”

Linda thought how fortunate it was that papa had so
many friends in England, and how pleasant it would be
to spend a week or so at Lord So-and-so’s place, She
had heard a great deal about English country-houses,
and was anxious to see for herself whether the grandeur
of these establishments had been overrated. That she
would soon have an opportunity of a so she did
not for amoment doubt ; for her father had always giv-
en her to understand that nothing but the unfortunate
accident of his poverty had prevented him from mixing
in the most aristocratic circles; and, now that this
barrier was removed, she confidently expected that he
would resume his legitimate place in society,

The hop-gardens and the green meadows, the distant
blue hills and the sober red-brick farm-houses, seemed
_to welcome the wanderers home; and Linda marveled
at the insensibility of those who had told her that Eng-
land was not a picturesque country. She had seen
many foreign, lands, but none that appeared to her
more satisfying to the eye than this.

London, however, proved a terrible disappointment.
For a certain amount ofsmoke and blackness Linda had
been prepared, but her expectations fell very far short
ofthe reality. When the train glided under a yellow-
ish fc canopy, which turned the setting sun into a
mere dim circle; when, to right and left, row after row
of dirty red houses stretched out to meet the narrowed

t horizon, their monotony broken only by some occa-
sional church-spire of inconceivable hideousness ;
when, directly beneath the viaduct magn, aon are the
train ran, the poverty-stricken streets of Bermondsey
spares themselves in all their meanness, squalor,
and misery, Linda fairly shuddered in dismay, and,
tu to her father, asked whether this could indeed

be iit
“Yes, this is London,” answered Mr. Howard, smil-
ing. ‘It isn’t much to look at, when the wind is in the
east; but it’s not a bad place to live in.”
_ “I don’t think I could ever bear to live in such a
town as this,” said Linda, in an awe-struck undertone.
“It is too horribly ugly.”

The contrast eal the homely cheerinéss of the

 

 

country which she had just left amd the gloom of the
huge and grimy. city which she was entering impressed
her forcibly, and struck with a vague foreboding. Nor
was this feeling lessened when it was discovered, on
arrival at the terminus, that neither carriage nor ser-
vant was in waiting to receive the travelers. Mr. How-
ard was a good deal put out by this omission.

“I wrote to Mr. Deane that we should arrive this even-
ing,” be said, as he followed his daughter into a four-
wheeled cab. ‘‘Ican’t understand why he hag not
sent somebody to meet us.’’

“Thope they expect us,” said Linda, despondently.

“Expect us! Of course they do. It was arranged
that all your uncle’s servants should remain in their
places till we returned ; and it was their business to
see that the carriage was here to take us home. I shall
let the coachman know to-morrow morning, that if he
wants to keep his situation he will have to mind what
heis about,” said Mr. Howard, wrathfully.

Linda made no ik Her attention was fully taken
up by an eager scrutiny of the streets through which
they were now passing, and which did not, by their ap-
pearance, in any way mitigate the unfavorable impres-
sion she had already received of the metropolis. She
could find little toadmire in Regent Street and Picca-
dilly, where the shops were closed, though it was still
broad daylight ; Park Lane presented no more cheerful
an aspect than itis wont to wear on an evening in the
latter end of August ; and indeed itmust be confessed
that a progress in ajolting cab through the West End
of London, at that season of the year, is not calculated to
rouse any other sentiment in the breast of a stranger
than one of extreme melancholy.

After what seemed to Linda an interminable drive,
Lancaster Gate was aflength reached, and the cab drove
up before the door of No. 250, a corner house, and a suf-
ficiently imposing structure. The door was opened by
a portly butler, who tripped down the steps, followed
by a footman in mourning livery.

‘‘We should have sent the carriage to meet you, ma-
’am,’’ said the former functionary, addressing himself
to Linda; “ but we was not sure by which train you was
to arrive.”

“I told Mr. Deane that we should reach Charing Cross
at 5.40,” interrupted Mr. Howard. “Didn't he let you
know?” *

“We have not had no horders from Mr. Deane upon
the subject, ma’am,” said the butler, still looking at
Linda, and thus manifesting his acquaintance with the
intention of hislate master’s will. He was a man of ex-
perience, and he thought it best to avoid misconception
at the outset.

Linda, in some confusion, replied that it was of no
consequence, and entered her new home, without dar-
ing to look at her father.

he was met in the hall by the housekeeper, a grave,
elderly personage in black silk, who greeted her new
mistress with a courtesy and a swift, scrutinizing
glance.

“We have got the best bedroomready for you, ma-
‘am,’ said she. ‘“‘We thought as perhaps you might
not like to ockipy the room where poor Mr. ’Oward
died.”

‘Oh no,” said Linda, with a light shiver: “I should
notlike that at all.”

“So we thought, ma’am,’’ answered the housekeeper,
with a faint superior smile. ‘Shall I show you your
room ?”

“Thank you,” said Linda, nervously; “but papa—
Mr. Howard—I hope you have given him the best
room.”

‘‘We have prepared a bedroom and dressing-room
close to yours for the gentleman, ma’am,” answered
the housekeeper.

«Thank you,” said Linda again, meekly. She would
have liked to say that she wished her father to be
treated as the master of the house; but she felt shy
and awkward, and was considerably overawed by the
respectful solemnity of: her new servants. And indeed
she never succeeded, either then or at any subsequent
time, in establishing the slightest authority over Mrs.
Tester, the housekeeper, and Hudson, the butler.
These two functionaries were worthy, honest people in
the main, and afterward served Linda as faithfully as
they had done their late master; but they were natur-
ally anxious to have it understood, from the first, that
they were the real controllers of the household, and
that, any interference with their liberty of action
would bring about their immediate resignation. They
occupied a position analogous to that of the respon-
sible ministers of a free country, while Linda filled the
easy and simple role of a constitutional sovereign. As
for Mr. Howard, who, to carry out the parallel, must
be likened to a king consort, it is evident that his part
was a more difficult one to play ; and it cannot be said
that he invariably acquitted himself of it ina manner
to give satisfaction either to himself or tothose about
him. On this first evening, however, perhaps because
he thought it best to wait until his position should be
more clearly defined, or perhaps because he too had
been a trifle cowed by the magnificent condescension
of Hudson, he showed himself amiable and concilia-
tory, and made no further allusion to his intended
rebuke to the coachman.

After breakfast, the next morning, Mr. Deane made
his appearance. He was a merry little fresh-colored
man of sixty or thereabouts, very rich, very pros-
perous, and very good-natured. The world had always
treated him so well that he, in return, entertained an
excellent opinion of it and its inhabitants, and was
always anxious to be upon the best of terms with
everybody. And in this kindly aim he was usually

successful. Nevertheless, he had not been five minutes
inthe big, stately drawing-room at Lancaster Gate
before he perceived that it would be a hard mat-
ter for him to maintain friendly relations with Mr.
‘Howard. st

The very first proposition made by that gentleman,
not have

after it had been explained that Linda woul

 

 

; cae
the right to touch the principal of her inheritance tilE
she should have attained the age of thirty—and not. ~—
then, if she should have married before reaching that
age—caused the worthy solicitor to hold up his hands
in amazemert and consternation, . ‘ |

“The interest of the money,” Mr. Howard said, Lo ert
calmly, “had better be paid in to my account. :
will save all further trouble.’ :

“To your account !’’ exclaimed the astonished trus- _
tee. ‘Really, Mr. Howard, I don’t think youcan have —
quite understood the terms of the will. Your daughter
is the sole heiress of her uncle’s estate, and is the only
person entitled to profit by it,’”’

“It is you, Mr. Deane, who misunderstand me,” re-
turned Mr. Howard loftily. ‘I have no desire to make
any personal profit out of the money left to my daugh-
ter; but I do claim the right of a parent to administer
her affairs for ner. I believe lam correct in saying that.
Iam her legal guardian, at least so long as she con-
tinues under age.” ;

“In a certain sense, of course,’ assented Mr, Deane. :

“In every sense, I should have thought. Indeed, it
stands to reason that she isnot capable of regulating
her own expenditure. Surely, she might give me «a
power of attorney ”’———

“Quite out of the question, I assure you—quite out —
of the question,” interrupted Mr. Deane, hastily. “The
executors could never consent to such an arrangement;
it would be going entirely against the intentions of the
testator.” ; ie

In truth, the late Mr. Thomas Howard, speaking with
the admirable frankness which had been one of the —
most prominent characteristics of that eminent man of
business, had repeatedly referred to his brother,in Mr.
Deane’s hearing, as an unconscionable vagabond, whom
he would not trust with a five-pound note. i

“Do you mean to tell me, then,” said Mr. Howard,
planting himself on the hearth-rug, with his back to —
the empty fireplace, and glaring down angrily at his
opponent, ‘‘that a mere child, like Linda,is tobe given __
undisputed control over thousands of pounds, and that
I am not to haveaword to say as to howshe is to
spend them ?”) ere

“T should not put it in that way,” replied Mr. ee
willing to keep the peace. “No doubt youradviceand
assistance would always be valuable; and Iam sure,”
he added, pleasantly, turning to Linda, who had hither-
to taken no part in the colloquy, and looked particu- —
larly alarmed and unhappy—‘“I am sure Miss Howard
will consult her papa upon all matters of importance.
But certainly, in the eyes of the law, the interest ofthe —
money is hers to do what she likes with.”

«(I never heard of such a thing in my life!” exclaimed
Mr. Howard. ‘“Itis utterly preposterous and ridicu-
lous! [never gave my brother credit for much com-
mon-sense; but at least he knew how to look after his
money ; and nothing will induce me to believe thathe
intended to leave it in the hands of a girl just out of
the school room, and to deprive me of all authority
over it.” , : es

“From my personal knowledge,” replied Mr. Deane, —
now, in his turn, a little heated, ‘I am able to say that
that is precisely what he did intend.” 2

“I never heard of such a thing in my life!’ began
Mr. Howard again. :

But here Linda interposed : 5 ae ie

“Tf I can really do what I choose with the money,’”
she said, ‘I should like to hand it over to papa as it is
paid to me.” : ?

Mr. Deane said he didn’t think that would do at all.
' “But can I doit, if Llike?” persisted Linda.

“My dear young lady,’’ answered Mr. Deane, slowly
and gravely, “there is nothing to prevent you from |
stowing every farthing you receive from us upon the —
crossing sweeper outside your door, or from th it.
into the Thames; but when I tell you that your uncle,
to whose wishes you will allow that you owe some con-
sideration, especially desired that you should retain the -
management of your income, and when I add your
father could not possibly accept the gift which you
propose to make to him without laying himself open
to insinuations of the mos$ unpleasant kind, I trust
you will see the impropriety of adopting the course you
speak of, Come,” he added, more lightly, “ Let us
at the question reasonably. I quite understand your
feeling. You shrink from the responsibility <
with the possession of a large fortune; you think both
you and your father are placed in a false position by
the money having been left to you, and not to <—
Very natural, I’m sure! Well but these responsibilities —
have been awarded to you by Providence; you can’t es-
cape from them; and, dear me! there are worse y
tunes than coming into eighteen thousand a year. Now,
I fancy that much of the difficulty of the position migh
be removed—it is no part of my business to advise yon
of course; but perhaps you will excuse me for ‘ioakiag
a suggestion—I think, in short, that some provision—
some allowance might be made—” Mr. Deane peste:
diffidently; but Bepcuing at this juncture to raise
eyes to Mr. Howard’s face, he caught a look which en-
couraged him to continue with more confidence. “¥_
should recommend that you make your father such an
allowance as, together with his own income, ee ¥

 

   
  

 

   
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
    
   
   
   
 
   
   
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
   
 
   
     
   
   
   
 
 
 
 

 

him to live, as it were, independently of you: I
in this way a good deal of awkwardness and uncomfort-
ableness might be obviated,”

Mr. Howard, ina tone of gentle melancholy, ee
that his motives had been so entirely miscons' -

roposing to take charge of his daughter’s income for |

er, he had been actuated by no other wish than that
she should be freed from a task for which neither her
nature nor her education had fitted her. After what
Mr. Deane had said about unpleasant insinuations, he
felt it due to himself to withdraw all claim in that di-
rection, but it would be a satisfaction to him in th
future, to remember that i done what in him lsy
to oppose an arrangement w: consider
maost foolish and imprudent.
question of an allowance to himeelf, he
  

18

 

aay Tee ey ae ee cs a pcateaiata

HEAPS OF MONEY.

 

 

 

Mr. Deane how he wouldlike to be put upon an allow-
_ ance by his daughter.
po ne ne smiled, and rubbed his hands cheerfully,
and said: ‘‘ Upon my word, I don’t think I should mind;
I don’t indeed, Mr. Howard.”
“No? Then you must pardon me for saying, Mr.
_ Deane, that you are a little—well, well, never mind.
_ Possibly I may be over-sensitive; but the idea of being
-pensioned by my own daughter is not agreeable to
me. Ishall do very well with what Ihave; and I can-
- not consent to receive anything more.”
Nevertheless he did consent. At Linda’s earnest and
tearful entreaty he consented, in the end, to accept the
sum of three thousand a year, which, considering that
he had the prospect of being fed and lodged in his
daughter’s house for an indefinite period, might be
held to be an ample allowance for clothes, cigars, and
_ menus plaisirs. Mr. Deane thought it excessive, and did
net hesitate to say so. No did he fail to warn Mr. Howard
_ that Linda, being an infant, could enter into no con-
tract binding against herself- But, perceiving that no
‘remonstrances on his part were likely to have the
smallest effect, he wisely abstained from further oppo-
sition; and, after glancing at his watch, and remarking
that he had only just time to catch the train for Croy-
don, whero his country-house was situated, he bade a
cordial farewell to Miss Howard, and a rather more dis-
tant one to her father, and departed.
“ The girl is a good little soul,” remarked Mr. Deane,
when he was sitting with his wife, that evening, in the
rden, after dinner; ‘but the old man is a sharp prac-
itioner. He gave mea good deal of bother this morn-
ding; and, somehow or other, I rather think he got what
he wanted in the end,”

       
  
  
 
    
 
        
  

  
 
  

   
  
  
   
   
   
  
  
   
     
  
  
   
   
   
   
  
 
   
   
   
   
 
  
    
 
    
  
     
   
  
  
  

  

 

CHAPTER XI.
BRIGHTON.

_ One gusty, sunny afternoon in October, a good deal
of attention was excited among the walkers and drivers
: the sea-front at Brighton by the appearance of a
-new barouche drawn by a pair of showy bay horses
whose harness displayed rather more plating than was
ite consistent with good taste. The coachman on
tec and the powdered footman who sat, massive
and majestic, at his side, were clad in mourning; but
no effort had been spared to render their black liveries
as magnificent as epaulets and a profusion of twisted
cord and aigulets could make them; and, upon the
whole, the appearance of the servants might be said to
‘be worthy of the horses, the carriage, and the elderly
gentleman of benign aspect who reclined upon its
a. s, holding his cigar between the tips of his
layender-kidded fingers.
‘Those who did not recognize this sublime personage
made haste to inquire who the fine-looking man in the
Astrakhan-trimmed coat might be; and generally re-
ceived some such answer as, ‘Oh, don’t you know?
_ That’s Howard, the millionaire. Made oceans of money
n America, out of petroleum, or something. They say
’s going to settle twenty thousand a year on his
aa the day she marries.” .
though the Howard menage had now been nearly
two months established in Brighton, it was not gener-
ally known that the daughter, not the father, was the
___ owner of the fortune in question, nor had the amount
of that fortune, or the means of its acquirement, as yet
transpired—some asserting that it was the result of
sheep-farming, others insisting that it had sprung from
mite , While not a few declared that Mr. Howard had
begun life with the traditional half-crown, and had
arrived at his present pinnacle of prosperity after years
of careful and astute financing.
_ Brighton had, after some hesitation, been selected by
‘Mr. ard as the most desirable place in which to
pass the remainder of the summer and autumn. Linda,
1ad she been consulted, would have preferred Scotland
‘Wales; but Mr. Howard had not allowed his
ority to be in any way weakened by the con-
versation with Mr. Deane, recorded in the lastchap-
ter; nor, for that matter, did the young heiress de-
six ' anything better than that, in this and all other
th , her father should follow the bent of his
own inclinations. He chose Brighton principally be-
cause he hungered and thirsted after display, and
longed to exhibit his newly acquired wealth to an ad-
ring world. It was he who had persuaded Linda to
D with her late uncle’s old-fashioned carriages
portly coachman, and to substitute for them
the barouche and the gorgeous domestics described
above,
Linda was alittle shy of appearing in this resplend-
ent equipage. Whenever she mado use of it, she had
an uncomfortable impression that the eyes of all the
_ passers-by were riveted upon her, and that there was
3 much of satire as of admiration in their gaze. There-
she could discover qny plausible excuse for
from the daily penance which her father

fore, if

een

soug t fo inflict upon her, she gladly took advantage
“Upo

 
 
        
   
  
 
   

  
 

    
   
 
     
 
  
  

   

    
  
  
       

  
  
   
  
    
     
  
  
  
     
 
  
 
 
  

ie

 
   
  
 

of it. Upon such occasions Mr. Howard issued forth
) |} afternoon drive alone. He was in no wise
id of being laughed at. He knew that to the well-
ted British mind there is nothing so noble, so
, 80 worthy of all respect as wealth; and in
Lae gecuxtty engendered by this conviction, he will-
gly ed himself, his fur-trimmed coat, and his
ughter’s fine carriage and horses before the eyes of
aton by the hour together.
er a turn or two, he got tired of his own com-
eens after congenial companionship, he
ulty in satisfying his craving. Acquaint-
of both sexes were always ready to accept the
seats in the barouche; for when did a moneyed
t want for friends? Mr. Howard had not been
week in Brighton before this and that one, who re-
bered to have met him abroad, called, or left their
at the new and imposing house which, by his re-

   
   
      
   
 
  
 
  
  

     
   
  

   

   

 

 

quest, Linda had engaged at a ruinous monthly rental,
and whither she had transferred her household. These,
in their turn, introduced their friends; so that, ere long,
Miss Howard’s visiting-list swelled itself to a porten-
tous length.

But despite this increase of acquaintance, Linda was
as devoid of intimate friends in her new station as she
had been in the old days at Blasewitz. Few of the
ladies who called upon her seemed to care about ad-
vancing beyond the boundary line of ordinary civility,
and such as did frequent the house were rather her
father’s friends than her own, and, in truth, were
scarcely the people whom she would herself have
chosen as familiar associates. Chief among them was a
certain Mrs. Williams, a rich widow, who, with her two
daughters, had known Mr, Howard slightly at Baden,
some years previously, and who had now pitched hor
wandering tent at Brighton for the season. Mrs. Wil-
liams was what in these days is called alady, inasmuch
as she was very well off, did not drop her h’s, and had
been presented at Court; but it would have been diffi-
cult to discover in her any further claims to gentility.
She was a good-natured, vulgar, over-dressed woman,
fond of money and titles, and sincerely respectful to
all who owned either of these advantages; lavish of
compliments to those who ranked an inch or two
higher than herself in the social scale, and honestly
rude to such as she conceived to be her inferiors. In
a word, a thoroughly commonplace and estimable
person, who might have got on better in society
had she not been afflicted with a red face, a
spherical figure, and an unfortunate propensity to
cover herself with jewelry during the daytime. Her
daughters were so completely her counterparts in
every essential particular that it seems scarcely worth
while to describe them more mintftely.

With people of this stamp Linda eould have little in
common. Her eye was shocked by the horrible gaudi-
ness of their attire as much as. her taste was offended
by their outspoken flattery, and their shrill cries of
delight over her newly purchased wardrobe. The real
or feigned ecstasies of the young ladies at the sight of
her dresses and ornaments seemed to her to savor more
of impertinence than of compliment; and she was
utterly put out of countenance when their mother,
meaning to be agreeable, assured her that she was an
uncommonly pretty girl, and that her pa was the hand-
somoest and best-dressed man in Brighton.

Mr. Howard, however, being of a less sensitive tem-
perament, thought Mrs. Williams a charming woman,
and was never weary of her society, Day after day he
discovered some pretext for asking her and her daugh-
ters to luncheon or dinner; and soon they came to feel
themsélyes so much at home with him that they took
to dropping in, between one and two o’clock, whenever
they felt soinclined and without waiting for any for-
mal invitation to do so. d

*T do dislike ceremony,” Mrs. Williams would some-
times remark, ‘‘ What I always say is, I like to seo my
acquaintances to dinner, and my friends atlunch. I
hope you and your pa, my dear, will never forget that,
when you happen to find yourselves near my house in
the middle of the day.’ And Maria and Sophy would
murmur a chorus of assent to the hospitable wish.

It was upon these not over-refined persons that Linda
found herself chiefly dependent for female society dur-
ing the first few months of her sojourn at Brighton.
Visitors of the opposite sex were more numerous, and,
perhaps, of asomewhat higher standing. Heiresses are
seldom suffered to remain long in obscurity, or to lan-
guish for lack of admirers. A few hard-worked ,bar-
risters refreshing their jaded systems with the sea
breezes, a Government clerk or two, and halfa dozen
or so of idle men, with expensive tastes and limited
incomes, took an early opportunity of seeking out Mr.
Howard, and were welcomed by him with his custom-
ary geniality. Each of them strove, by means of small
attentions, to ingratiate himself with the fortunate
Linda, who, for her jpart, was nothing loath to receive
their advances, and thought them all very polite and
agreeable young men.

The 112th Dragoon Guards, which distinguished
corps was at that time quartered at Brighton, hastened
to cast itself, so to speak, at the feet of this favored
young lady. Not a man of them, from the colonel, who
was still a bachelor, to the youngest sub-lieutenant,
but would willingly have sacrificed his liberty, and
bowed his meek neck under the matrimonial yoke for her
sake. Captain Browne spent a small fortune in provid-
ing her with flowers, and making preposterous bets of
gleves with her, which nothing short of amiracle could
have saved him from losing. Captain Greene put him-
self to an immensity of trouble and inconvenience to
secure for her a pair of ponies of showy action, perfect
docility, and warranted safe to drive for a lady inexpe-
rienced in the art of handling the ribbons. And poor
young Whyte, who, in the despair engendered by a
calamitous Ascot and Goodwood, had betrothed himself
to a wealthy but ill-favored Scotch lady, actually went
so far as to write to Glasgow to break off his engage-
ment, upon the hazard of his handsome face finding
favor in the eyes of the beautiful Miss Howard. For,
as he sapiently observed, when a fellow is going in for
that kind of,thing, hang it all! he might as well have
good looks as well as coin; -he didn’t see why he
shouldn’t have as good a chance as anybody else—bad
luck couldn’t last forever ; and, if the worst came to
the worst, there was always the possibility of exchang-
ing into the foot, and going out to India.

tt is melancholy to think that so much unselfish de-
votion should have been utterly thrown away; but so
it was, Linda’s peace of mind was in no wise endan-
gered by the assiduous attentions of these honest gen-
tlemen, though she liked them all very well, and en-
joyed the novelty of listening to their simple ideas and
somewhat slangy talk. ;

As for Mr. Hotes, he was delighted with the 112th,
He had known the regiment, he said, in former years,
and was very glad to meet it again, though all his old
friends were either dead or had the service. He wag

 

much pleased at receiving an invitation to dine at mess,
and was so late in returning home after that festivity
that Linda had been asleep for hours before he let him-
self in with his latch-key. She was roused out of her
slumbers that night by a prolonged rattle and crash,
followed by the sound of imprecations not loud, but
deep. It was only papa’s bedroom candlestick, which
had somehow eluded his grasp, and had gone clattering
all the way down-stairs, leaving him to find his way to
bed as best he could in the dark. And the next morn-
ing the imperturbable Hudson announced that ‘‘ Mr.
’Oward’s man had told him that his master would take
his breakfast in his own room, as he was feeling rather
hunwell.” Linda was for running up-stairs at once to
find out what was the matter; but Hudson respectfully
interposed.

“TI think you will find, ma’am,” said he, with an un-
moved countenance, “that Mr. ’Oward would rather not
be disturbed just at present. He will be able to come
down by luncheon-time, I dessay.” And Linda humbly
resumed her seat. .

Hudson, if he had chosen, could have told her that
this wasnot the first time that Mr. Howard had been
thus “hunwell’’ in the morning, though, as it hap-
pened, it was the first time that he had failed to put in
an appearance at the breakfast-table. But Hudson was
discreet, and kept his own counsel upon many matters.

The truth is, that prosperity, which exercises all
sorts of different influences upon different natures,
had had a somewhat whimsical effect upon Mr. How-
ard, and one which could scarcely have been foretold
in the case of a man of his time of life. After having,
for many
fortune, led a life which, if not irreproachable, was at
least methodical and outwardly decent, he had now
returned to most of the follies and vices of his
youth. Possibly his character may have been of that
kind which exhibits itself in its best light during
periods of adversity; or it may be that a certain uncon-
scious adaptability of disposition, which had led him,
quite naturally, to assume the air and dress ofa virtu-
ous pere de famille at Dresden, caused him, on his return
to affluence, to fall back instinctively into the habits
which he had been accustomed, in earlier years, to as-
sociate therewith.

Some people—knowingly or unknowingly—are per-
petually playing parts, from their cradle to their
death-bed. Very likely they can’t help themselves,
and ought only to be pitied for having an exaggerated
sense of the fitness of things; as others are who find
themselves irresistibly impelled to pocket the forks
and spoons when they goouttodinner. It is a mental
disease, which does not, however, incapacitate the
sufferer from holding high offices, and making his mark
in thewerld. Bethis as it may,itis certain that no
sooner did Mr. Howard find himself once more in Eng-
land, once more free from restraint and responsibility,
and oncemore the possessor of 4 handsome income,than,
asif by a natural consequence of the change of his cir-
cumstances, he reverted to the same kind of life which
had brought about a breach between him and his
father in the year 1825 or thereabouts. He abandoned
the sober, respectable frock-coat and stick-up collars
which he had adhered to during the whole of his long
residence abroad, in favor of a more useful and fashion-
able style of dress; he took to drinking brandies-and
sodas and sherries-and-bilters at all sorts ofodd hours:
he spent the greater part of his time in one of the
Brighton clubs, and left his daughter alone for days to-
gether, in order that he might attend all the principal
race-meetings.

It was after one of these periodical absences that
Linda, coming down in the morning to welcome her
father on his return, found herself confronted by a

singular and startling apparition. Upon the hearth-~

rug trimming his nails with a penknife, stood the exact
semblance of Mr. Howard, save that his hair, instead
of being gray, was brilliant yellow, that he wore no
whiskers, and that his mustache stuck out, on either
side of his mouth, in two carefully waxed spikes. That
there was nothing supernatural about this surprising
being was presently proved by his exclaiming peey-
ishly:

‘For Heaven's sake, Linda, don’t stand staring there,
like astuck pig! Whatin the world are you gaping
at?’

Linda could only ejaculate “ Papa!” in a tone of the
most profound amazement. .

I suppose you think I have dyed my hair,” said Mr.
Howard. “I don’t know why the deuce I shouldn’t, if
Ilike; but, asit happens, I have not. I have simply
restored it to its natural color by means of a prepara-
tion recommended to me. It was quite absurd that I
should go gray so early in life; but it is in my family, I
believe.” A

Linda poured out the teasilently. She could not

truthfully say that she thought the change in her ~

father’s appearance an improvement; nor was it pleas-
ant to be likened toa stuck pig. Times were changed
since Mr. Howard had got up early inthe morning to
buy flowers for her in the Brussels market; changed,
too—and not altogether for the better—since the dest
when he had been a Strict and exacting, but not un-
kind, father, rating her sharply for small shortcomings,
but never rude and contemptuous, as he had become of
late.

The fact was, that Mr. Howard had adopted juvenile
habits at a period of lite at which the strongest consti-
tution declines to be trifled with. Nature recoiled
against the anachronism, and sent swift punishment
upon the offender, in the shape of shortness of temper,
frequent headaches, and a shaking hand. Linda watch-
ed him as he sat opposite to her drinking his tea, and
perceived how much he had aged, in spite of the resto-
ration of his hair to its original tint.

‘ By-the-bye,”’ he said, carelessly, when breakfast was
over, “I wish you would oblige me with five hundred
ounds, Linda. I have come to utter grief over this
Houghton meeting, and upon my word, if I don’t man-

on and through various vicissitudes of

    

 

 

 

   
  
 
 

   

   
       
    
 

 

HEAPS OF MONEY,

     

9

 

Mr. Howard had not been altogether found out by

his daughter—that pain has, happily, been spared to hér

up tothe present time—but she knew that he often

drank more than wag good for him; she knew that he

played for heavy stakes with his friends of the 112th

he Dragoon Guards; she saw that, in spite of his painted

¥: vheeks and his dyed hair, he grew older-looking and

a more shaky every day; and she put up with a good
am deal of rudeness, unkindness, and occasional brutality

Fi from him. .

All this did not lessen her love for her father; but it
did, as a matter of course, diminish her belief and con-
fidence in him; and many a night did she awake, the
slow tears trickling down upon her pillow, while she
bitterly deplored the stroke of so-called good fortune
which had robbed her of what she valued far more
than anything that money could bestow.

It was about this time that Lady Sturdham an-
nounced, one day, that she expected a young friend to
atay afew days with her.

“T don’t know whether you will like her, Linda,”
¥ said the old lady; “James thinks her dreadfully fast;
; but if you would try and amuse her a little, I should
be so much obliged, What to do with her here I don’t
i404 know; but cannot refuse Mrs, Tower—she is such a
3 very old friend of mine. She is obliged to go to one of

her married daughters, who is ill,-and there was a diffi-
culty about disposing of Ada during her mamma’s
absence ’’——

“Ada Tower!’ interrupted Linda. “That must be
the Miss Tower who was in Dresden last winter.”

“‘In Dresden? Yes, to be sure, she was in Germany
with her mother, lremember. So you knew them in
Dresden. What a curious coincidence |”

“J didn’t know them,” said Linda; “ but I often saw
them.”

The coincidence struck her as more curious than

eable. She was quite sure she should dislike Miss
‘ower, and had no desire to meet her. At the same
time, she was not free from a natural, feminine exulta-
tion in the thought that that free-and-easy contemptu-
ous young lady would now have to acknowledge her as
anequal. Later in the evening, when, as usual, she
was to her own society and cogitations, she com-
several politely sarcastic little speeches in an-
ticipation of any impertinence in which Lady Sturd-
ham’s guest might see fit to indulge

None of these, however, were called into requisition.
Miss Tower, when she made her appearance, was so
cordial in her manner, so wnaffectedly friendly, and
apparently so unconscious of having given cause for
previous offence, that it was impossible long to cherish
the memory of affronts which, after all, as Linda now
felt, might have been in great measure fancied. She
was pleased to say that she recollected perfectly hayin
seen Miss Howard in Dresden. :

_“T always wanted so much to know you,’ she added,

with that calmness of mendacity which nothing but a

_ soothing assurance of immunity from detection can
bestow; ‘‘ but mamma is so lazy about paying visits;
and when we first went to Dresden we only meant to
stay a week or two. We remained on, month after
month, I don’t quite know why; for it was as deadly
dull a place as Lever was inin my life. How did you
mannage to kill time there? I don’t remember seeing
you at any of the Court balls.”

“No; I did not go out at all there,” answered Linda.

“Didn’t you ? Idare say you were right. Nothing could
have been more slow than the native entertainments,
I’m sure. Only one can’t sitat home, dwiddling one’s
thumbs, every night—at least I can’t. When I find
amusement is not to be had at any price, I go in for
fatigue as being the next best thing; and nobody can
say German balls are not sufficiently fatiguing. It
seemed to me that they used to begin in the middle of
the afternoon, and go on until late the next morning
—but they were better than nothing. Some of the
men were rather a joke, too,in their way. Did you
know any of them—the officers, I mean ?”’

“One or two,’’ said Linda—‘ friends of papa’s. We

_ saw very few people. The truth is, we were not well
enough off, in those days, to entertain; and papa
thought it was better not to accept hospitality which
we could not return.”

“JT am glad everybody does not think like Mr.
Howard,” observed Miss Tower, with a short laugh.
“What would become of us paupersif we had to pay back

. everything we received? But you need never hesitate
to accept invitations any’ more. Lady Sturdham tells
me you are rolling in riches.”

“Not quite that,” said Linda, modestly. But Miss
‘Tower went on, without noticing the interruption——~

“How fortunate you are! I should think you can
have nothing in the world left to wish for. A woman
who can get all her dresses from Worth—and pay for
them—must be very hard to please if she is not con-

tented. By-the-bye, do you know your hair is done in
the fashion of the year before last? Iam rather good
at hair-dressing—poor people like me have to learn
these things—and if re like to send your maid to me
some morning, I shall be most happy to give her a les-
#on. You don’t mind my telling you, do you?”

“T don’t mind at all,” said Linda. “It is very kind
of you to give me some hints.”

And it was the more magnanimous in Linda to reply
thus submissively, because Miss Tower happened ta be
mistaken with regard to that hair-dressing question.

. This conversation took place on the evening after
‘Miss Tower's arrival, Linda and Mr. Howard having
. been invited to dinner to meet her. Linda was not ill-
disposed towards her new acquaintance. She was some-
what loud, itis true ; she was a little too free-and-easy,
and had an embarrassing way of putting direct ques-
tions when she wanted information; but these draw-
‘backs were to 7S extent made up for by her good-
aie her . eee
“ we shall be great friends,” said she, as she
bade Linda good night ; “and I hope we shall seca
_ #teeat deal of each other.”
ae f

 

 

 

  

 

  
  

 

 

To which Linda replied, with corresponding warmth,
that she hoped so too. For it requires nothing short of
personal experience to convince the majority of man-
kind of even the most elementary truths ; and though
nothing is more universally admitted than the rarity
of disinterested friendship, I suppose that few girls of
Linda’s age—and, for that matter, not many young men
either—would hesitate to believe in the existence of
such a phenomenon as displayed towards themselves.
Miss Tower, between whom and unsuspecting youth
intervened six London seasons and a vast accumulation
of worldly knowledge, had made herself agreeable to
Linda for three reasons, Firstly, because she had dis-
covered that it always pays best, in the long run, to be |
civil to everybody ; secondly, because a friend with a
house in London and a generous disposition is likely to
turn out useful in many ways; and thirdly—but Miss
Tower's third motive will, in due course, become ap-
parent,

Lady Sturdham was delighted to see that the two
young people took to each other so naturally.

“Poor dear Ada |’ shesaid. ‘James says her merits
are her own, and her faults are those of the age. I
really think, my dear, there is a great deal of good in
her, though, of course, I should be sorry to see you
quite like her.”

The old lady thought it incumbent upon her to warn
her niece that “ poor dear Ada” was not in all respects
a model to be imitated; but, having thus discharged
her duty, she was only too glad to encourage an inti-
macy which promised to relieve her from the irksome
task of entertaining a visitor whose tastes differed so
completely from her own.

Miss Tower soon became Linda’s most constant com-
panion. She drove with her; she rode with her over
the downs ; she shared with her the attentions of Cap-
tains Browne and Greene (who, for their parts, found
her society much more to their taste than that of the
quiet little heiress); she was fascinating to Mr. How-
ard, gracious to Mrs. Williams, and, in short, made her-
Nha indispensable part and parcel of Linda’s house-

old.

At the end of a week Linda took courage to put a
question which had been trembling upon her lips ever
since her first introduction to this popular lady.

“ You used to know a Mr. Mainwairing, in Dresden,
didn’t you ?” she asked,

“George Mainwairing? I should thinkso! Ihave
known him ever since we were children together down
SL nd ti a hundred years ago. Why do you
ask?’

It was a gray November afternoon, and the two ladies
were sitting alone together over their tea. The day-
light was fast fading away ; but by the light of a blaz-
ing fire Linda could see Miss Tower’s blue eyes were
fixed upon her with a steady scrutiny which was rather
disconcerting.

“We saw a good deal of him last winter,” she an-
swered, as carelessly as she could. I thought perhaps
you might know what had become of him.’””

“Thad a letter from him,’’ said Miss Tower, deliber-
ately. ‘“ Let me see—was it last week or the week be-
fore? Itkink it was last week.” And she paused to
see what the effect of that sbot would be.

“Ob!” said Linda, poking the fire. “ And where was
he then ?”

“He was then in Canada, and likely to stay there
some time,I fancy,’’ answered Miss Tower, mentally
scoring one.

“In Canada!” echoed Linda, blankly. Conscious
that Miss Tower was surveying her inquiringly and
with a faint,ironical smile upon her handsome face,
she would have given a good deal to be able to receive
this information with a greater show of equanimity ;
but the blow was too sudden and unexpected. For the
moment she could control neither her features nor her
waiee ; 80 she sat silent, and contemplated the glowing
coals,

“Did you not know ?” asked Miss Tower, at length.

“No,” said Linda; “I thought he intended to come
home, The last time I saw him he talked of returning
to England.”’

“Did he? But George is such an erratic being, You
never can tell one day where he will be the next. His go-
ing off to Canada was quite a sudden freak. Heis always
rushing about the world as if the devil was after him—
it is his idea of pleasure. I am afraid his going has
been a disappointment to you in this instance,” she
added, meaningly, :

“Yes,” replied Linda, steadily raising her eyes and
looking her interrogator fairly in the face ; “I am very
sorry he has gone. I liked him so much ; and he was
one of the very few real friends I have in the world.”

‘Really !”’ said Miss Tower, raising her eyebrows ;
“Tshould not have thought you would have had time
to develop an undying friendship in so few months.
But George is so absurdly impulsive.”

This ungracious speech did not seem to call for a re-
joinder; and a long pause ensued, during which Linda
had leisure to couple the circumstance of Miss Tower
being in correspondence with Mainwairing with that of
her always mentioning him by his Christian name, and
to draw what conclusions she pleased from these facts.
Her meditations were brusquely interrupted by the
sound of Miss Tower’s high-pitched voice.

““ What is the good of our beating about the bush ?”’
said she. “Don’t let us try to aumpug one another. I
heard all about your flirtation with George—he is such
asusceptible fellow !—and the duel, and the account in
the newspaper, and all the rest of it. Honestly, now—
you have known me long enough to be able to trust me
—have you any real tendresse in that quarter?”

Linda blushed, more with anger than with confusion;
but she answered calmly eucuaie.

“There never was any flirtation between Mr. Main-
wairing and me. The duel was provoked by Herr Von
Oberndorf, and the story in the newspaper was too ri-

‘I dare say.’”

 

diculous for any one to Notice. Mr. Mainwairing used to
come to our house to practise his violin, because I

————

  
 
  
 
   
    
     
    
   
 
   
  
   
  
  
   
  
   
   
  
    
   
  
  
    
    
   
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
 

knew how to play his accompaniments; and he was
very kind, and I liked him very much--that was all.”

“Of course you need not trust me unless you like; it
is always safest to trust nobody,” said Miss Tower, in a
would-be injured tone, through which an undercurrent
of reliet was discernible.

“I was telling you nothing but the truth,” said Lin-
da,a little wearily. “I dare say people may have
thought that, because Mr. Mainwsiring came to see us
8o often, he meant something more than mere friendli-
ness; but it was not so, indeed,” she added, thinking, .
perhaps, that it was time to carry the war into the en- :
emy’s country, ‘I used to think that,some day or |
other, he would marry you. I remember telling him __
80 once.” ;

“And what did he say ?’”’ inquired Miss Tower, taking
up a hand-screen to shelter her face from the fire. :

“T don’t exactly recollect,” answered Linda, across
whose memory Mainwairing’s actual words had sudden-
ly flashed with a vividness that confused her a little. “I
think he said Mrs. Tower would not consider him a
sufficiently good match, or something of that kind.”

Miss Tower laughed, and fanned herself lazily with
her screen.

“ He was not far wrong there,” she said. “Poor eld
George! Mamma wants me to marry money; shesays I
should never do for a poor man’s wife, and Ientirely
agree with her. The misfortune is that rich men of do-
mestic tastes are not quite so plentiful as one could
wish them to be. It will end in my dying an old maid,

 

“ But if Mr. Mainwairing were rich ”"—suggested Lin
da, after arf interval of silence. :

“That would alter the case, of course. Nothing is
more absolutely essential than that I should secure
anestablishment of some kind. My mother is not im-
mortal; and when she dies I shall be much worse off
than Iam now. At my age, the matter is oe
enough. I must take the first man with a reaso! :
income who is fool enough to propose to me,”

Linda made an involuntary movement of ect

“It is a sordid view to take of matrimony, isn’t it ?’”
said Miss Tower, coolly; ‘‘ but it is not the more ap for
being honestly stated. Everybody has to swallow a
certain amount of dirt in his life; and Idon’t know
that pretending it was not dirt would make it tas
any better. I can’t afford to pick and choose. If
I could ’”’—— oh

“You would choose Mr. Mainwairing.”’

“ Well—perhaps.”

There was another pause of a few. minutes. Then
Miss Tower resumed, speaking in a half-laughing, half-
confused manner very unusual with her. ~ 2

“I don’t know why I should tell you, except that I
feel inclined to be confidential this evening, and—and I —
know you will not repeat it; but the truth is I am
fonder of George Mainwairing than of anybody else in —
the world. He did like me once, I think—long ago,
when we were still almost children. He used to giveme
presents, and dance the whole evening with me, and
that. It was only calf-love, I suppose; but, somehow
or other, Ihave never quite got rid of it. Sometimes I
think I should not mind giving up everything and
everybody, and starving with him on his bachelor’s in-
come down in some little hole in the country, with no —
society but the squire’s wife and the parson’s daughters,
Pe ae to do except to keep house and darn his
socks.” .

“If Icared for him so.much as that,” said Linda,
quietly, “I should never marry any one else.” x ,

“Ah, but be has not asked me, you see; and who
knows whether he ever will? He is just the sort of
man to take a sudden fancy to some Canadian girl, and
marry her out of hand. You know he really was smit-
ten with you in Dresden; and indeed I don’t know that
you are not a little bit dangerous yet. Isuppose pru- —
dence restrained him from committing himself in those
days; but when he comes back to England, and hears
what a first-rate match you have become, he may fin¢@
you irresistible.” 5

“You seem to forget that he would have to consul*
me,’ said Linda, coldly. “And why should you sup-
pose him so mercenary?” she continued, with more
warmth. “I don’t think he cares in the least for
money.” St

“All men are mercenary, my dear,’’ replied Miss
Tower, in a tone of calm conviction; ‘‘and so are
women out of ten. It is our fallen nature.” ie

“And yet you say you would marry him, poor as he

“I don’t say positively that I would; I might. Be-
sides, his brother will never marry, and there is a good
prospect of his dying before long. He isa x
cate creature, who is always damaging himself with
scientific experiments,” said Miss Towe?, naivel:

“ George has a very fair chance~—Oh, how do you do,
Captain Browne! If you search about in the dark oD
the other side of the fireplace, you will find Miss How.
ard somewhere in an arm-chair. She will be
to see you, if she is awake; but we have been borin
one another so exquisitely for the last hour, that Iam
not quite sure whether she has not dropped into a re-
freshing slumber. is
‘No, really?” said the gallant plunger whose en-
trance had caused this sudden interruption to Miss
Towers’s confidences. ‘How do you do, Miss Howard?
Upon my word now, I shouldn’t have thought it would —
have been possible to be bored in the society of either -
of you.” ih

And then, having got through what he conceived to
be a neat speech, ne Browne sat down, pulled out
his wristbands, stroked his mustache, and prepared to
be entertained—conversation not being his strong —

point. ’
Some time later, when both her visitors had de-
, Linda walked slowly into her bedroom, locking
the door behind her, and sunk into a chair beside the
newly-lighted fire, with a sigh of exhaustion. She
had had to put astrong restraint upon herself for two
hours or more, and now that it was removed, her

 
     
     
     
     
      
    
  

    
 
      
  

    
   

  
   
   

 
  
   
         
      
      
 
     
   
  

 
 
  
         
      
       
      
   
   

      

    
    
     
     
        
   
         
   

   
  

    
  

    
  

   
    
  

    
   
   
  

 
  
  
 

       
     
        
  

   
 
  

  
 
  
  

 
 
 
          
  
  

  
   
    
       
     

 
   
    

     
  

  
  

  
 

HEAPS OF MONEY.

25

 

 

“T believe you are right, Lord Keswick,” she said,
with a smile; ‘there are certain things: which.one
niust grin and bear—or bear without grinning, and cer-
tainly without crying out: No one has aright (to ob-
trude.nis personal grievances upon his tellow-creatures,
That is yuur theury, ism't it?” ;

“On, [don’t knew that,” said the young man,‘ My
fellow-vreatures oitem bore me. most confuundedly; so

why stoalin’t I give them a/ turn, if I feel inclined? |

Taat isit whatImean. All I think is that, om per-
fectly s lash ground, it is:more sensible to,get what
enjvym-:ut you can out of live than to go about
groanin.s.” i

“You nave a wisdom beyond your years, Lord Kes-
wick,” said Linda, gravely. “‘I quite agree with what
you say; and lam going to try and enjoy life henceforth
to the best of my ability. How should you advise me
to set about it?”

Lord Kuswick was at no loss to find a string of amuse-
ments suited to a lady of large means, He suggested,
in turn, daneing, the opera, Ascot, yachting and riding
in the Row (in those days polo; rinking, and lawn-tennis
lay still concealed inthe bosom of futurity)—and had
s0 Much to say upon each of theso topics that he was
not at the end of his list when Lady Grassmere rose
Slowly from her chair.

“That's a very nice little girl, Charlie,” remarked
Lora Keswick’s stout uncle, as soon as the ladies had
left the room.

“Very,” answered Lord Keswick, shortly, filling his
plate with strawberries.. ‘‘You have heard all about
the Guineas, of course.”

“I saw the telegram in the club. Were you on
Vauban ?”

“Backed him for a place ever so long ago,” re-
plied the young man. “Wish I’d backed him to
win, this morning, but I fancied he looked a bit over-
trained.”

“Now, Charlie,” said the fat man, pouring himself
out a glass of claret, ‘you're one of the knowing
ones; can’t you put me on a good thing for the
Derby ?”’

“Well, I’M tell you what,’’ said Lord Keswick, draw-
ing his chair nearer to that of his interrogator, and
speaking in a low confidential voice, “I can tell you
of a real good place investment. From what I heard
to-day, 1 can name.a horse that’s bownd to be in the
first three, if nothing happens to him between this
and then; and he’s a horse you can get a very good
price about, too.” And;so forth, and so forth.

In this way Linda escaped further comment among
the gentlemen.

Meanwhile she was receiying a great deal of flatter-
ing attention up-Stairs in the drawing-room. All the
jadies there assembled were in some way related to
or connected with ofe another, and all were benevo-
lently interested in poor “ Charlie's’ welfare. It was
well known to them that thé family finances required
recruiting, that this.end must be achieved in» some
way or another, and if through the medium of a quiet,
lady-like, and well dressed girl, why so much the bet-
ter—and so much thegreater reason for civility to a
young person who had the good taste to be a pleasing
Object tothe eye as well as a necessary accompaniment
to the required specie.

One by one, each of these excellent dames took ‘an
opportunity of saying something kind to the little
heiress; all promised to’call upon her, and hoped to see
her at their next ball. I do not say they would have
been rude to her, or evén that ‘they would have left
her alone with a photograph-book in a corner, if she
had been poor and insignificant; but it is certain that,
in the latter case, they would never have thought of
calling upon her,. They had nothing personally to gain
by Miss Howard's marriage with their cousin, nor could
their motives for showing her attention be. properly
called mercenary. In acting as they did, they simply
obeyed the natural impulse which prevails among all
classes and estates of mankind, bidding them bowdown
below wealth, which is one form of power, as genius,
beauty, and rank are others.

Linda, perfectly understanding this, was neither un-
duly elated nor foolishly indignant at the prominent
position assigned to her. It was nothing more than
she had always been led to expect ; and it was some
comfort to her,in her present rather despondent state,
to find-that, if a large fortune is powerless ‘to bestow
happiness, it is at least able to throw open the gates of
society.

It wag not Lord Keswick’s usual habit, when he
dined at his father’s house, to show himself in the
drawing-room after dinner ; and that he departed from
his ordinary custom on this particular occasion was
hailed by his watchful mother as an auspicious omen.
Her Joy was increased when she saw him immediately
seek out Miss Howard, and, aftera few minutes of con-
versation, retire with her to a distant part ol the room,
upon the evidently shallow pretext of showing her a
portfolio of old engravings, in which both of them ap-
peared to become speedily engrossed. Lord Grassmere’s
lined and anxious visage, too, relaxed at this pleasing
sight, while Mr. Howard was radiant with sherry and
complacency.

So here we have an honest and well-meaning young
man driven to simulate an affection which he does not
feel, in the hope of securing a wife with an income suf-
ficient to defray the cost of his amusements ; a father, a
mother, and a@ chorus of affectionate relations egging
him on towards the accomplishment of his clumsy
fraud ; and another father, who, understanding the
whole scheme, is yet ready and willing that his only
daughter shall play her partin it, and sacrifice herself,
her liberty, and her future, in order that she may,
sonie day, have the right to style herself Countess of
Grassmere.

There is nothing especially novel in this spectacle ;
nor isitan unexampled phonomenon—though it must
forever remain a queer one—that none of these people
ghould ave imagined themselves to be aiding and abet-

 

ting in ‘the commission of a dishonoreble action, or
doubted for a moment but that their conduct was in
harmony with a high moral standard. Yet, in the
course of his duties as a magistrate, Lord. Grassmere
must have had many a poor rogue brought up before
him, charged with obtaining money under false pre-
tenses; and I dare say that his lordship would not
have allowed such a miscreant to slink away to the just
punishment in store for him without some stern and
appropriate comments upon the enormity of his of-
tence.

CHAPTER XYI.
LINDA BECOMES KNOWN TO THE WORLD.

Lrxpa’s admission into fashionable society was now
an accomptished fact. From the day of Lady Grass<
mere’s dinner, visits and invitations poured in upon
her with unfailing regularity and when, a few weeks
later, Lady Sturdham arrived in’ London, she found
that she had been forestalled in her amiable intention
of introducing her niece into exclusive circles.

This discovery occasioned Lady Sturdham some pas-
sing irritation; for she thought that Lady Grassmere's
conduct in the matter had been slightly precipitate
and unceremonious, and she’ had looked forward, not
without secret pleasure, to the importance of having a
well-dowered debutante on her hands to establish; but,
as a set-off to this disappointment, there was the relief
of being freed from the troublesome duties and respon-
sibilities of a chaperon; and, whatever might be thought
of Lady Grassmere in a private and personal capacity,
the loftiness of her social position was beyond dispute.
No girl could desire to enter the world under more un-
exceptionable protection; nor could any lady in Eng-
land feel otherwise than honored by au offer of marri+
age from Lord Keswick. Such was the deliberate opin-
ion of Lady Sturdham, a virtuous; charitable, and, upon
the whole, unworldly woman; and if it be an honor per
se to be admitted into intimacy by persons of a higher
rank than your own, without regard to the causes by
which such admission may have been brought about,
then, no doubt, herjudgment was justified.

“Uncle Jim,” however was less amenable to reason,
and was inclined to be very wrathful when the projected
alliance, and the prompt measures which had been
taken with a view thereto, were first disclosed to him.

“Upon my word, that womanis the coolest hand I
ever met with!’ he exclaimed. “What! go and call
upon a total stranger, without rhyme or reason, and
say, ‘Oh, I hear you have got a large fortune; my son
happens to be in want of an article of that kind; would
you be so obliging as to let him have the refusal of it ?’
I never heard of such a thing in my life! What is’ the
world coming to?”

“Oh, but, James,” interposed Lady Sturdham, depre-
catingly, “she did not put it like that. In fact, Ddon’t
think Linda has been spoken to on the subject at
all.”

“My dear Sclina, however it was put, it was a very
great piece of impertinence} and I shall take care to
put Linda on lier guard against the Grassmeresand-any
other fortune-hunters.” ,

“Of. course, James, I should not think of encouraging
a match which you disapproved of,” suid) Lady Sturd-
ham, submissively; ‘ only I do think the poor child
ought to be married, and taken away from that terrible
old father of hers as soon as possible. It nrust be so
very bad for her to live with him.”

«She has lived with him all her’ life, and it doesn’t
seem to have done her any great harm as yet,’’ remarked
Lord Sturdham.

“But I don’t think he can always have been as
bad ashe is now. And, then he has such: dreadful
friends; ‘You remember that Mrs. Williams, and her
daughters at Brighton—and no doubt there are others.
If Linda is lett to him, I feel sure heowill marry her to
some horrid low man whom we should not ‘be able to
acknowledge. Lord Keswick is at least a gentleman,
and I don’t think you can call him exactly a fortune-
hunter. I hope you will not set Linda against him be-
fore you haye thought it all over alittle. They tellme
he is really a very nicd young man, and that he has
never got into any serious michief.”

“He has never done any serious good that [know of,”’
growled Lord Sturdham, ‘‘ However, it is not Lord
Keswick whom T object to, but the way.in which his
people have behaved—as though the girl's wishes and
happiness were of no importance at all.”

“ Girls so seldom know what is for their own. happi-
news,” sighed Lady Sturdham, ‘But if she did wish it
you would not object then, James?’

“My objecting would not make much difference, I
suppose ; I have no authority over Linda. But Ishould
hope that her own good sense would, keep her from
marrying aman whois so evidently in loye with her
money; and not with herself.” :

«J think you are too hard upon him, James, I do in-
deed,’’ said Lady Sturdham, roused by opposition into
championship of Lord Keswick, whom she had not seen
half a dozen times in her life, and knew hardly anything
about. “It would be absurd to pretend that he is in-
different to money—nobody is that; but he may love
Linda for her own sakeas well; and, from all’ I have
heard of him,I fancy he wiil make a good husband.”

Lord Sturdham had a gool deal to say in reply ; but
the upshot of it all was that he came round, as usual, to
his wife’s way of thinking—in so far, at least, as that he
was prevailed upon to adopt a neutral attitude, and
promised that, if he would do nothing to further the
scheme under consideration, he would, at all events, ab-
stain from thwarting it. So that Lady Sturdham, hap-
pening to meet Lady Grassmere at a dinner party the
next evening, was able to announce that, “James quite
approves of our little plan, and hopeg it may turn out
suceessfully.”’ To which the other conspirator, with a
languidly gracious bead of her head, replied that she was

charmed to hear it, -

“Tam suré Miss Howard will be glad to have her
uncle’s approyal if the match ever does come off,’’ she
said, ‘though I believeshe isentirely her own mistress.
Nothing is settled as yet, you know, dear Lady Sturd-
ham ;,and perhaps, for the present, it would be as well
not to talk about it, don’t you think so?’’

For Lady Grassmere was now tolerably confident of at-
taining herend, and felt herself ina position to dispense
with extraneous aid.

Peace and contentment reigned in the breast of that
fond mother, and, reacting through her upon her
weary and harassed lord, made the big house in Bel-
grave Square a pleasanter place to visit at than it had
been for some years past. For Lord Keswick had been
pleased to declare himself entirely satisfied with the
bride selected for him, and had committed himself toa
distinct promise that he would enter into a formal en-
gagement with her before the expiration of the season.
The possibility of his offer being declined had scarcely
entered into his calculations ; not because he was in
any degree acoxcomb, but so prosaic an affair as mar-
riage had always been represented to him as an ar-
rangement concluded between two worldly-wise per-
sons for their common advantage; and, so far as
he had given the subject a thought, he honestly be-
lieved that his title and prospects were a fair set-off
against Miss “Howard’s wealth. That heiresses were
occasionally perverse, and chose to throw away their
chance of using a coronet on their note-paper and on
the panels oftheir carriages, his own experience had
taught him ; but these, He imagined, were very excep-
tional persons; and, indeed, there seemed to be no
ground for anticipating any such diappointment in the
present case. Seeing that Miss Howard was constantly
with his mother, and she had made friends with his
sisters, and seemed kindly disposed towards himself,
he very naturally concluded that she understood and
approyed of the destiny marked out for her; and, sé-
cure in this conviction, he awaited, with tranquil res-
ignation, the final sealing of his doom.

Lady Grassmere, while sharing her son’s confidence
as to ultimate results, would yet fain haye made assur-
ance doubly sure by getting the preliminary form of
proposal and acceptance over without further delay ;

ut bere Lord Keswick proved rercalcitrant. A few
more weeks of liberty, he said, he must and would
have; and the countess did not care to overdrive a will-
ing horse. A gold-digger who has once got firm hold
of anugget may take his own time abont converting
his treasure into coin of the realm; and Lady Grass-
mere was of opinion that her nugget was now secure.
When her husband, who was growing a trifle testy
and querulous under the pressure of increasing years,
worries, and embarrasments, asked her, one day, why
the dickens. she didn’t get the thing settled and done
with she replied, with a calm trustfulness in the integ-
rity of human nature which could hardly have been
expected from.a lady of her experience, that no girl
could accept the kindness which Miss Howard had ac-
cepted from her, and then leave her benetactress in the
lurch.

. Tt is agenerally understood thing,” said her lady-
ship, “that the marriage is to take place; and though
ot course there has been. no formal announcement, I
look upon the thing as virtually settled.”

It must be admitted that Linda had innocently given
some foundation for the impression,.which Lady Grass-
mere had truly stated to be prevalent aniong her ac-
quaintances. Sle had no intention whatever of marry-
ing Lord Keswick, and therefore she would doubtless
have acted more wisely had she shown herself less
often in public under his mother’s wing. She sat be-
side Lady Grassmere in ballrooms; she was constantly
seen with her in the Park; she accompanied her to
concerts and botanical fetes, and such other public
resorts as were frequented by ladies in the days. when
Prince's and Hurlingham were not; and wherever she
went Lord Keswick, who had not hitherto fayored so-
ciety with.a large share, of his patronage,- was to be
seenat herelbow. The little world in which Linda’s
lot was at this time cast drew its own inferences, and
remarked, in its good-natured way, that the heiress
wasmaking the running uncommonly strong; and
thus did Linda secure for herself not only the outlook
of eternal hatredon the part of the whole Grassmere
clan—which must needs follow upon her rejection of
Lord Keswick’s suit—but likewise the laughing commis-
eration of, outsiders atthe failure of her supposed de-
sign.

Of.all this, however, she suspected nothing. Her life
at this time was not particularly happy; but it was
busy, full of excitement, novelty and fatigue, and, by |
virtue of these attributes, in a greater measure exempt
from anxious thought, That Lord Keswick would sooner
or later ask her to be his wife, Linda could not but be
aware; but she had not troubled herself with specula-
tionsas to the probable effect of her refusal upon him or
his relatives, well knowing that, in the eyes of them all,
she was but a necessary, and pesnene troublesome, ap-
pendage to her.fortune. She had become quite accus-
tomed to declining matrimonial offers now, and had
ceased to believe in the phenomenof of a broken
heart.

If, indeed, Linda had had time and tnclination for
worrying herself, troubles less remote than these were
not wanting to her. The young heiress found herself
confronted every day with a crop of small annoyances
—vyexations too numerous and too trivial to be recorded
here, and which, if set down, would seem absurdly
slight, but which were not the easier to bear by reason
of their pettiness. Pitiful quarrels between Mr. How-
ard and the servants; references to her, as mistress of
the house, by one or other of the disputants, making
her feel keenly the falseness of her position; unpleasant
interviews with Mr, Deane, who, in his anxiety to pro-
tect his young charge from imposition, was sometimes
disposed to usurp rather more of the functions of a

uardian than he was entitled to; irrepressible repeti-

 

ions of gossip from the servant's hall, retailed by her
  

26

 

HEAPS OF MONEY.

 

 

maid or the housekeeper—such were some of the small
burdens which were heaped daily upon Linda’s shoul-
ders, and which at first made her thoroughly miser-
able.» 4 { } ack ck
But as time went on, she learned to put up with the
tiny concomitant stings of riches, as she had formerly
learned to support those of poverty—-nly the respon-
sibility laid upon her in the new station of life seemed
heavier than; it had been in. the old. She had an im-
pression that she ought to be doing some good with
her money; but she knew not how fo set about this,
nor had she anyone to advise her in the matter.. Lady
Sturdbam, to whom she mentioned her wish, responded
by eagerly producing a. list of various charities, by
means of which it appeared: that all sorts of odd, out-of
the-way classes of humanity. wére taken in hand and
saved from destitution; and to these Linda had, for the
time, to.content herself by subscribing, though so easy
and simple a method of benevolence hardly satisfied
her, aspirations. In some quieter, future time, she
thought, she would give the subject more considera-
tion, and try to discover some way of making herself
useful in the world, .For the present,it.seemed best to
drift on with the stream of fashionable life;. to hear, see
and énjoy as much, and to think as. little, as possible,
since all reflection, arpeared to be more or less fraught
with bitterness, : 4 : :
_ So Linda, under the,competent guidance of Lady
Grassmere,. entered the very best of London society;
was presented at Court; was subsequently duly im-
pressed. ny: the refinements of modern civilization as
exhibited by the. guests atone of her majesty’s state
balls; was introduced to statesmen and great noble-
men, and, ambassadors and financiers; ,saw many, fa-
mous men and one or,two well dressed women; received
numerous. proposals, and acquired some startling ex-
periences of the baser side of human nature. ; :
A wholesome fear of being accused of exaggeration re-
strains the chronicler of, Linda's career from entering
into. particulars as to the number, rank, and aye of
those who at this time entreated ler to share their lot,
and as to the duration of acquaintanceship which they
considered Eee before making’ their flattering
ropositions. But if perchancé he have the honor to
Tither among his readers a bona fide eighteen-thou-

sand-a-year heiress, he would respectfully ask that lady |

whether exaggeration in such a matter be in trutha
Soe costae Fi
“ It will, at all events, be readily believed that Miss
Howard had no lack of suitors during her first season ;
and doubtless she would have had'even more if it had
not been so palpably evident that she was destined to
espouse Lord Keswick, The young man did his court-
ing to the best of his ability, riding with Linda and his
sisters in’ the Row, dancing with the former two or
‘three times in the course of an’ evéning, and sending
her bouquets whenever his servant, to whom he h
intru this part of the business, did not forget the
commission. Further than this a certain obstinate
‘honesty of character forbade him to go; and Linda
liked him the better because, after the first evening, he
“never assumed the semblance of a lover-like manner in
addressing her.

One of the many unwilling extravagances into which
El Lord Grassmere was annually coerced by the mere
force of immemorial custom was the hiring of a house
at Sunninghill for the Ascot race-week, and the fillin
of the same with his friends and those of his wife an
sons. It was an expensive business, not to be compen-
sated for by any hap-hazard betting upon the course,
-and ind more often worsened than improved by
such endeavors ; but to abandon it required: an effort
‘of will greater than his lordship felt equal to; so, in
this, as in many other matters, he went:on in the old

way, looking principally, in these latter times, to Miss
Howard as to the life-buoy thrown him by Providence
as a means of escape from the rising waves of embarass-

ment with which he feebly battled. aes
_ It need hardly be said that the young’ lady upon
_ whose caprice such momentous issues depended was
among the gee invited to partake of Lord’ Grass-
re’s io ality on the occasion of the Ascot meeting
_ to which the course of this history has now brought us.
"Nor could Mr. Howard be with propriety excluded
from the list, though Lord Grassmere had already de-
‘vel avery strong antipathy towards that urbane
gon eman—a feeling which, it may be mentioned, to
his credit, was neéither perceived nor reciprocated,
_.{{Grassmere and I always get on well together,” Mr.
- Howard would remark to any of his club acquaintances
“who cared to listen to such Piet, intelligence.
“Other people find him dull and silent’; but the truth
is there isn’t a better fellow going, if you take’ him the
ght way. His liver is all wrong—that's what's the
- matter with him—and he wants cheering wp and rous-
ing. Very often I go and look him up, and find hint as
‘ as ditch-water, and I can assure tee before I have
been with him five minutes, he is walking up and down
the room roaring with laughter.” te 4 LW Ob
_ 80 Mr. Howard went down to Ascot, and enjoyed him-
self as a man must needs do who believes’ that he is
~ conferring a benefit upon his fellow creatures while in
ursuit of his own amusement, Linda, too, waw glad
vie e for a time from the heat and noise and smoke

° mn. .

For everything there is a season; and in all countries

_ except our own, the season far dancing and feasting and
the wearing of gay and uncomfortable apparel is the
winter, The English usage, which finds its justification
_in the fact that, all things considered, it would be more

_ . inconvenient for the moneyed classes to be in London

during the cold than auriag the warm months, may
well appear to a stranger to be a preverse waste of the
small ampunt of fine weather with which we are favored
e8@, + Linda, who had heard the nightin-
sing,in the Oascine, on starry May nights, and had

. Satin the aegis ey gixien ane be aaTeS ae ‘Villa
a ate while thesleepy hum of the city beyond came
faintly through the zis air, found Kensington Gar-

 

dens, with its nurse-maids’ and perambulators and
smoke-grimed trees, a poor substitute for those pleas-
ant foreigh retreats, and longed for a glimpse of the
green Saglish landscape of which she had heard so
much, but with which she had not as yet been permit-
ted to make any personal aqcuaintance.

Moreover, she had a great curiosity to see.a race;
and she was assured on all hands that she could not
make a better beginning than by going to Ascot.” Cer-
tain persons whom circumstances prevent fromi réach-
ing the course by other means than those afforded them
by nature and theSouth-Western Railway Company—
who too often fail to meet with the luncheon they have
aright to expect at the hands of their friends, and are
fain to fight for a stale sandwich and a nauseous, tepid
drink in the grand stand—who, after a breathless run
along a dusty road; are hustled into a third-class.car-
riage, and politely told, that, they are lucky to get.a
place in the train,at all—such. persons, I say, may, as
time goes on, have, formed their own opinion as to the
amount of enjoyment derivable from a visit to the royal
race-course on the Cup-day;. but, with, that class of so-
ciety we are not.concerned, Our heroine has soared to
a height where such discomforts as these are unknown;
she will. be) driven toithe course every morning on the
box-seat of Lord Keswick’'s drag, or in an open carriage,
as her fancy may dictate; upon her arrival she can take
her choice between remaining on the top.of the drag,
and crossing the course to, Lady Grassmere’sgbox; she
will have as luxurious a repast set before her as if she
were at a party in London; she will see every race,
from start to finish, without any trouble, and she will
returm in the evening without having had a moment of
annoyance from heat, dust, or crowd. ‘Truly there are
times when wealth has its conspicuous advantages.

Life at Lord Grassmere’s temporary cesidence at Sun-
ninghill had, among. other charms, that of a perfect and
unfettered independence, . Neither host nor, hostess
made any attempt whatsoever at entertaining their
guests; they were far. too exalted personayes for that,
They simply intimated to such members of their house-
hold as it concerned-that a certain mumpber. of people
would bein the house during the Ascot week, and there
was an end of the matter. Breakfast was to be had at
any hour in the morning at which it might be required ;
carriages were provided for those who might wish to
proceed to the races afterward ; butno one was obliged
or expected to appear at any given moment or place,
nor was he in the least likely to be missed if he chose
to absent himself. In the afternoon there were croquet
and Aunt Sallie in the garden; dinner took place at
eight or half past, andthe day concluded with billiards
and cards, or tea and gossip, according to the taste’and
sex of the visitor. f

Linda at the races was like achild at a pantomime, and
her delight at the scene would have been a treat to
Lord Sturdham if he could have witnessed it. Not that
the sport interested her greatly. She understood very
little about that, and cared less. The horses seemed to
her tomove much more slowly than she had expected ;
each of them looked very like the other, exceptfor a
shade of difference in color ; she could never make out
which had won the race, nor whether he had won easily
or not; nor was she any the wiser when the name of the
winner was announced.. .

But she never wearied of studying the vast and varied
human concourse which, actuated by divers, motives,
is drawn together, every month of June, upon the
Berkshire heath. The scarlet liveries and clumsy state
carriages of the royal procession ; the Master of the
Buckhoundsin all his glory ; the crowds of fashionable
ladies, and ladies who wished to be thought fashionable;
the long line of coaches and landaus and wagonettes,
and every other description of vebicle, drawn. up on the
opposite side of the course ; the yociferous betting
men, in their eccentric costumes ; the British public,
in its hideous holiday garb; Mr. Howard,in a gray
frock-coat and a white hat, darting busily in and out

}among the book-makers; Lord Grassmere standing, as

usual, apart, and piling the top of his pencil-case in
frowning silence; Mrs, Williams and her daughters,
hot and good humored, waving their plump hands in
undisguised glee at- seccanyrsag cere young friend in
such high company—all this Linda looked out upon
from her cool corner, in Lady .Grassmere’s box, and
found fully as diverting as any play. :

She was ‘free to gaze her fill without any fear of inter-
ruption; for Lady Grassmere was by nature an in-
tensely indolent woman, and did not care about. mak-
ing conversation for the benefit of li tle girls, unless
there were'some distinct advantage to be gained by doing
so. “One need not be upon terms of ceremony with
one’s daughter-in-law,” thought her ladyship, when,
during an interval in a flirtation with one of her middle-

ved admirers, shé noticed Linda sitting silent and
along. ‘It is Charlie’s business to amuse her now ; I
have done my part.’’ Lvs ;

Lord Keswick was_ conscientiously doing his part
also; aud not doing it'badly, The scene being a race
course, if was not tos be expected that he should
spend the day at Miss Howard's elbow, to the detri-
ment of his own affairs, which required constant
idea supervision; but, whenever he found ‘time,

e.ran up to his mother’s box, and stationed him-
self behind Linda’s chair, The task was not altogether
a distasteful one to him. He had now quite made
up his mind that, since marry he must, he would far
rather marry Linda Howard than anybody else; and
though he was not in the least in love with her, he
was not insensible to her beauty, nor unaware that, as
his wife, she would do him infinitely more credit than
Miss Guldenthaler could ever have done. Her pro-
found ignorance of all matters connected with racing,
which in a man would have appeared to him nothing
less than despicable, render er, if anything, rather
more attractive in his eyes. Imagine an artist opening
the mind of the lady of his choice to appreciate the
genius of Cimabue, Giotto, and Perugino, or a musician
explaining to his intended bride thé latent beauties

 

of Herr Wagner’s most bewildering: passages. With
little: lessenthusiasm: did Lord Keawick expound to
Linda the noble pedigree of Bonbon. by Shooting-star
from Toffee by Greased Light y and aesneumtraied, in
the clearest manner that he,and he alone, could win
the Gold Cup.

“The favorite is’nt in it, Miss Howard,” said he, earn-
estly.. “Don’t you believe what people say, but
Saar word for it, and back Bonbon for all you're
worth.”

“Have you backed him for all you areworth?” Linda
asked.

“That wouldn’t be very much,” repiied Lord Kes-
wick, composedly. “No, I. haven’t—not yet. I've
taken seven ponies to one about him ; but I shall put
on a little more presently, I'dare say, as soon as I have
seen aman whoought to be able to tell me whether it’s.
acertainty. By-the-bye, you haven’t been in the pad-
dock yet, have you? Come alongand see them. before
they start, and I'll get my tip at the same time,”

Linda, not being quite sure what the paddock was,
or whether it was a proper place for ladies to visit,
asked permission of Lady Grassmere, who answered: .

*Oh yes, go, by all means, if you don’t mind being
grilled.” bal tlw i fs stb de dog

So she went. Lord Keswick piloted her. past the
hubbub of the’ving and up the!course, which was now
thronged with loungers, till they reathedasmall gate
in a park-paling guarded by a couple of, policemen.
Passing through this, Linda found herself in a crowd
scarcely less dense thau'that whichshe had just quit-
ted. A few ladies were to be seem hereand there; but
tall hats were’in.@ large majority; and under each hat
was an eager pair of eyes anxiously fixed upon. the
string of horses: which weré ‘being’ slowly led .past
for Faeyr je previous to the great race of the
week. : * ht ?

Lord Keswick recognized them all, and detailed their
names and achievements to Linda’as ‘they approached.
There was the winner of the last year’s Leger ; yonde
was the three-year-old who had run such a good secor
for the Derby of the present year, and who, as some
people ae might add the Ascot Cup to the large
collection of racing trophies which already graced his
owner's'sideboard. ‘That white-faced, chestnut was the
famous Belisarius whom the prophets had. pronounced
to be invincible; and who had been a hot; favorite for
the forthcoming contest.

‘““Here’s one that can show: him the, way home,
though,” said Lord Keswick, as a great black horse
came sidling to the front, and lashed out once or twice
with a freedom which caused a precipitate backward
moyement on the part of the by-standers. ‘ That’s
Bonbon ; and.as far as looks go, I think you'll admit
there ain’t much fault, to be found with him.”

“I shouldn’tlike to haye to ride him,” was Linda’s.
comment upon the appearance of this fiery steed.

«Oh, he’s all right,” said Lord Keswick; ‘he only
wants alittle humoring. If they can only get a good
start, you'll see ’’—— ; q

He broke off, to catch by the elbow alittle smooth-
shaven, oldish man, in. very tight clothes, who was
hurrying by. wa
ti 5 Well, Wright,” said he, “are you going to pull

off?” 1

“We ought to, my lord,’”’ answered the man, pushing
his hat off his forehead, and glancing to right and left
with sharp, beady eyes. ‘Idon’t see nothink here to
beat us.”

«Then you'd advise me to get on it, eh?”

“I don’t advise nothing nor nobody, my lord—
couldn’t do it with a nervous horse, and such a course
as this here; but I'll go so furas to say this—I believe
we must win, bar accidents,’”’ :

“TI. don’t quite know what to make of that,” solilo-
quized Lord Keswick, as his oracular adviser bustled
away. “ Wright is such a deuced cautious old bird.
That was Wright,”’ he added, explanatorily, to Linda—
“the father of theman who is to ride Bonbon. He
was a famous jockey himself in his day, and he’s pretty
wide-awake. I almost think I'll risk it: No, I won’t
either—I’ll leave it to you. You tell me whether to go
a big thing on Bonbon or not, and I'll abide by what
you say.” ‘ = s

“How can I possibly tell you ?” said Linda, laughing.
“T know nothing whatever about. it.” oe

“Of course not. It’s only for luck, don’t you see ?—
uke tossing up. Now, then; yes or no—which is it to

o?” L t

« Well—yes |”’ said Linda; and_then immediately re-
pented of her decision. ‘*No—I think, ‘after’ all, I
would rather say no,” she concluded: ; .

“It won’t do,” said Lord Keswick; “ second thoughts
arealways wrong. Besides, I am quite sure your in-
stinct. made you say. yes against your will—which
shows I am in for alittle bit of luck.. Now,ifyou don’t
mind, we’ll be off. I shall only just haye time to get
this thing on.” _ ie ,

‘The course was already being cleared when they
emerged; and they were hastening back over the dusty
brown grass, when Linda was startled by a smart tap on
her shoulder from the handle of a parasol, and, turning
round, found herself face to face with Ada Tower.

Miss Tower, always astriking figure, had surpassed
herself in brilliancy this sunny June day; A costume,
fresh from the hands of the great M. Worth, exhibited to

perfection the symmetrical lines of her stately person;~

a bonnet, the price of which must have made a- formid-
able breach in her quarter’s allowance, crowned her
rippling golden locks; a delicate and most artistic bloom
showed itself upon ‘her fair cheeks, and her eyes
sparkled with nrerriment and joy and good-will towards
all mankind. | ey,

“My dear Linda,” cried she, with great warmth,‘ how
delighted Iam to see you! I have been so fearfully
busy ever since ‘we came to town) or I should have
found you out before this. I haveever so many s
to talk to you about. Mamma ison that drag over $

do come'and be introduced to her, and stay till a:

 

|
|
}
|
|
|
|
|

 

 

|
}

 

 

 

 
nal

HEAPS OF MONEY.

ai

 

 

mind, now ; that, it shall, be as» you, wish, and,
dare it will all turn out happily.. At, all, events,
it. isa good, thing that we start; without any.,mis-
understanding, and that neither of us will expect any-
thing more than friendliness and perhaps occasional
forbearance from, the other. As wé shall have plenty
of monéy, we shall: not be obliged to see too much of
one another. “Lfancy it is livingin asmall house that
causes a good many of the quarrels between married
People. :

“T suppose: I shall see you at the duchess’s. We
can have.a talk then,if it is ‘necessary’; but I.don’t
know that: there is anything more to be said. Believe
me'lverytruly yours,

“Lrnpa Howarp.”

Linda read over this artless composition with some
satisfaction. It appeared to her to be business-like and
to the point, and tovexpress: happily the complete in-
difference which she felt towards her suitor, and which
she thought he ought to be fully made aware of.
But Lord Keswick smiled lightly when, he perused it,
and muttered under his breath, ‘‘Poor little girl!’
Ho fancied that she had been a trifle piqued by his
candor, and that a slight flavor of romance thrown into
his wooing would not haye displeased her so much as
her words seemed, to.imply. But there..was time
enough yet for that kind of thing, he said,to himself,
as he thrust Linda’s note into his pocket, and set to
work with a fine appetite upon his, deviled kidneys.
Hoe was in astate of high good-humor and self-satisfac-
tion. He lad successfully accomplished his appointed
task, and; that in a most.direct, and honorable manner.
He had gained a charming wife and handsome fortune,
and it, now,only. remained for him. to hasten to Bel-
grave Square, and receive the blessing of his affectionate
and grateful parents.

The amount of gratification experienced by various
deserving pérsons upon the announcement of Lord Kes-
wick’s' engagement should have gone far towards con-
soling the betrothed couple for what both of them per-
haps. Gonsidéredas’in some sort a personal sacrifice.
‘There was joy in the house of Williams and thankful-
mess in the house of Grassmere. Lady Sturdham, in
her gladness went rectny ey off to Hunt & Roskell’s
and purchased a beautiful pearl necklace, which she
dispatched ‘to ‘her dear Linda, “swith fond love’and
every good wish from her old Auntie.’’ As for Mr.
Howard, he tripped down to his elubowith the light
heart? and buoyant mien of youth; and chancing to
meet Mr. Deane at the’ top of St.. James's Street, ‘he
confided, to, him the good.news, clapping him, upon
the shoulder, with a force and joviality which greatly
discomposed that very respectable gentleman.

“Come and dine with us, Deane, my boy,’’ said, the
proud father, ‘and we'll drink happiness to the young
couple before you set to work upon your confounded
perchments and settlements. I am thoroughly satis-

ed with the match, Deane—thoroughly satisfied.” _

“ And so, I hope, is Miss Howard,” Mr, Deane replied.
“Whatever makes her happy will make her friends
happy too, Iam sure.” :

As far as apperances went, there was no reason’ to
doubt Miss Howard’s happiness. At Lady Grassmere's
ball, which took place a few days after the engagement
had been publicly announced, it was generally observed
that the young heiress waslooking, even prettier than
usual, and that she talked, danced, and laughed with
more animation than she generally exhibited. To be
sure, she did not seem to haye much to say to her fiance,
nor he toher ;. but that might reasonably be attributed
to anatural feeling of modesty; and, as Lady, Sturd-
ham remarked,,‘‘dear Linda was never of an over-de-
amonstrative turn.”

CHAPTER. XIX.
AT SOUTHAMPTON.

A FIN schooner-yacht was Pee merrily across
the blue' dancing wayes of the Solent, heeling over un-
der a fresh westerly breeze, which sent her on her way
at a good’ niné knots an hour. “There were only three
people besides the hélmsman in the after-part of the
‘vessel: an elderly gentleman, in elaborately correct
yachting Costume, who, with his legs very wide apart,
and his hands in the pockets of his jacket, was endeay-
oring'to look as if he was qnite: aécustomed to ‘balanc-
ing, himself, upon; a heaving slope as steep as’ the
root ‘of a:-house ;» a fair-complexidned'young man, wlio
was lying tull-length wpon the white deck, face down:
ward, perusing a. sporting paper ; anda young girl,who
had established herself upon.a pile of rugs, and .cush=
ions in the stern, and was dreamily watching the fly-
ing water as if dashed from thé side anditoamed away to
leeward...

The yachtwas the Swallow; a two-hundred-ton schoon-
er, the property of Lord Grassmere, who, having gone
in for nautical persuits,in his youth, as he had done for
most. expensive amusements, had kept on hig yacht
long after he had ceased to care about the.sea,, just, as
he had continued to entertain his friends at Ascot long
after their society. had become. a heayy, burden to him,
and for equally good reasons.

The, London season was a thing of the-past;. the
Goodwood races were over, and so also was the Squad-
ron regatta, from which the Swallow was mow return-
ing. Lora and Lady Grassmere were at Homburg, re-
cruiting their jaded systems by a course of mineral
waters andearly hours ; aud thus it. had come about
that Lord Keswick, haying his father’s yacht at his dis-
posal, had _preyailed on Miss Howard to rum down to

owes with him for a week, taking her father with her
to play propriety. {

at week was the pleasantest that had fallen toLinda’s
lot since she had become a rich, young woman. e
frost bracing sea-air did her good, and seemed to blow

 

away all the worries and troubles that had vexed her
little head so terribly.of late.. There were no fine la-
dies, no unmanageable servants, and no morning visi-
tors on board the trim ship that lay at anchor off Cowes,
and rose and fell so gently and slumberously with, the
slow swell of the summer sea; and if there was an. un-
ayoidable jiqnce there, he was the most accommodating
and considerate of jiances, and never thought.of exer-
cising the authority or claiming the privileges which,
as some people might haye thought, belonged to -his
position.

It was a delightful, lazy time; a brief—only too brief
—parenthesis, during which the past and the future
might be altogether pushed out of one’s life and all
disturbing thoughts dismissed. A time when. present
existence, and blue sky and sea, and sunshine and briny
breezes were enough, and when idleness passed away
the hours as easily, as, and far more agreeably than, oc-
cupation. Every day the racing yachts spread their
great white wings and came tearing past the Swallow as
she lay at anchor, looking, to inexperienced eyes, as if
the smallest additional. puff of wind, must inevitably
capsize them. With the aid of a pair of field-glasses,
and the information of the skipper, Linda,soon learned
to know them all and distinguish the colors, of. their
tiny racing flags. She and her father and Keswick had
a daily sweepstakes, into which they put five shillings
apiece, and the result of which they awaited with in-
tense anxiéty.

In the. evenings they played. whist_for two-penny
points and sixpence on the rub, Mr, Howard taking
dummy, and pretty generally rising up a winner. They
got on very happily together, these three, and were on
excellent terms with one another; which was scarcely
surprising, sean that two of them had’just obtained
what they desired, and that the third was tisually con-
tented when she had made others so.”

Never, since the memorable journey from Dresden to
Londen, had Mr. Howard shown himself so amiable, so
cheerful, so charmingly playful as at this time. Ho
made friends with the crew of the yacht, who thought
him ayery meddling, inquisitive old gentleman; he
smoked his cigar and talked of nautical matters with
the captain, who, immediately detecting his ignorance,
treated him with respectful contempt ; he was familiar
and.confidential with Keswick, who good-humoredly
tolerated him ; and he was thotightful and considerate
in many small ways towards Linda, who was overjoyed
at these marks of her readmission into, the paternal fa-
yor. How thankful she was tosee papa:himself again ?
How gladly did she,hailthe reappearance of certain
small jokes which, in old days, had been an infallible
sign of his approbation ; and how willingly did she add
her contribution to the boisterous outbursts of: merri-
ment with which the author of these pleasantries was
in the habit of concluding them! Wealth might be
mere weariness, and the world a disappointment, and
existence itself a doubtful blessing, but here at least
were sunshine and free air, and a papa pleased with his
daughter; and for the present was it not wisest to enjay
these good things, and forget what had passed and
what was yet to come.? But this condition of philosophic
beatitude could not last long; and so we find'the “ Swal-
low’’ cleaving the waves at the mouth of Southampton
Water, and Miss Howard sitting on deck witha pensive
countenance,

“Tam sosorry itis over!’’ she remarked presently, as
Lord Keswick, who had finished his paper, dragged
himself on his hands and knees to her side. “It has
been great fun, hasn’t.it ?’’ ;

‘‘¥irst-rate!’’ answered the young man, _ heartily.
“Lshould like to doit all over again.”

“Ah, that we Shall never do.’

“Oh yes, we shall.. We'll come down for this very
week next year.”

“ But papa won’t be with us then,” said Linda sadly.

“Hm! Well, no; Isupposenot. But we'll make up
a jolly party somehow or other. I say, what abore it is
we are going to be married in winter! We might have
taken the yacht for our wedding-trip, eh?, It wouldn’t
have been half a bad idea, wouldit? Get rid of servants,
and grinning landlords, and all that kind of thing, you
know. TI always think newly married couples look such
precious fools traveling. don’t you?”

“We might put off the day till wext spring,” sug-
gested Linda, calmly, .

“I don’t know what your governor ‘would say to
that,” replied Lord Keswick, not offering any objection
on his own score.

‘“Or-yours. | No, we must do as we are bid anid be
married on a bleak December morning, at' St. James’s,
Piccadilly, and go to a gigantic*breakfast afterward, and
have our healths proposed and rice thrown at us, and
fo down to Dover in the rain or snow, and be dreadful-
ly sick crossing the ‘next day... How’ horrid it will’all
be!”

“Awful 1” assented the future bridegroom, with a
groan. “ Why can’t people be married without sending
for all their friends and relations to make merry over
them ? It’s deuced bad taste.’ By-the-bye, Linda, whére
on earth aré we to ‘gofor the honey-moon? ‘Must go
abroad, I suppose ?' ‘What do you think of Italy?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,” said Linda. with sudden impa-
tience. “Don’t let us talk about it any more. Do you
see that big steamer catching us up? ‘Tl wonder where
she is from ?”” b sto

_#* What do you suppose that steamer is, Dawkins?”
asked Lord Keswick of the captain, who was steering. «

“One of .them American liners, my Jord—-North Ger-
man Lloyd, I expect,’ answered Dawkins, glancing over
his shoulder at the hugh black mass which was rapidly
drawing nearer. Linda took up a pair of. field-glasses
and scanned the deck of the steamer. ‘There seem to
be a great many people.on board,’ she remarked care-
lessly,as she turned to take a last look at Cowes, now
growing indistinguishable in the, distance.

If the. glasses had been stronger, or if she had used
them more carefully, she. might almost have distin.

 

guished the features af s tall, brown-bearded man who
was leaning ever the taffrdil of the inward bound
steamer, and who was admiring the lines of the ‘' Swal-
low.”’ without feeling any special interest as to her oc-
cupants. He stood smoking his cigar, and kept his
eyes fixed upon the yacht long after she had dropped
astern, though he.had ceased -to think about her, and
indeed no longer saw her, A fellow-passenger saun-
tered up to his side, and following the direction of his
gaze, observed, “ That’s a real smart little craft, Mr.
Mainwairing. Do you know the name of her owner?’
“I can’t say I do—or even her own name. Lam not
very good at distinguishing one yacht from another.”

“ Well, sir, I am generally allowed to have a’ fairly
good eye for a ship, and Ican tell you that isa mighty
nice little vessel... Belongs’to one of your aristocracy,
likely.”’

“To an iron-master or. a brewer, more probably,”
answered Mainwairing, blowing out a cloud of blue
smoke and watching it evaporate into the air, “ Those
are the people who get the good things of the world in
rie, days. Sheis flying the Squadron burgee, though,

sce.”?

“And do you mean to tell me, sir, that. a man of
business could not bea member of your Yacht Squad-
ron.it he felt like it?”

“Not at all; only he wouldhave tobe balloted for;
and the Squadron is more exclusive than other yacht
clubs.” ‘

“Treckon he would be admitted if he were wealthy
enough. Wealth, Mr. Mainwairing, will make its way,
and will not be kept down by prejudice. I believe the
Eitocracion of Europe are, beginning te understand
his.”

“T fancy they have understood it for some time,’
answered Mainwairing. ‘‘‘Put money in thy purse,’
was considered to be sound advice some centuries ago ;
and'‘as for prejudice; I don’t think you will find that
there is much remnant of that against commercial men
in this country.”

“Well, sir,I hope not. I understand that some of
your dukes and earls are putting their, sons into trade
as a profession ; and very wisely.. What does an aris-
tocracy without money amount to? Why, it is.no aris-
tocracy at all and ought to be wiped out. Money,
sir, is power, and money rules the world.”

“No doubt of it,’”’ answered Mainwairing, flinging the
end of his cigar overboard; “and that makes it the
mhore unfortunate that money should often get into
the wrong hands.”

He moved away, not caring to pursue the, subject
further ; and, contemplating the shores of his native
land and Netley Hospital looming through the sunny
haze, had soon taken up the thread of his. reflection at
the point at which his American. fellow-passenger had
caused him to drop it.

Our friend Mainwairing’s prospects have greatly im-
proved, from a worldly point of view, since we saw him
last. Having tired of Canada, he had drifted, in his usual
aimless manner, to New Yorkin the beginning of the
summer, and was. hesitating whether to remain, a few
months longer in the States or return to Europe, when
a telegram informed him of the sudden death of his
elder brother, and besought him to come home at
once. He took his passage in the first steamer that had
a vacant berth, and set sail for the Old Country with
feelings of a somewhat mixed nature.

His brother’s death, which everybody else had long
regarded as a by no means improbable contingency,
was not only a real grief to him, but also a shock. He
was hot a man given to looking far forward; and he
had always taken jt for granted that poor old Tom
wouid marry some day or Other, and haye a family.
For -himself he had neyer anticipated. more than
his younger son’s portion, with which, and “with
his collection of violins, he was, upon the’ whole
very well contented. But now he perceived not alto-
gether with pleasure—that his life must henceforth
shape itself in different courses. from those in which it
had hitherto run. As, the heir to'a baronetey and a
large property, something more than the study of mu-
sic must now occupy liis time; and Mainwairing was
not very sure that his new duties might not prove a
got bore. He was not sure either, how far he should

able to adopt the tastes and pursuits of his father,
with whom he would now be expected to reside; and
he soon recollected, with alarm, that one of the first
things which Sir George would require him to .do
would be take unto Nimself a wife, lest he also should
die and leave uo heir behind him. Here was a prolific
source of disagreement to start with, for Mainwairing
had firmly resolved to live and die a bachelor.

It was characteristic of the man-that he had been a
couple of days at sea bofore a sudden thought struck
him which put all other subjects out of his mind for
the rest'of his voyage. He remembered ‘that the ob-
stacles which had prevented’ him from declaring his
love to Linda Howard a year ‘back were now removed;
and’that in his néw position he- might’ pretend to the
hand of any heiress in England without laying himselt
open tothe imputation of ultra-mercenary motives.

From that day forth Mainwairing became very rest-
less and impatient towards the time at which the ship’s
run during the past four-and-twenty-hours’ was an-+
nounced. He grumbled outrageously’ when a head-
wind caused a temporary diminution of spéei; and
when, owing ‘to a heated bearing, the engines weré
stopped for a few hours, he abused the captain, the
crew, the engineers; and the North German Lloyd’s
Company with such energy’ and fervor, that he was
treated, for the remainder of the voyage, with that ‘re-
spect which none but:a man-of ungovernable temper
can command. What if he should be too late? What
if he should find her engaged when he arrived in Lon’
don?. For I am sorry to Say that this undutiful son
had made up his mind to call at Lancaster Gate before

 
  

|
|
|
|

 

 

THE PORTRAIT.

sv

 

 

portrait of a woman towards me—a woman
young, elegant of form, with a creamy pale
face, and: shoulders and bosom like some ex-
quisite carving in dead-white marble, half-
vailed in a cloud of black lace. ‘‘Is it a real
likeness ?”’

es Yes.”

«You do not intend parting with it?”

‘‘No; I shall keep it as a reminder of a face
that Ihave often thought I would reproduce
as one of the Fates,” he said, carelessly, putting
aside the picture to be cased, and calling my
astention to another.

Despite his cool way of showing the portrait,
and dismissing it as a subject of conversation,
I wondered if the original was not, in some
way, mixed up with Guy Rilion’s past life, and
accountable for his indifference to women.
But my speculations came to no satisfactory
conclusions between that morning and the week
later when my handsome friend started on his
homeward journey, taking among his posses-
sions that magnificently beautiful face.

It was nearly a year afterwards that I re-
newed my acquaintance with Guy Rilion, in
the cosy, dainty little house presided over by
his mother, one of the sweetest, best-bred host-
esses who ever made a son’s friend welcome to
her home.

The friendship which had first budded in
Rome flowered rapidly in our native city.

We became almost inseparable companions,
andIa frequent visitor to his home, which
seemed so much more inviting than my lonely
bachelor apartments.

One evening I stopped at Mrs. Rilion’s just
in time to join her and Guy at dinner; and, as
I laughin; iy tossed him a letter I had that day
received, I discovered that the beautiful pic-
tured face he had once shown me before leaving
Rome had been hung in an alcove of the din-
ing-room.

“ Well, Paul, I suppose you intend accept-
ing this urgent invitation, and to put yourself
under the fascinations of this charming heiress
of whom your sister writes,” Guy said, banter-
ingly, as he handed back my letter.

“¢T shall certainly go,” I replied, ‘‘ for I have
not visited Helena since before I went abroad.
But there is no danger of my being decoyed
into any matrimonial traps.”

“Perhaps not,” said Mrs. Rilion, with one
of her gentle smiles. ‘‘ Yet you may, quite of
your own free will, decide to assume matrimo-
nial responsibilities.”

“Never!” I announced, conclusively—and,
by the decree of Fate, prophetically.

Guy laughed.

“Do you mean to say that you intend never

ing, my boy ?”

‘©] haveno more intentions in that way than
you have,” I answered, quite forgetting that I
was expressing entirely my own ideas of Guy’s
intentions.

He lifted his eyebrows slightly, and his

- mother, I imagined, lodked at him curiously,

as he said:

“Why, Lintend to marry just as soon as I
can find another woman, beside my mother,
worthy of love.”

I wondered if that woman whose portrait

_ hung on the wall had been unworthy his love.

A few weeks afterwards, while sitting in
Guy’s studio for the last time before my visit,
I reverted to the picture. 3

“J notice that you have given that handsome
portrait a promotion.”

“Yes. other was here one day and dis-
coyered it, and begged to have it sent up to
the house. .

As he ventured no further confidence I
asked what was his latest work. He uncovered
an easel and turned it towards me, disclosing
a half-completed portrait of a fair, girlish face,
with a sweet, grave mouth and soft, serious

el eyes. Y

“A very sweet face.

“The sweetest face, I think, I have ever

seen. I shall not be able to half do it justice,”
he answered, as he re-covered the easel.

And then we talked of my absence. until it
was ftme for us to. separate, which we did with

 

a fervent pressure of hands and a long, truthful
glance of farewell. : ;

My sister Helena’s home was one of great
luxury aid elegance, and she was the most pop-
ular woman in her neighborhood. :

Her house was the resort of all the wealthy
and cultivated people who crowded the town
during the winter, and her entertainments were
always noted’ for their brilliancy ; but this
season was especially gay, and I was quite lion-
ized by her circle of feminine friends, each of
them anxious to do the agreeable to the proud
Mrs. Forsythe’s only brother.

But Helena had already decided who was to
receive my particular favors.

She had, staying with her, a friend—a fam-
ously fashionable and wealthy young lady—
Miss Mabel Walsh.

Whether or no Miss Walsh was conversant
with my sister’s plans in regard to the sole rep-
resentative of the old house of 'Flemings I
never. knew; nor was I able to determine the
exact character of the interest expressed by her
gracious manners and artistically-coquetish ap-
propriation of my time and attentions; for
when I had only been staying with Helena a
fortnight there came another inmate into her
family, who, within the first heur that I knew
her; opened the flood-gates of my slumbering
passions and taught me the meaning of love.

I found her in the parlor, lying back among
the rose-velvet of a great chair—a woman
more handsome than any I had ever looked up-
on, and an entire stranger, yet with an odd re-
semblance to some one I had known or seen,

She made a perfect picture in her black
robes, with only a thread of dead-gold at her
throat, her creamy, beautiful face—crowned
with masses of black hair, with the dark lashes
of her downcast eyes sweeping her cheeks—
gleaming out of the crimson glow like some ex-
quisite sculpture.

The graceful abandon of her position, the
weary droop of the queenly head and lines of
the scarlet mouth, the languid downfall of the
dainty hands, were matchlessly lovely, and sent
a hot, thrilling desire over me to gather her in
my arms and kiss gladness and glow into her
exquisite face.

I da not know how long I stood regarding
her before she became conscious of my pres-
ence ; nor do I remember what we first said. I
only know that when she ‘dismissed me from
her side I-would have stayed there eternally,
though I had learned that she was only a poor
cousin of Mabel Walsh’s, who acted as that
lady’s companion. ‘

That was how I met and loved Miss Je-
rome. F

One, two, three weeks passed, and I existed
in a state of feverish, delirious love for this
woman, who was treated almost like an inferior
in the housé where I was feted and petted.

We did not often meet, but when we did it
was worth my life to see her cold, fathomless
face light up with a brilliant smile. —

They were chill, soulless smiles enough, I
felt; but I was not se unreasonable as to expect
that Miss Jerome would love a man with whom
she had not had three whole hours of conversa-
tion in her life.

I was only firmly resolved that she should
love me, and awaited an opportunity to declare
my passion and sue for her hand. Before this
opportunity presented itself I made a discovery
that agonized my soul with a thousand jealous
fears. :

Waiting in the hall, one evening, to do escort
duty for Helena and her friend, Miss Jerome
came down with them and passed out upon
the lawn fora promenade.

Over her head she had wreathed a trail of
black lace, and, in the instant of her passing
me, I caught and identified that indefinable
likeness in her to some one I had known.

Here was the original of the portrait that
hung in Guy Rilion’s dining-room.

All the romance I had imagined concerning
these two returned with intensified force, now
that I knew the living, breathing woman of the

it.

- The evening was one horrible season of tor-

 

ment, and my first impulse upon my return
was to write to my friend.

It seemed ages before his answer reached.
me.

“My Dzar Pavu: What hag ever put it into
your head that I have any confidence that I
desire to withhold from you concerning the.
portrait of which you make mention? The.
woman was a Miss Jerome—poor, uaknown,
and as wondrously handsome as you have seen.
She had just soul enough, I should ‘say, to ba
true to herself, and too little to save her life
from being a miserable failure. I painted her
portrait for a wealthy gentleman who was in
love with her. Sho broke. her engagement
with ,him before the picture was completed,
and he left Italy, sending me the price of it
and begging that I would retain it. She, too,
soon left Rome—by the way, I believe she was

asort of dependent upon a wealthy cousin— —

and i have not heard of her since. And now,
my dear fellow, I have to ask your congratula-
tions. Iam engaged to the young lady whose
portrait I was painting when you left. I hope
you will not stay away too long, as Tam anx-
ious to have you know my Alice ”——

Then my ideas in connection with that por-
trait had been entirely fancy. t

Guy knew nothing of the original—not as
much as I who loved her. And that day L
sought Miss Jerome, avowed my _ passionate
love, and begged her promise to become my
wife.

At first she refused—not shyly or coquettish-
ly—but with grave, cold decision... But I could.
not—would not lose this queenly woman whom:
Lloved with the terrible force of a man’s only
passion; and my ardent pleadings prevailed. ~

Even in the hour of my triumph, however,
there was something in her stately manner that
prevented my responding to. the impulses of
my heart and gathering her close in my arms. |

I only kissed one of her beautiful hands, and.
slipped upon it an odd jewel that I had picked
up at a little shop in Rome. :

“T shall replace it with a more worthy one
in a few days,’ I said. ‘‘ In the meantime this
will proclaim quite as much to the family; and
Ishall make Helena acquainted with our re-
lations immediately.

“And have you fully counted the cost of
what she will say ?” :

I knew what she meant.

‘«T have counted the cost of all things in the

world, and found them as nothing com:

to the glory of winning you,” I said steadily.
She drooped her eyes, with a quivering sigh ;,

as one does when they have been long weary

cand gained the promise of-rest; and commenced

—— our betrothal-ring around and around;
upon her finger. j
‘* What an odd, pretty thing it is !” she said. at

“Yes, I came across it while in Rome, and.
fancied it.” :

At the mention of that city quite a tremor
passed over her face, and tempted me to say :

“By the way, I think it must have been there
I commenced to loye you, when I saw your
portrait in my friend Rilion’s studio!”

She was icily calm as she said:

‘*Then you know Mr. Rilion ?”

“Yes, he is a near companion. Of course
ti heard that he is now painting in Lon-

on. ;

** No, Ihave not., Is he married ?”

: 7 Not yet; but engaged to a very sweet young”
girl.” ne
My watch warned me away; but upon the
stairs I remembered something I especially
desired to say to my financee, and returned to.
the music-room, where we had had our ééte-a~
I was fairly startled by Miss Jerome’s face as”
I entered. ‘ ;

It was blanched to the hue of death, and
there was an awful despairing look in her
great brilliant eyes. . -

‘Great Heaven! my own love, what has.
happened PT cried) wi rdiehid hose

lounge where she lay with her he wrung

together, as it undergoing some terrible tor-
ture, , i

‘ita.

 
i)

 

 

 

BERTIE.

 

“In the nursery, Mrs. Ruslington? I cer-

tainly should: be glad-to see the baby.” - “a
“You will see plenty of her,” Mrs. Ernest

laughed, ‘‘ before I am done with you. Oh, did

ih bring the polonaise’ pattern, Mrs.—there ! |

told my husband I never could remember the
dressmaker’s name he said he would send—Mrs,
—oh, yes—Mrs. Abercrombie! You did bring
the polonaise pattern ?”

Mrs. Ruslington, senior, understood it allin a

Her daughter-in-law, whom she had finally
condescended to visit, mistook her for the dress-
maker |

Mrs. Ruslington, junior, was only astonished
to see such a dignified, well-dressed lady come
to help her to make up her black silk,, and,
while Mamie was absent a moment in response
to a little nestling cry from |baby Helen, grand-
mamma Helen suddenly began to enjoy the
situation, and, when Mamie came back, said :

‘‘T have forgotten the pattern, Mrs. Rusling- |:

ton; but I think we ean make the skirt first, and
leave the polonaise until to-morrow.”

And Helen Berwyn Ruslington—or
Mrs. Ross Ruslington, as her cards read—
actually cut out and basted the breadths in her
despised daughter-in-law’s black silk.

e contrived the trimming, and made such
stylish suggestions that Mamie congratulated
herself on her acquisition. (

And the while, there was not a look, a word,
a gesture of the young wife’s that escaped the
eyes of the deft-handed masquerader. She
watched the tender womanly way she cared for
her little ones, the sensible economical mode
of her housekeeping arrangements; the plain,
palatable lunch ; the dignity of the young mis-
tress to her one servant; her intelligent indus-
triousness and her sewing while babyslept; her
patience, her amiability, andher beautiful un-
conscious adoration..of her husband that be-
trayed itself at every turn.

It was not yet three o’clock ,of that memor-
able day. before Mrs. Ross Ruslington had
thoroughly made up her mind that her son’s
wife was far superior to Genevieve Wallace,
and that Ernest had shown his accustomed
foresight, judgment, and taste in choosing be-
tween the two. i

“Tf IT only can get her to talk about me,”
she thought, asshe made side-plaiting, thor-
oughly enjoying the excitement of the occa-

sion. :
purposely introduced the

A while later she
subject. - :

“Your baby has an uncommon name, Helen.
Is it a fancy name?”

 

“Oh, no—it is for my husband’s mother.

Isn’t it a beautiful name ?” :
Mamie stroked the soft little hand lying
doubled up on her bosom while the child slept.
“Very pretty. So old Mrs. Ruslington’s name
is Helen, is it? Do you knowI never had much
of an opinion of her? They say she is haughty,
unforgiving and obstinate.”

_ “Oh, no, Mrs. Abercrombie. My mother-
in-law is one of the most perfect ladies you can
imagine. She may be haughty—rich people are
80 apt to be—and she, may be, is unforgiving
where she feels she has been ill-used. Anyone
would be, would they not! But obstinate—no,
Iam quite sure not.”

‘You are so well acquainted with her, you
should know.”

Mamie’s fair’cheek flushed.

“T am not acquainted with her at all. I
have never seen her, for she was so dis-
appointed when her son married me that she
refuses to know me. If she only would, Lam
sure I would. make her love me. I would

ive baby into her arms, and let her see she is
imest all over’ again. I would tell: her ‘how
Thad called her after her, hoping my child

would make, as noble @ woman as reared my |

husba: metic . ;
And just as Mrs. Ruslington dashed down

es 4

=

[the plaiting her trembling hands could .no
longer hold, just as she was going to snatch
Mamie to her well-won heart, the door opened,
and her son, handsome, cheery, gay, came in.

‘eThis is splendid? Mother, dear, this is all
my home needed—to see you here! Mamie!
how natural and cozy it all is ! Why—what ”—

Poor Mamie had risen from her chair, bewil-
dered, pale ; and Mrs. ‘‘Abercrombie” stood,
laughing and crying by turns, A

““T’ve been here—taking advantage of a mis-
tuke Mamie made, and I’ve discovered what a
jewel she is, Ernest. She shall never agaiti
want my love or care. Children, it’s the best
day I ever saw !”
* And when Ernest put one arm around his
wife and child, and the other around his
mother. with tears in their eyes, and smiles on
their lips, they all indorsed her opinion,

 

debe bod Lin Bs

Tux last bright ray of the golden September
sun was shining upon Marimon Place, chang-
ing the little window-panes into flashing, glit-
tering jewels—changing Desire Marimon’s
hair into bright rifts of gold. ,

Bert. Le Clair thought her very beautiful as
she sat there in the sunlight, her face so pale
and dainty, her eyes so large and blue. And
then he fell to dreaming of the day when he
would be great and famous—an artist whose
works would thrill the world—how he would
come to Marimon when the September sun
was shining, and paint Desire Marimon as she
was to-day. ‘ ta! ee et

And he smiled to himself as he thought of
that day, and what it might beforhim. And
so he dreamed on, for he was nothing but a
boy of fifteen, this Bert Le Clair—a boy of fif-.
teen, in whose soul a world of artistic beauty
was raging—perhaps in vain—dreamed on un-
til widow Marimon’s soft, motherly voice broke
on his ear.

‘* Bertie,” she said, ‘I have found you a sit-
uation which I hope may prove a stepping-
stone to future greatness.” ;

He was», treamer no longer; his bright eyes
sparkled, his face lit up.

‘*You are so kind !" he cried.
ever thank you? Where is it?”

Mrs. Marimon’s motherly face clouded
she answered : g

“Tt is not with an artist, but with Mr. Fer-
guson, the lawyer. His profession is a good
and remunerative one.”

The boy recoiled.

“T could never do that!” he ejaculated.
*“« Never be a barrister—could I, Desire ?”

_ “No,” Desire replied, decidedly. ‘I am
sure you will succeed at nothing save the wish
of your soul. Your mother was an artist, Ber-
tie, and had she lived, she would have been a
- one; to her there was beauty in the
narled stump of a tree—music in the rustle of
the autumn leaves. You, Bertie Le Clair, see
with your mother’s eyes—hear ‘with your
mother’s ears.” ; ,

That was a big speech for Desire and her
fourteen years, and Mis. Marimon felt its might.
She had tried to teach Bertie to forget his
mother’s profession, because it was a precarious
one, so she said calmly :

“Tam sorry you are wedded to an occupa-
tion at which there is nothing to be made un-
less you are famous. Your mother was my
dearest. friend ; I loved her—I love you—and
the day she died I promised to protect you. I
mean to keep my word. You must goto Mr,
Ferguson.” . :

Thesun went down. Bertie Le Clair did not
say one word of dissent to Mrs. Marimon’s

 

“How can I

 

plans, but.sat watching the stars twinkling in
the azure heavens, and wondered if his life was

OWUBIFE on 5

 

to*be night for ever now; sat there until the
clock peeled nine, and then startedto léave the
room. :

He reached the door and there turned bae
Never will Mrs. Marimon forget the look that
came into his face as he said, feebly :

“Good night, mother. Good-bye, Desire.”

Then he was gone. ;

The night slipped by. The morning dawned
fair and bright; but Bertie did not leave his
room. At last Mrs. Marimon went up and
opened, the door. The room was empty!
Bertie Le Clair had gone. On the floor was
a scrap of paper. She picked it up and read:

“T am going away from you to-night, bu
sometime I will come back. Then your livet
shall be one bright dream. Bertie.”

That was all. Mrs. Marimon did not faint,
but leaned heavily against the mantel.

‘When will my boy come back ?” she moaned,
looking up into the blue heavens as if expect-
ing to find an answer there. :

* * * * * * *

Years went by—one, two, three, five and
eight, and they gave up all hope of ever seeing
Bertie again, forin all these years he never
returned. a

* * * * * .* *

‘*Oh, mother, how can we ever give it up?”

It was Desire Marimon who uttered those
words; a bitter cry upon those lips Bertie had
loved so well. It was nine years after he had
left them, and on the morrow Marimon Place
was to be sold. It was the old story; Mrs.
Marimon had mortgaged the house and loaned
the money to a friend; he had failed to liqui-
date the debt.. To-morrow those two lonely
women would be homeless.

‘We can’t give it up!” Mrs. Marimon re-
plied. “‘ Just think—your father died here; it is
sacred tome. You cannot tell how I love the
dear old place. .And it was here our Bertie
left us years and years ago. Oh, my Bertie
boy! Where are you?
back !”

Great, piteous sobs shook the poor old
woman’s frame.

‘‘Mother, don’t ery—please dont!” Desire
pleaded. ‘I will go and see Elim Lacy; per-
haps we won’t have to’go.” ~

Hastily donning her hat, Desire started
across the hills to beg for mercy at Elim Lacy’s
feet. ;

An hour passed, then Lacy’s boy drove up to
the door.

“Mrs. Marimon !” he cried, ‘‘ you are wanted
over at the house.”

He helped the weak old woman into the
chaise. In a little while shealighted at Lacy’s
gate. Desire ran to meet her, with her face
calm and peaceful. 5 tk:

** Mother !” she exclaimed, ‘who is this?”
and she pointed to a tall, fine-looking young
man who was standing beside them. _—_-

Mrs. Marimon looked twice, then the dear old
eyes filled with tears as she whispered:

“It’s my Bertie boy that comes back to me
after all these weary years!” ; :

Then she leaned the tired head upon his
breast, and cried softly. ;

‘Mother, mother, don’t ery !” Desire broke
in. ‘Just think—Bertie has come back to us
and paid Squire Lacy the money we owe him.
For, mother, Bertie is a rich and famous artist

now, and besides, he has come back to be your —

son.
‘Yes, your son.;” and Bertie Le Clair’s fine
voice grew low and husky. ‘‘Your ‘son, in
oe of the dear old days—your son because
esire, |
Then he placed them both in the Lacy chaise
and drove home. Te ee
My story is done. Bertie has returned and
made those two women happy. And so, with
the bright sunlight of hope and love. i
upon these three, I leaye them and you.

air

:

18°) 3:

Come back—come

promised to be my wife.” . G.

 

 
 

 

|
tle (
i IF ESI EH LIBRAE Sail] r

Each issue a complete novel and sold at the uniform price of TEN CENTS. No double price numbers,

1 Was Soe His Win? Mrs, Mary R. Crowell i0c | 52 A Romance or « Poor Youne Gitrx. Ellet. 10¢ (88 FLorerrx. » By Col. Prentiss Tngraham .... 10¢:
2 Fieeina From Love. By Harriet Irving... 10c | 53 Tax Lockep Heart, By Corinne Cushman. 10c | 89. Taree Tams Dea. By Miss M. B, Braddon. 10¢
8 Dip HE Love Hux? Bartley T. Campbell.. 54 Tue Prips or THE Downss. By M. Blount 10¢c | 90 For A Woman’s Sake. By Watts Phillips. i0¢
4 A Srrance Woman. By Rett Winwood.... 10c | 55 A Strange Girt. By Albert W. Aiken, .... 10¢ | 91 ‘He Cometu Not,’ SHe Samp. By Thomas. 10c
« fwo Giris’ Lrves. By Mrs. M. R. Crowell. 56 THE Pretry Puritan. By A Parson’s 92.Tue New. MAgpaLen. By Wilkie Collins. 10¢
9 Tae War or Hearts. Corinne Cushman,, Daushiet av fog. i556 deal os 05k ‘ 10c | 98 AN Open Verpict. By Miss M.E. Braddon. 10¢
ii THe Fatse Wipow. Mrs. J. D. Burton. ... 57 Dip Sue Sin? By Mary Reed Crowell... 10¢ | 94 Sworp AND Gown., By Geo. A. Lawrence. 10c
12-13 Lost ror Love. Miss M. E. Braddon,... 58 Dousty Divorcep. By Jenny Davis Burton. 10c | 95 A Buaaar on Horsepack.. By James Payne, 10¢
14-15 Torters or THE Sua. By Victor Hugo... 59 A Wickep Woman. By Lillie D. U. Blake.. 10c | 96 Her Face Was Her Fortune, By Robinson. 10¢
16 THe QuapRoon. By Catharine A Warfield. 60 Buinp BarBara’s Secret. Mary Halpine.. 10c | 97 JANE Eyre. By Charlotte Bronte......... 0c
17-18 Unci# Stnas. By J. S. Le Fanu aay 61 AN AMERICAN QurEN. By Grace Mortimer. 10c | 98 -Wreckep In Port. By Edmund Yates... 10c
19-20 Deap-SzA Frurr. Miss M. E. Braddon... 10c |.62 MArGoon, Tax SrraNae. By W.M. Turner. 10c | 99 Toe Conteen Bawn. By Gerald Griffin... 10¢
21-22 Lirrte Kate Kirsy. F.,W. Robinson... 63 Wire on Wipow. By Rett Winwood...... 10c | 100 AN Ampirious Gir; or, She Would Be an

23 SowIne THE WIND. Mrs. Mary R. Crowell. 64 Tae Creote Cousins, By Philip S.Warne. 10c Actress. By A Celebrated Actress.

24-25 Brrps or Prey. Miss M. E. Braddon.... 65 Pursvep tro THe AuraR. By Cushman. . 10c | 101 Fou. Piay. By Charles Reade and Dion

26 Tar Boy or Norcort’s.. Charles Lever... 66 THE TerRIBLE TruTH, By Jennie D. Burton, 10c Boucicault. .... : : 10.
27-28 CHARLOTTE’S INHERITANCE. By Braddon, 4? Exeqganr Eqpert. By Philip S. Warne ... 10c | 102 Carrra. By Mrs. Oliphant......+........ 4. 10¢
29 A Grru’s Heart. By Rett Winwood... 68 Lapy Heuen’s Vow. By Mrs. E. F, Ellet... 10¢ | 103 A Woman Haver. By Charles Reade.
80-31 Rep as.A Rose 1s Saxe, Rhoda Broughton. 69 Bow, Tur Kyicut or CHIVALRY. Warne. 10c | 104 Arrer Dark, By Wilkie Collins:,........ 10¢
82 Tue Lity or St. Ernz. By Mrs. Crow .... 70 Drirtine ro Run. By Mary Reed Crowell. 10c | 105 Harp Tims. By Charles Dickens a

83 SrrANGELY Wep. By Mrs. J. D. Burton.... 71 Tue Parson’s Daveutsr. By A Parson’s 106 Grr, By B. L. Farjeon.............

34 Toe Gipsy Brine. ay M. E. O. Malen. .... DAUSMOGR Tig cP ST LTE AE a os 10c | 107 Fenron’s Quest. By Miss Braddon........

35 Anniz TemPLE. By Rev. J. H. Ingraham. 72 Tue Mysreriovs Guarpian. By Cushman. 10c | 108 Taree Featuers. By W. Black......,.... 1
36 Wrrnout Myrcy. By Bartley T. Campbell. 73 Was ‘SHE A Wire. By Rett Winwood...... 10c | 109 Jon Hauirax, GENTLEMAN. Miss Mulock.

37 Biack Eyes anp Bur, Corinne Cushman. 74 ADRIA, THE ADopreD, By Jennie D. Burton. 10c | 110 Murpuy’s Master. By J, Payn... ...:... 1
88 Brave Barsara, By Corinne Cushman.... 75 Prerry AND Proup. By Corinne Cushman. 10c | 111 Heaps or Monsey. By W. E. Norris...... 1
89'A DanceRous Woman. Margaret Blount.. 76 THE Birrer Fevp. By Jennie D. Burton.. 10¢ | 112 In MorTan Per. B, wer R. Crowell. .

40 Ovma’s Love. By Henrietta E. De Conde.. 7 A Woman’s Wonk. By Mrs. &. F. Ellett... 10¢ | 118 Tax Deap Secret. By Wilkie Collins.... 10c
41 Lost: A ‘Wire. By Corinne Cushman..... 78 Tue Buack Rippie. By Corinne Cushman. 10c | 114 CLoups anp Sunsnine. By Charles Reade. 10c
42 Winnina Ways. By Margaret Blount. ... 79 Cora, AND Rusy, By Jennie Davis Burton. 10c | 115 Dinis Duvau. By W. M. Thackeray..... 10¢
43 A Woman’s Heart. By Mrs. M. V. Victor. 10¢c | 80 Dryorcen Bur Nor Divingep. By A Parson’s 116 Too Soon.. By Katherine S. MacQuoid.

44 Tae Deap Lerrer. By Seeley Bepceten 10¢ Daneel iets oP. il. ta PEs ooh eh eee, SLO Ready October 13th .... .. Le eee

45 Lorp Lisiz’s Davanter. By C.M. Braeme, 10c | 81 AtmMostMarriep, By A Parson’s Daughter. 10¢ | 117 Taz Two Drsrinims. By Wilkie Collins.

46 A Woman’s Hanp. By author ‘ Dead Letter.’ 10c | 82 Two Farr Women. By Wm.M. furner.... 10¢ Ready October 20th....00 ........4. . We
47 V1ALS oF WRATH. By Mrs, Mary R. Crowell.. 10c | 83 THe INHERITANCE OF Hare, By Burton ... 10¢ A new issue every week.

48 A Witp Girt. By Corinne Cushman., . . 10c | 84 Praru or Prearts, By A. P. Morris, Jr.... 10¢

49 Tue MappEst MARRIAGE Ever Was. Burton. 10¢ | 85 For Honor’s Saxe. By Mary Reed Chowell. 10¢| Forsale by al! newsdealers, or sent, postage

50- Love InA Maze. By Mrs. E. F, Ellet....... 10c | 86 Lance Urquuart’s Loves. Annie Thomas. 1 paid, on receipt of twelve cents. BEADL

51 Catrnoitina. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.... ... 10c ' 87 Sarety Magriep. By author of “ Caste.” 10¢ ' ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William street, N. Y,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Only Young Ladies’ Library of First-Class Copyright Novels Published. Price, Five Cents,

1 The Masked Meise, or, Witt Sue Mar-| 33 The Three Sisters. By Alice Fleming. |'73 Rose Michel; or, Tae Tarts or A FAC-
Ry Him. By Mrs. Mai eed Crowell. 34 A Marriage of Convenience: or, Was tory Girt. By Maude Hilton.

2 Was It Lovet? or, CotiEGiaNs AND SwEEt- He A Count? By Sara Claxton. 74 Cecil Castlemaine’s Gage. By Ouida.
HEARTS. By Wm, Mason Turner, M., D. Sinned Against.By Clara Augusta. 75 The Black Lady of Duna. By J.S.

3 The Girl Wife. By see T. Campbell. Sir Archer’s Bride. By A. Southworth. Le Fanu,

4 A Brave Heart, By Arabella Southworth. The Country Cousin. Rose Kennedy. | 76 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. Rowson.

Bessie Raynor, the Work Girl, His Own Again. Arabella Southworth. | '77 Christian Oakley’s Mistake. . By the

By Wm. Mason Turner, M. D. 39 Flirtation. By Ralph Royal. author of “John Halifax, Gentleman.”

The Secret Marriage. By Sara Claxton. Pledged to Marry. By Sara Claxton. |'78 My Young Husband. By Myself.

5
6 2
7A Daughter of Eve; or, BLINDED BY| 41 Blind Devotion. By Alice Fleming. 79 A Queen Amongst Women, . By the

Love. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. | Beatrice, the Beautiful; or, His Szc- author of “ Dora Thorne.”
8 Heart to Heart; or, Farr PHyus’ Love. OND LOVE. ‘By A. Southworth. 80 Her Lord and Master. By Florence
By Arabella Southworth. The Baronets Secret Sara Claxton. Marryat,
9 Alone in the World; or, Taz Youna The Only ‘Daughter: ‘or, Brorner| 81 Lucy Temple.
Man’s Warp. By the author of “Clifton. AGAINST Lover. By Alice Fleming. 82 A Long Time Ago. By Meta Orred.
10 A Pair of Gray Eyes; or, Tam Emer-| 45 Her Biidden Foe. Arabella Southworth. | 83 Playing for High Stakes. By Annie
ALD NeckLAcE. By Rose Kennedy. 46 The Little Heiress. By M. A. Denison. Thomas.
11 Entangled. By Henrietta Thackeray. 47 Because She Loved Him; or, How| 84 The Laurel Bush. By the author of
12 His Lawful Wife; or, Myra, tHE Camp Winx ir Enp.. By Alice Figming, “John Halifax, Gentleman.”
or Apoption. By Mrs. Ann 8. Stephens, 48 In Spite of Herself. By S. R. Sherwood. | 85 Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet.
13 Madcap, the Little Quakeress, By| 49 His Heart’s Mistress; or, Love at; 86 Janet’s Repentance. By George Eliot,
Corinne Cushman. First Sieur. By Arabella Southworth. 87 Romance of a Poor Young Man,
a4 wey. I mersied. (almost or, Tae WOMAN | 50 The Cuban Highness 320 Poe By Octave Feuillet. .
INGRAY. Dy sara n, or LA Vintresse. By Mrs, Mary A. Denison. *
15 A Goad ate “yal ar: TN THE WORLD. | 51 Two ee ere sr Tur BRIDE oF wh By quate tein Slat oto tan. ate
TEM artley 1, Camp . AN Haru, Alice Fleming.
16 Trust Her Not; or, Taz True Kyicut. | 52 The Winged Messenger 3. or, Riskina 89 A Gilded’ Sin.
By Margaret Leicester. ' Aw For A Heart, By Mary Reed Crowell, |90‘Khe Author’s Daughter. By Mary .
3 ay, a ceca arlaied eee ee ail 53 Agnes Hope, Hike ethene $ or, Tar Ro- Howitt.
s O1; or, THE, ILL-STARRED MARRIAGE, MANCE or A Rusy Rina. . M. Turner, M. D. e
By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell. 54 One Woman’s ,Heart; cor; Savep 94 ahe Sik. W Cpares Reade.
19 The Broken Betrothal; or, Love ver- FromTue Srruet., By George 8. Kaime. 92 Kileen Alanna 3 or, Tae DAWNING OF THE
sus Hate. By Mary Grace Halpine. : 55. She Did Not Love Him; or, Stooprne Day. By Dennis O'Sullivan,
20 Poe eee et ee rs or, TO ConQuEe. By Argon Sout wore 93 Love's Victory. By B. L, Farjeon.
HE WITCHES 0 Ww - ie Penne, Love-Mads or. ETROTHED, ARRIED, *
21 Now and Forever} or, ny Dio SHE ae DivorcED MAD ee By W. M. Turner, M.D. a The Qriet Heart. By Mrs. Olphant.
Marry Him. By Henrietta Thackeray. 57 A Brave Girl. By Alice Fleming. 95 Lettice Arnold. By Mrs. Marsh.
22 The Bride of au Actor, By the author | 58 The Hbon Mask. By Mary R. Crowell. | 96 Haunted Hlearts; or, Tux Broxen Br-
a " or inte eas ge ta a By 59 A Widow's oem: mere eee TROTHAL, By Rachel Bernhardt.
en ear} or, Ez Pro . BY) 60 CecilPs Deceit. By Jennie Davis Burton. ; J
Sara Giaxton. * 61 A_Wicked Heart.. By Sara Claxton. a4 aaa gn ey, ee
24 Mer Face Was Her Fortune. By | 62 The Maniac Bride. By M. Blount. 98 Alice Learmont.' By Miss Mulock,
Eleanor Blaine, 63 The Creole Sisters. By Anna E, Porter. | 99 Marjorie Bruce’s Lover. By Mary
25 Only a Schoo baieny 95 8 ae Un- | 64 inet a fealousy, Did — Tae Hem or Patrick, Ready October 4th. . .
TOLD SECRET, By y . orsLEY Granger. By Alice Fleming. ni
26 Without a Heart, By P. Ingraham. | 65 "The Wite’s Secret. By Col. Juan Lewis — Tredecht alee teenie eee By
27 Was She a Coquette? me Nw STRANGE | 66 A Brother’s Sin, » By Rachel Bernhardt. | 49) yy
Courtsuir, By Henrietta Thackeray. 67 Forbidden Bans, Arabella Southworth. annah, By Miss Mulock. October 18,
28 Sybil Chase: or, Tua Gampter’s WirE. | 68 Weavers and Weft. By M. E. Braddon. ‘A new taste every week.
By Mrs. Ann 8. Stephens. 69 Camille; or, Taz Fare or a Coguerrs, " c :
29 For Her Dear Sake. By Sara Claxton. By Alex Dumas. Tax “Wavertey Lisrary is’ for sale by all
80 The Bouquet Girl: or, A Mion oF | 79 Khe Two Orphans; By D’Ennery. . Newsdealers, five cents per copy, or seme by

Money. le Penne. ; » mail, on receipt of six cents
$1 A Mad Marriage. By Mary A. Denfion, |71 My Youmg Wifes | By My Young Wife's BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishang )

 

fri the Prima Donna: or
Sas Tease inp LIne. By A, Southworth, ‘|72 The Two Widows, By Annic Thomas, 98 William street, New York